Fewer than half of the throne's shadowy tendrils remained, and the only ones still connected to Owain's vassals were drawing strength from knights whose lords had been unwilling to stand with Ashlynn. They were the closest thing that Owain had to allies, and if they died today, Owain would struggle to rule the march tomorrow, even if he was able to win this duel… Yet Owain didn't care.
If Ashlynn didn't die tonight, then nothing mattered anymore.
"More," he spat, repeating his demand of the Lothian throne. "Until she's dead, I need more!"
Most of the people in the Great Hall couldn't hear his desperate cry, but Ashlynn heard it clearly. The senses she'd honed in Georg's kitchens captured every word as clearly as if her ears hadn't been covered by layers of cloth padding and steel.
"Of course," she muttered as she watched Owain struggle to his feet. "Because nothing will ever be enough for you."
