Saved By The Mad Duke
Chapter 48: Fight like a man. Or at least die like one.

Chapter 48: Fight like a man. Or at least die like one.

"If there is still honor left to defend, Lord Constantine, then come out and fight. And if not, then prepare your last words."

Count Crueder turned even paler, his forehead was instantly covered with beads of cold sweat. Shaking uncontrollably, he turned his entire body to the King, offering him a pitiful stare, and pleaded,

"Your Majesty... I was cheated! This is not fair, my champion surrendered without any reason to! Please, do something, this is absolutely not fair!"

King Euris cleared his throat with an irritated growl and shook his head as his hoarse voice declared,

"I’m afraid it does not concern me, Lord Constantine, and there is nothing I can do. Her Highness Princess Aideen is the only one who can decide the outcome of this duel. If she is merciful enough to spare your life, then do your best to beg her properly."

Aideen flinched at the mention of her name and turned to face the King. Although his life was on the line, Count Crueder hesitated. He still struggled to comprehend the fact that someone as pathetic and powerless as Aideen Ruan was now controlling his imminent fate.

It was ridiculous, outrageous even, however, he could not help but agree that begging her to spare his life was still better than dying at the hands of the Mad Dog of Valentines and his legendary black sword.

Setting his pride aside, the Count took a step towards the princess, then fell down to his knees with a resounding thud, and begged,

"Your Highness... Please, I’m begging you, put an end to this madness! Let bygones be bygones. Whatever you think I have done to fall out of your grace, I implore you to forgive me. I truly have no idea what Duke Tillian thinks I have done to you to deserve such a disgraceful demise, so please, convince him to show mercy!"

Still on his knees, Count Crueder moved even closer and grabbed Aideen’s hands, pulling them closer to his chest.

This simple, yet daring action, combined with the man’s miserable cries for mercy made Aideen shudder in disgust. A relentless wave of past memories came crashing down on her, erasing all the hard work and effort put into leaving them all behind, far outside the walls of Duke Valentine’s castle.

’Mercy’ was not the word Count Constantine knew when his whip was carving Aideen’s tender back.

’Mercy’ was not the word Count Constantine knew when he watched his help humiliate and mentally abuse the princess.

’Mercy’ was not the word he knew when he continuously raped her, disposing of her afterward as if she were a mere thing.

And there was no mercy when he sent her away expecting her to be murdered in the woods by dirty bandits.

’There is no mercy between us. There should not be. Not anymore.’

Aideen withdrew her hands, freeing them from the Count’s tight grip. She was glad her skin was covered with gloves.

She rose to her feet and with a stoic expression and cold voice, she finally gave her answer,

"You were aware of the rules of the duel, Lord Constantine. My decision remains the same. If you cannot kill, you have to die. This is all the mercy I can show you."

"Aideen."

The King rose from his seat as well and offered the princess a somewhat stern look. A whirlwind of conflicting emotions was stirring his thoughts, preventing him from formulating even a single reasonable sentence. Nevertheless, he ran his fingers through his dark hair, allowing himself a few more seconds of hesitation, then released a long sigh, and finally continued,

"Are you certain that this is necessary, Aideen? I respect the rules of the duel but your decision is nothing but barbaric. Is this how you wish to leave the Capital today? With this man’s blood on your hands?"

The princess wanted to retort but the words refused to leave her lips. Clenching her trembling fists, the weight of doubt began to pull her down but someone else came to her rescue.

"That’s enough, Your Majesty."

Prince Yanad jumped to his feet, placed his hand on Aideen’s shoulder, commanding her to sit down, then marched to the kneeling Count, grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, pulled him up, and said at last,

"What an undignified display. This is not a duel of honor, you, My Lord, seem to have abandoned all honor somewhere else if you do not even care to resort to such pathetic, miserable actions."

With one harsh, swift motion, Yanad pushed Count Crueder down to the jousting arena and threw his own sword before his feet, concluding,

"Fight like a man, Lord Constantine. Or at least die like one."

Tillian measured the Crown Prince with a sharp glare, then offered him a brief nod, and jumped back to the arena, pacing slowly like a wild predator around the trembling Lord Constantine, Yanad’s sword tightly clutched between his hands.

"Alright... Go on, attack me, you filthy animal!"

Count Crueder hissed these words at the Duke who only released a somewhat mocking chuckle at the old man’s audacity.

"Very well, I do not wish to waste my time anymore either."

With a joke of an effort, Tillian swang his massive black sword over the Count’s head, a wide grin still playing on his lips, then lunged forward, and kicked Yanad’s sword out of Constantine’s hands, leaving a deep cut on the old man’s right palm.

As Count Crueder winced from the sharp pain, he pressed his other palm against the wound and bent down to pick up the sword, but Duke Valentine grabbed him by his thinning gray hair, and pulled him up, bringing his own face closer to his. Then, he looked him straight in the eyes and smiled, as his low, quiet voice snarled menacingly,

"If it were up to me, I would have cut your flesh piece by piece, slowly, painfully, just to give you a taste of your own medicine, Lord Constantine. I would not care what people would think of me, I am already a madman in everyone else’s eyes anyway. But alas, I am a very unlucky man when it comes to revenge. This is a duel of honor, after all. Still..."

Tillian made a deliberate pause, savoring the Count’s fear. Then, still holding him by his hair, the Duke turned the man around to let the audience on the platform see his defeated state, and concluded, almost hissing,

"I must apologize, Lord Crueder, but I will not let you die with honor today. Witness the cruel wrath of the Mad Dog."

Tillian’s black sword moved up to the Count’s pale, wrinkled neck and the moment the cold steel touched his skin, a thin red line appeared beneath it. Slowly, in a predatory and sadistic manner, Duke Valentine pressed the black blade even harder against the old man’s neck, ignoring his frantic struggle and cries for help.

He wanted him to feel the pain he otherwise would have never experienced. That was his final mercy.

As the Count’s desperate screams persisted, Aideen remained silent. It was not the solemn moment of her triumph that rendered her speechless. It was the distant echo of her own begging and cries for help that clouded her mind and pulled her back into the devastating darkness of her own painful and powerless past.

"What a monster! The rumors about his barbaric nature were not mere lies indeed! Mad! This man is mad! Hahaha!"

Valon laughed, rose from his seat, and started applauding so loudly as if he was trying to drown the Count’s screaming in that utterly inappropriate display of amusement.

At last, the jousting arena fell ominously silent once again.

Aideen slowly walked up to the wooden rail of the platform and covered her nose as a sudden gust of the morning wind enveloped her with a disgusting stench of human blood.

Tillian’s heavy steps approached the platform as well, his loud, irregular breathing akin to the one of a tired animal that had just finished a hunt. He stood before the princess, his left hand gently sliding over hers, then ascended the platform, marching towards the other members of the Royal Family, and halted, tossing the Count’s severed head to the King’s feet, marring his shoes and long, dark blue mantle with the dead man’s crimson blood.

Stretching his reddish lips into a contented grin, the Duke finally declared,

"Hang this head above the entrance to Her Highness’s greenhouse behind her quarters. Let it be a warning to everyone that whoever tries to show even an ounce of disrespect to Princess Aideen or those dear to her heart, will end up sharing Lord Crueder’s fate as a mere decoration."

The King lowered his dark eyes, fixing them on the bloodied head of the Count. Prince Valon curled his thin lips into an excited smirk while his older brother shifted his glowing green eyes on Aideen who had been silently listening to the conclusion of the duel.

Hiding his black sword back inside its leather sheath, Tillian offered the Royal Family one final bow, then walked up to the princess, took her hand in his, and whispered,

"Let us go, Your Highness. Let us go home."