“A duel?” James stopped and Rissa could see that he was considering it. “A contest of honor that ends in the death of one of the participants?”
“Yes, yes!” Duke Grabbington nodded eagerly. “If you wish to try and kill me, that is the only way to do it without getting hung for it! I challenge you to a duel—only a coward would fail to accept!”
James took a deep breath and then a step back. It looked to Rissa as though he was making a concerted effort to calm down.
“Very well,” he growled. “Name the time and the place and I will be there. But I won’t just try to kill you, Grabbington.” Leaning forward he pushed his face into the Duke’s. “Your Grace is as good as dead.”
37
“I do not like this! I do not like it one bit!” Rissa paced anxiously in the grey, early morning light, her skirts swishing in the long grasses of the dueling field. In just a few hours, she must appear before the Steward and formally reject the Duke’s suit. That was, if there was a suit to reject. It would depend upon how the duel went but something told Rissa she couldn’t trust the outcome.
James raised an eyebrow at her.
“Are you afraid I’ll lose? I assure you, Princess, I have been well trained in any and every kind of weapon and combat.”
“Are…are you planning to rip his throat out with your fangs, as you threatened before?” Rissa whispered. The fangs in question had shrunk back down to normal teeth after the altercation, but she couldn’t get the memory of James with those frightening fangs out of her mind.
The big Kindred shook his head.
“No, I will use whatever weapon he chooses. I think the fangs only grew because I was going into Rage at the idea of the bastard hurting you.” His face grew fierce for a moment, the blue eyes glowing briefly red. “I have Blood Kindred DNA in my biological makeup as well as Beast Kindred DNA, you know,” he added.
“I suppose,” Rissa murmured. But it wasn’t the fangs that worried her so much now as the idea of the upcoming duel. “I still do not feel right about letting you duel for my honor,” she told James. “I feel like all of this is my fault.”
“None of it is your fault,” James said, frowning. “And please don’t worry, Princess—no matter what weapon the Duke chooses, I will kill him.”
“I know you will—if it is a fair fight,” Rissa said anxiously. “But I do not trust the Duke to fight fairly. He is a man without honor, James!”
“He’s soon going to be a dead man,” James said confidently. “Don’t worry, Princess—I can handle anything he tries.”
Rissa wished she could be as confident as the big Kindred. But she had a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach that the impending duel was a bad idea. She and James had sat up most of the night, arguing about it. But just as she opened her mouth to voice more objections, Duke Grabbington rolled up in a fine off-road sedan.
The Duke’s vehicle was gold and gaudy and even grander than the Royal carriage she and James had come in. Clearly, Grabbington was showing off his wealth and privilege.
The golden door opened and the Duke descended, followed by a doctor in a buff blue medical coat and another nobleman whom Rissa didn’t recognize. He was carrying a large leather case which probably contained the dueling weapons, she realized with a shudder.
“Greetings, Princess.” Duke Grabbington waved at her airily, as though they had met each other in the Public Park by happenstance.
He seemed a lot calmer than he had the last time Rissa had seen him, which made her even more worried. Did he have some dastardly plan up his floppy lace sleeve? But, no. Surely not even a man as wretched as the Duke would dare to dishonor the sacred tradition of the duel…would he?
She didn’t reply but only nodded back frostily, giving him the least polite greeting possible.
Duke Grabbington’s face darkened at her deliberate discourtesy, but he said nothing else to her. Instead, he turned to James.
“Sir Robot,” he said formally. “This is Dr. Dowdy, my personal physician and Lord Flobberton, who will act as my second.” He frowned. “But…where is your second, Sir?”
“I don’t need a second,” James said shortly. “I intend to kill you on the first shot.”
Duke Grabbington paled a little, but only shrugged.
“Very well—if you do not wish to have a second, you do not have to have one. You can check the weapons yourself, if you are so inclined.” He nodded at the man he had introduced as “Lord Flobberton,” and the man made a bow and opened the leather case to display its contents.
Inside were two old-fashioned looking pistols, such as people had used a hundred years ago or more. James looked at them and frowned.