The wall was right behind him. Hugh took a slow, deliberate step back. I followed, my sword an inch into his upper stomach. If I pressed, he’d suffer a lacerated liver. He leaned against the wall. A slow smile stretched his bloodstained lips. “I’d like to hear it.” Hugh leaned forward, forcing the sword to bite deeper into his muscle. A strange expression claimed his face, a kind of focused but slightly amused look, possessive, no, inviting . . . Hugh opened his mouth. “Uncle.” It wasn’t a surrender. It was a dare. A year ago I might’ve mistaken it for something else or convinced myself I was
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