Chapter 4
Braxton
A sharp slam rattles my ears; the door must’ve nearly broken off its frame. I turn and start walking, one foot in front of the other.
In front of me, a tattooed, muscular, dark-skinned man appears, and he doesn’t look happy at all. Fintan, my fighting and signet trainer, stamps towards me.
“You fucker!” he curses. “What in the name of the manes where you thinking?!” His brows are furrowed, and his face is looking like a raging thunderstorm as he erupts at me using the long-lost souls and shadows as a curse, just like a lot of other people do.
“What are y—” I try to ask in denial that anything happened.
A burning hand touches my cheek. He slaps so hard, my face twists to the right. I take a deep breath, let my anger sink before I find the courage to look in his eyes. That is the time I need, otherwise my anger will rule me.
And that he taught me not to. Because he and I both know there is a softer person beneath all of this.
“Maybe you’re right. I know what you’re talking about, and I did deserve that punch,” I breathe out, reaching my hand out to feel the place Finn slapped me.
“You have a death wish, kid?” he thunders, still not done with firing shots at me apparently. Something snaps inside me.
“No, I don’t, but living a life like this is not worth living either,” I bite the words out and hold his gaze.
His gaze softens at my words, and he rubs his fingers across his face.
He knows what I am talking about. Knows I won’t show my real strength because I don’t want to put my brother in the position I am in.
And he might even know that with winning these trials, I will show my strength without putting the burden on him.
“I know, kid, sorry. You deserve better. I know you can do this. You are one of my strongest students. You will survive this stupid trial.” He sighs out, his words sweeter than before.
He puts his hands on my shoulders, his gaze holding mine.
The big, tattooed, black man takes a step towards me before pulling me into a hug.
He might be my trainer, but he is the closest thing I have to a father figure.
He knows more about me than the king does.
He trained me in every possible way. Taught me manners where the private teachers I had, lost track.
“Thanks, I will try,” I mutter. As he releases my grip, I step out and let my feet take me towards my bathroom.
I splash a bunch of cold water on my face, hoping this rotting feeling inside will wash away.
Except like usual, the feeling buried its way to deep into my chest to be reduced with just water.
I put my hands on the sink, looking straight in the mirror.
I find Finn still standing there, talking to himself.
“Now I have to figure out how to keep you both alive,” he whispers, shaking his head slowly. He takes a shuttered breath, his nostrils flaring briefly.
Wait, what? What does he mean, the both of us? What the hell is he talking about? I turn around to talk to him, but he isn’t there.
He is already gone, and I am left with over 100 questions.
The night starts to fall and darkness surrounds me.
I lie down in bed, leaning my head on my hands.
I lie flat on my back, staring at dots of light dance on my dark blue ceiling and wall like little fireflies in the night.
The sparks of light come from the huge window behind my bed.
The window has no curtains and is always open, just a bit, so I can hear the people singing and dancing.
The village must be at least thirty minutes away, but if I lie really quiet, I can hear them.
Rumor goes they sing, dance, party, drink beer, and come together until late into the night.
And I can inform you that they do sing the whole night indeed.
It never stops if you listen very carefully.
And if their music gets too soft, it’s overtaken by the music my brother plays on his piano.
I prefer listening to the village, though.
In contradiction with my brother, they sound happy.
Most of the time, I enjoy their happiness from inside this bedroom.
Let them remind me of what it can be.
Warm and welcoming, yet I haven’t come there often.
If the music shuts off or gets too low, I listen to the sound of the animals and nature living behind our palace, in the garden.
My heartbeat slows down as I keep watching the lights.
Tomorrow I will have another sparring contest with my brother.
I am going to win this time, no matter what.
I swallow, throat going dry. Not sure if the next thought really agrees with my truth.
Because my mind fixates on winning no matter the consequences, even if it means hurting Zephron this one time. I refuse to be punished again.
A loud festive horn rings and echoes through the halls.
I sit up straight in bed, hair sticking to my face, sweat trickling over my back.
My mind spins and I rub my temples, trying to understand if this horn was in my nightmare or reality.
What is happening? They only use that horn when something big is going on.
There’s a knock on my door, forcing me to look.
A woman in the clothes of a servant, opens the door carefully, looking at me like I am a murderer—a monster.
She must have heard me screaming at night.
I wipe the beads that appear on my forehead away faster than they appeared.
I give her a small nod, not lowering my head more than a split second. She doesn’t take my invitation.
“Your Majesty, the king would like to speak to you,” she stutters. I can read the fear in her eyes, her hands are shaking and she doesn’t open the door completely, scared of what or who she will see.
“You can call me Braxton, miss?” I ask her, trying to force out a smile, but it must look like I have a migraine.
“Annie,” the young woman whispers, her blue eyes meeting mine.
“Please don’t be scared of me.” I grin. “Annie.” She blinks her eyes, not sure if I am joking or not.
“I would never hurt a servant. You just do what the king tells you.” Manes, I hate how that sounded so arrogant.
She makes a small bow for me, lifting the corner of her mouth in a slight smile, but hurries away as fast as she can the moment I give her a nod.
Well, that went great. Even the servants are scared of me. I jump out of my big midnight blue bed, pull a shirt over my head and don’t even bother to do my hair before walking out of my room.
I stand in front of the door of the king’s office, doubting if I should knock. I am still his son though, I can do whatever I want. I push the door open, hesitant but still confident. His eyes meet mine. He shoves his glasses off his nose and shows me that evil grin of his.
“Braxton,” he says, nodding his head as an invitation to walk towards him.
I don’t greet him back. The fact that he doesn’t tell me immediately what is going on freaks me out. Normally, he starts talking right away.
“Why did you want to see me?” I mutter under my breath.
I feel like this is the first time that he looks at me properly since I volunteered two days ago.
He narrows his eyes, looking at me like I am the worst thing that ever happened to him.
He throws his glasses on the desk, leaning back in that lazy chair.
“We closed the applications tonight. More than fifty people are coming to the palace today, proving they deserve their place,” he reveals.
“But since you just blurted out in front of everyone that you wanted to enter, I can’t just erase you from the candidate list.” He locks his jaw in place and that awful smile appears on his face, the one that leaves an endless line of goosebumps on my body.
“Besides, you made good advertisements for me. A prince entering the trials, organized by the king.” He nods his head, fake cheering for me.
“I wanted my strongest son to show off, but I guess you will do. There will be no special treatment, no saving, no empathy. Not from me.” I ball my fists as I stand frozen in front of the man, my lips sealed.
“This is all on you,” he continues, his gaze stinging on mine as I hold eye contact and lift my chin a bit higher than before.
“If you die, which you probably will, I will not be held responsible or show mercy.” His gaze sharpens, burning so dark, shadows curl up from around his desk, his voice darker than before when he continues, “you hear me?”
I only give him a curt nod, not feeling the need to waste a breath on him. I turn around, ready to march out but he speaks up before I can.
“Oh, and by the way, whoever can win a fight against you, will be entering the trial. You and Zephron will fight first naturally and that is the end of the story.” The only reaction I give him is slowing my pace.
I don’t slam the door. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of the hurt he causes.
Apparently, I should start getting ready.
I will not only fight my brother today, but also a lot of other strong, hungry strangers.
It is the only thing I am good for in his eyes.
A target for others to train on, so they can become stronger.
It is all a show in his eyes, a performance, a survival of the strongest and he doesn’t think I have a chance of living.
He is wrong.