Chapter 4 #2
The black leather pants are stiff at first but hug my legs securely, and the long-sleeved shirt feels lighter than it looks, its texture strange against my skin.
It feels like silk, but like it could endure a bullet.
A pair of thick socks sit neatly on a shelf, and beside them, sturdy black boots that look built for fighting.
I tug the socks on, then lace the boots up tightly, finishing mid-shin.
Standing in front of the tall mirror, I tilt my head, taking in the girl staring back at me.
My messy bun looks wrong, like it belongs to the broken Daisy who can’t get out of bed.
Despite feeling that way, I can’t let my kingdom see me like that.
I pull the elastic free, letting my golden hair tumble over my shoulders in a tangle of knots streaked with silver-white strands.
I drag a brush through it just enough to tame it, and weave it into a single plait, letting it fall down the centre of my back. Practical.
I turn, about ready to leave, but my gaze catches on something glinting on the table beside the mirror.
The dagger. The one Korithax gave me. The lump that never seems to leave my throat swells as I pick it up, running my thumb over the hilt.
Memories flash through my head of him above me, my dagger dragging down his body, his sinful moans as blood bloomed across his skin.
The images cause the soulmate bond to tug painfully, and I blink back the tears that threaten to fall.
Taking a shaky inhale of breath, I strap the sheath to my thigh, letting the blade sit proudly in view.
A deadly piece of him, carried with me into whatever hell today brings.
When I finally step into the hallway, my guards straighten immediately.
Corin leads—his deep blue skin still a touch pale—and another guard falls behind me.
It’s the first time I’ve left my rooms since…
since everything. My chest feels tight, like the air here carries all the whispers I missed.
The castle staff scurry through the corridors, and every single one of them glances at me with mixed emotions.
They bow, but their faces are a mixture of pity and fear, their eyes slipping away as quickly as they land on me.
“I guess word got out that I’m a little unhinged at the minute,” I mutter to Corin.
He doesn’t answer, just gives me a tight-lipped smile that says everything without words: yeah, they know you’re a fucking psycho.
Great. So not only is their king dead, but they also think their queen is a grieving lunatic who screams and bursts into flames.
Fan-fricken-tastic. I bet the people of Zeriavoss feel sooooooo safe right now.
I follow the guards in silence, offering small awkward smiles to passing servants to show I’m not a threat. I don’t know if it’s convincing, considering I’m walking around in fitted fighting leathers with a dagger on my thigh, but I’m trying.
I can’t help but notice that every part of the coronation has been erased from the castle.
The celebratory banners and decor have long since been removed, replaced by mourning flags of Korithax’s sigil.
I lower my eyes to the ground, unable to handle the pain of seeing them any longer.
I don’t want that constant reminder that my husband is dead.
I don’t need to see mourning flags. I hate it, actually.
But what do I say? “Take those horrible things down!” No, of course I can’t say that.
They have every right to mourn the king they loved, even if it pains me to see it.
The corridors soon open up to an outdoor walkway, the crisp air brushing over my face as we emerge into the training grounds.
I pause for a moment, taking it in. The arena is nothing like I expected.
No grand stadium, no polished floor or gilded platforms. Instead, it’s a wide expanse of sandy gravel, the ground scuffed with marks of previous sparring.
Wooden weapon racks line one side, heavy with swords, axes, bows and spears.
A few straw dummies and arrow-riddled targets are scattered across the area, and white rings are painted onto the ground, simple circles for sparring bouts.
It’s raw and practical, a place built for war, not pageantry.
And it’s empty. Completely empty, save for the man leaning lazily against a tree at the edge of one of the rings.
“There’s my little rage muffin,” Maelkar calls, his grin sharp. “Ready to get sweaty?”
I roll my eyes, ignoring the wink he throws my way as he saunters forward.
He’s out of his usual deep-purple silks, and is instead dressed like me: black leather pants and a fitted long-sleeve shirt.
But where mine is mostly plain, his shimmers with something that looks like scales.
On him, the training gear looks like sin given form.
It clings to his muscular frame so seamlessly it’s almost difficult to tell where the clothing ends, and his deep-midnight skin begins.
I glance down at his shirt, brushing the faint shimmer of the fabric. “What is this?” I ask.
“Flamebeast scale,” he says casually. “Fireproof, tough as hell, and extremely protective. I have to make sure I’m safe from your outbursts.”
My stomach drops. I can’t help but picture one of the great beasts brought down just to make his armour. My eyes must give me away because he chuckles low in his throat. “They shed their scales once a year, hellflower. Relax. Nobody’s slaughtering your new best friends.”
“Oh,” I mutter, feeling a little foolish.
“Anyway,” he says, clapping his hands together just once. “Let’s not waste any more time. Come on.”
I follow him to one of the painted circles, my boots crunching on the gravel. He gestures for me to step inside first, so I wearily move forward, the boundary somehow feeling heavier than just a simple line on the ground.
“Do you want to start with your power,” he drawls, “or a sword?”
The thought of letting that wildfire loose again makes my stomach twist with so much unease, I almost gag. I glance towards the weapon rack, choosing the lesser of two evils. “Sword.”
He saunters over, picking up two blades.
One is long with blackened steel and a silver-edged tip, the other slightly shorter with a faint red gleam along the fuller.
He tosses the shorter one to me, and I panic, flinching out of the way so it clatters to the ground instead of impaling me.
I scowl at him as he rolls his eyes mouthing the words ‘drama queen.’ Leaning down, I wrap my fingers around the handle, the weight nearly dragging my arm down.
“Gods, it’s heavy,” I mutter, fumbling for a better grip. I try one-handed, but the blade tilts dangerously, almost stabbing straight into my boot.
“Two hands for now,” he advises. “We’ll build you up. We don’t have the luxury of time, so we’ll work with what we’ve got, and hope war doesn’t come before you stop looking like you’re holding a tree branch.”
I grit my teeth and copy his stance, holding the sword in front of me with two hands wrapped firmly around the hilt. I wince in discomfort, my arms already aching.
“I want you to strike me here,” he says, pointing to the centre of his broad chest.
I roll my shoulders and lunge forward, swinging the blade towards him in a sloppy motion.
In an instant, his own sword comes up, slamming mine aside with a ringing clash.
The impact jolts up my arms, and before I can blink, the sword slips from my hands and his foot sweeps out, sending me flat on my back, staring up at the endless blue sky.
Air rushes from my lungs in a painful wheeze, my head hitting the dusty floor. “What the hell?” I gasp, propping myself up on my elbows.
“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to defend myself,” Maelkar says with a wolfish grin. “Get up. Try again.”
I grit my teeth and grab the sword, heaving myself upright. This time, I charge, swinging harder. My blade cuts through empty air as he vanishes into shadow. “What the—oomph!”
A foot slams into my back, sending me sprawling onto my hands and knees.
Gravel bites into my skin as the sword clatters away.
A growl builds in my throat. I glance over my shoulder to see him grinning like the Cheshire Cat, one hand on his hip, the other swinging his sword lazily in front of him like a serpent.
“That’s cheating,” I snarl, pushing myself up to my feet.
“You think The Divine Six and their little army won’t use magic?” he asks, raising a brow.
“But—”
“But nothing, Hellflower. You either adapt or die.”
I snatch the sword back up, panting heavily. My muscles are already trembling. Jesus fucking christ, I am unfit. “And how exactly am I supposed to beat shadow magic?”
He shrugs, smirking wickedly as his violet-ringed eyes twinkle in the early morning light. “Figure it out, queenie.”