Chapter 15 #2
Mother opened her mouth, and I raised my hand.
I had to say this calmly before my mouth worked quicker than my brain and I said something to truly upset her.
‘She’s not only my queen, but my wife, my soul.
Each moment I exist without her is a torture worse than the flames of Vyrus.
To say I love her doesn’t do justice to my emotions.
The agony, agony, of my heart tearing as she realised I’d failed her again. ’
Something flashed behind my mother’s eyes and she stared down at my shaking leg, her jaw clenched as though she were fighting back words.
‘Please understand. I love her. I love you both, but she’s my wife now. My future.’
Last night, as Mother and that Raine had discussed what they could do with me under a blanket of silver clouds, I’d tried to form the words and tell Mother that she had to protect Sorrow, that I no longer knew if I could be trusted with the woman I loved.
But no matter how I’d tried, the words refused to shape themselves on my traitorous lips.
Even with Mother holding a fragment of the ruby, a part of me still belonged to the monster wearing my crown.
It chilled me to the core that I might still carry out the mission she’d forced on me.
Mother smiled, a weak effort that failed to reach her dark eyes. She put her hand across my trembling leg.
‘Look at you.’
I exhaled. She was changing the subject yet again. Her go-to when the conversation failed to head in the direction she wanted. ‘Always so full of energy. You should ask to train with the others. Burn some of that out of your system.’
The warnings I so desperately needed to utter died in my throat.
I turned back to where the shouts and tempting clashes of swords echoed.
She was right. There was nothing like sparring and my ever-bouncing leg demanded I stand.
But these were rebels. I could never spar with the likes of them, no matter how much I—
I spun completely, finding my legs pushing me upwards and before I knew it, I was standing shoulder to shoulder with the rebels on the outskirts of their makeshift training ring.
Narrowing my eyes, I glanced back. Mother raised her brow as she rubbed the ruby ring.
I shook my head, making a mental note to watch her carefully.
Perhaps there was a way she could command me to spill my secrets?
But with the level of my deception locked deep within my soul, how could I ever get her to understand?
Sighing, I tamped down the ire burrowing into my lungs and crossed my arms as the two parried, raising an appreciative brow.
I didn’t have to take part. I could just stand here.
Watch. I knew the rebels were lethal when they wanted to be, but as the woman swept her male opponent’s feet from under him as she fell backwards to the ground, I had to admit that they were rather impressive.
The man crashed down, his comrades groaning in sympathy as the air was expelled from his lungs with a deafening groan.
I eyed the other rebels, and my heart twisted as they clapped shoulders and shouted.
It felt like a lifetime since I’d had this.
The camaraderie, the kinship. Perhaps Mother was right, I thought as I rolled my shoulders. But as I turned back, she’d gone.
The woman on the ground sprang to her feet, pushed her red braid over her shoulder, and offered a hand to the man.
Laughing, he accepted and the two limped off.
As their fellow rebels met them with smiles and gripped arms, I spotted a man glaring at me.
Tall, lithe and with the same Temlhen heritage as Mother, he raised his chin and approached.
I kept my gaze on him as he stalked through the suddenly quiet training ring, a smile playing on his lips.
Standing before me, he spread his arms wide, sweeping down in a mock bow.
I clenched my fists tightly. It wasn’t his mockery that had my pulse thundering through my ears.
I’d never believed I was better than anyone else because of the family I’d been born into.
His eyes raked over me smugly, unimpressed and assured that if I were to face him, he was certain to be the victor.
I grinned as he strode forward, holding his gaze steady.
‘Your Highness, would you care to join us? Or do you worry you might dirty those clean, regal hands of yours?’
He arched a dark brow, a playful, winning glint shining in his eyes. I looked beyond him, to where the rebels watched, eager-eyed and thirsty to see me handed my arse.
I indicated my empty arms, my lack of weapons. ‘Do you wish to challenge me to a bare-knuckle fight?’ He smirked. ‘Because my regal hands will be anything but smooth when they’re destroying that arrogant face.’
The ring exploded with excited murmurs and my opponent bit his cheek.
‘I don’t think I’d be able to live with myself if I spoilt my liege’s perfect, never-worked-a-day-in-his-life hands.
’ He shucked off his black jacket, tossed it to a comrade and held out his hand.
‘May I suggest making this a bit more interesting?’
I held his stare. A heady thrum of anticipation and anger coursed through me. He’d already passed his judgement on what he thought was the spoilt little king. I couldn’t wait to swipe that smug look from his face. I nodded at him to continue.
Someone passed him a sword. There were no glints of bronze shining in the blade as it twirled in his hand, his eyes constantly on me.
I waited for a moment before tentatively removing my own jacket.
No one offered to take it, so I tossed it away, stepping into the ring.
Cheers rang out for my opponent, Sacha, and he raised his sword high, spinning in a circle, accepting their cheers as though he’d already won.
I hid my smile. Arrogant he may be, but I liked this fucker.
‘First blood, Your Highness?’ The crowd crowed at the prospect of spilling my regal blood, and my heart skipped. But I wouldn’t back away. I rolled my shoulders, bounced on my toes and stretched my arms before inclining my chin.
A rebel grunted, throwing a sword towards me. It slipped through my fingers, the rebels hollering as my cheeks burned and I fumbled for the right grip.
Sacha stretched his long neck, gripped his sword tightly and beckoned me forward.
Blowing the irritating strands of dark hair from my eyes, I stumbled forward, holding the sword clumsily.
The slightest knock and it would tumble from my hands.
Judging by the way Sacha bit his lip, his eyes darting to my left, where my weaker leg shook, that was the plan he’d formulated.
Exhaling, I circled, my arm shaking against the weight of the sword. I glanced to where Mother had sat, an ache spiking into my chest as I noted the empty space where she’d been.
‘C’mon, Sach,’ a woman drawled from somewhere beyond, while I turned so the rising sun lay behind me. ‘Get it over with. I need a piss.’
They all laughed, Sacha included, before he dived forward.
I cursed. He was obviously keen to get this over with and catch me off guard.
His sword slammed into mine and, sure enough, I cried as it clattered to the ground.
Sacha didn’t give me a moment to lament its loss, slicing down towards my left, weaker leg.
I threw myself around his right, rolling to the ground, grabbing my sword and standing again in a heartbeat.
My sword slashed up, right through his black vest. No blood yet, though.
I allowed the smile I’d concealed to shine as Sacha spun about, anger and confusion etched onto his face, the sudden realisation he’d been played slamming him harder than my weapon.
Correcting my stance, I lunged forward, wanting a matching cut in the front of his vest, but he was quick.
Impressively so. His sword blocked mine at the last moment, rotating and forcing me away.
He swiped through, continuing his momentum and I dodged to the side, my blade flying behind me and meeting his in a vicious clash.
I grimaced as the vibrations slammed into my shoulder.
I wasn’t used to training with steel alone – as king, all my weapons were imbued with Vyrium – and I cursed my neglect of practising with a wider range of blades.
For a moment, our gazes locked. A brief flash of respect shone in his eyes before he drew back.
He was trying to get the sun behind him, blind me with a disadvantage.
My heart swelled as I noticed Mother lurking at the tree line.
She’d come to watch after all. In a single heartbeat, I was no longer a king, but a young boy, battling my siblings with wooden swords, my desperation for praise writhing with each breath.
I circled back, denying him the advantage he sought.
He’d have to force me to attack, so looking down to my sword hand, he suddenly dived the other way.
I dodged, slamming my sword into his hip, and he grunted.
When he faced me again, his blade arching towards my neck, all the respect was gone.
Only rage lurked in his dark eyes. Screaming, our blades collided.
He pushed into me, desperate for the assured advantage he’d been so certain of.
But the itch at the base of my back reminded me of my unfair, toxic advantage.
I ducked and his momentum sent him careening over me.
My back arched and I lifted, sending him hurtling to the ground.
Cries of anger and disappointment echoed around us as I allowed him a moment to gather his breath, stand again.
I revelled in the dusty sweat building on my forehead.
The welcome ache of used muscles. Sacha may be a rebel, but he was a fine opponent, and I wasn’t ready to halt this fight yet.