Chapter 3 #2
The memory of it burned like acid in my veins, and fresh rage rose to the surface.
If it hadn't been for Morgana’s compulsion forbidding me from killing certain individuals in her inner court, I would have killed him.
Fortunately for me, however, her command didn’t say I couldn’t beat him within an inch of his life, which I had, again and again until he got the message.
Since that day, no child has been allowed near him. I made sure of it.
Morgana knew what had happened, heard what I had done. She promised me she would handle it, but he was still fucking here.
“There you are. Finally,” Morgana drawled. “Wellington was just telling me the first group of soldiers have arrived from Ironfell. Lana is briefing them now.”
I nodded, and she continued.
“We also got word that they had been attacked on their way here. A group of rebels ambushed them and managed to steal a supply carriage.” Morgana hissed the words, and she didn’t need to finish her thought; I already felt the command pulsing through my blood, my bones. “I need you to handle it.”
I let out a breath, trying to hide my relief at her choice of words, but Morgana’s lip curved at its edge. “Don’t disappoint me; I want to see bodies.”
Forcing a smile, I nodded again, turning for the door. Thankfully she didn’t stop me, and I waited until I was in the safety of the hallway before allowing my shoulders to slump. Drawing in a deep breath, I started to walk, her compulsion sliding through me.
Handle it. Meaning: recover the stolen weapons by any means necessary.
I want to see bodies. Meaning: proof of punishment, but that didn’t mean I had to kill them all. She also didn’t say I had to shadow there either. If I traveled by horse, they would have more time to escape. It would give the majority a chance to reach safety and lessen the inevitable bloodshed.
There would still be deaths. That much was certain, but hopefully not as many. As long as they were willing to give back the supplies they stole…which unfortunately, I doubted.
Sighing, I shadowed onto the training yard and found a large group of men and women sparring.
They were supposed to be our best soldiers, our elite sent from every village across Velra.
They were summoned here, and I knew Morgana was planning something big.
But she hadn’t told me what yet, and that made me nervous.
I watched as a group of them bickered among themselves, another pair embracing and laughing like they were old friends.
I didn’t know what that was like. Lana and I had trained privately our whole lives. We never had time to make friends, or were allowed to for that matter…others were meant to fear us, not like us.
Even older Fae, ones that had been in her armies for centuries, feared us.
She made her best men and women train us until we were better, faster, and stronger than them all.
Our power outranked theirs, and it hadn’t taken long to learn what we needed from them.
For them to see that we were dangerous. At the end of the day that was what it came down to. Power.
I strolled out of the training yard, the dusty grit crunching under my boots, and made my way towards the stables. A cool breeze, carrying the sweet perfume of unseen blossoms from the gardens, tugged playfully at my hair, whipping strands across my face.
As I passed groups of soldiers, I felt their eyes on me, though it was hardly unusual.
Everyone in the kingdom knew me, or at least knew of me.
The Viper of Velra. The one who struck without warning, mercilessly.
Lethal. Their stares and their hatred slid off me like old scars, but I had long since grown used to them.
Kindness was never meant for me, not after everything I’ve done.
Their ire was what I deserved, and I welcomed it.
Chin held high, I continued walking. I still felt eyes on me, and a prickling sensation ran down the back of my neck.
Groaning inwardly, I spun around, ready to glare or unleash my magic at whoever stared, but instead, I froze.
My gaze met that of a red-haired girl, who couldn’t have been older than myself.
Her brown eyes sparkled, matching her freckled face.
She was tall and curvy, with a cascade of wild red curls that looked untamable.
Standing at the edge of the training yard, she looked as if she were on the verge of tears, yet her face was alight with... happiness?
It had been her expression that had made me pause. Nobody was ever happy to see me.
I scanned the surrounding area, looking for the real reason for her gaze, but there was no one else around. Just me.
Strange.
“Back to training, soldier,” I barked, turning on my heel and continuing toward the stables.
I tried to dismiss the encounter, but I couldn't help glancing back.
The girl's face had fallen, pinched in confusion, her shoulders slumping, that odd sparkle vanishing from her face. I pushed away the uneasiness that crawled beneath my skin. She seemed familiar somehow, though I was certain I’d never seen her before.
Turning back around, I made my way to the stables and pushed open the large metal barn door. Could I have possibly met her in one of the villages? I occasionally supervised training and inspected other camps. Perhaps we'd spoken in passing before? Or maybe she had mistaken me for someone else?
The persistent unease lingered as I walked towards the back stall.
The scent of hay filled the air, and my gaze fell upon a magnificent white steed, her silver mane gleaming like spun metal in the light.
I always made sure not to get attached—to animals, to people, to anything.
Morgana had a knack for using affection as a weapon.
But this horse...I had grown fond of this horse.
I haven't named her, because to do so would imply I cared about her. So, when necessary, I just called her “Horse.” Horse flicked her ears as I approached, and I entered her stall, but before I could do more than pet her muzzle, I heard a creak and froze.
Who would dare follow me in here?
A long moment passed, and then a quiet whisper echoed, “Zara?” I didn't recognize the voice, and when I stepped out from the stall, I saw the red-haired girl from before standing in the middle of the stable.
Her eyes landed on me, and she made that face again—her features twisting into what I could have sworn was pure joy.