She’s here.
Kitt was howling with laughter when he discovered exactly who Paedyn Gray was, though, a flick of one of my knives shut him up real quick. But even while raising his hands in surrender, he couldn’t stop babbling about how funny the whole situation was.
And he’s right. It is laughable. The Psychic girl who unwittingly saved a prince she clearly couldn’t care less about is now rewarded for it by being forced into Trials that could kill her.
And now she’s sitting right in front of me.
After washing my body of the sweat and blood that accompanies a long day of training and torturing, I made my way to the throne room. Soon after, Braxton shuffled in, followed by Jax who’s still bouncing with excitement.
The rest of the familiar group followed shortly after, along with a boy and girl I hadn’t recognized—the ones from the slums. The seats around the table filled up, leaving the two at the head for the king and queen and one beside me for Kitt.
But right as we all get comfortable and begin idle conversations about the same regurgitated conversations we’ve spoken of for years, something happens.
She happens.
She walks in.
Taking the seat across from me, not even glancing in my direction, she says, “So, what’s for dinner?”
She speaks confidently, even as her fingers fidget, spinning the ring on her thumb.
Interesting.
Introductions are quickly exchanged between Andy, Braxton, Jax, Sadie, Blair, and the newcomers Ace and Hera. And yet she still hasn’t even bothered to look at me.
That just won’t do.
“And I’m Kai. But you already knew that.”
That finally gets her attention. The corner of my mouth twitches with the ghost of a smile when her eyes lock with mine. Her lashes are darkened with makeup, contrasting against the bright blue of her gaze. Soft, silver waves tumble over her shoulders and into her face, and I have the sudden and annoying urge to push the strands out of her eyes, if only so I can see them better.
“Yes, unfortunately, I did already know that.” Her soft smile is in total contrast to the sharpness of her gaze.
Our eyes snap to the large doors when they groan open, my attention now fixed on Father and Mother striding through them. No, the king and queen striding through them, looking every bit the part. They glitter in the sunlight that streams from the huge windows surrounding the throne room, light reflecting off their crowns and jewels as they make their way to the table. I’m used to this formality, the king in a fine suit while the queen shimmers in an elegant dress. Father looking stern and severe, while Mother looks serene with her shining smile.
Kitt follows behind them, looking casual and yet every bit the future king. His gaze finds mine before flicking to Paedyn with a knowing smile on his lips. He takes the seat beside me as the king pulls out one of the heavy wooden chairs for his queen.
“Welcome to the sixth ever Purging Trials,” he booms down the table.
Mother sweeps a strand of black hair out of her eyes, saying, “And congratulations to all of you for making it here.”
“It is an honor to be chosen,” Father says. “An honor to your kingdom, your family, and yourself.” He repeats the words that have been drilled into my head since before I could understand them. “I suggest you spend your time wisely to prepare for the Trials. You never know what might be thrown at you.” His eyes land on me, silently and less than subtlety reminding me of my mission to win. “I would urge you to use your remaining time before the first Trial, as well as each week in between the next ones, to train.”
And to watch your opponents train.
I can almost see the unspoken words in his eyes. Knowing how your competition fights, learning how to read their movements and maneuvers, could be the difference between life and death.
“As well as practicing your dance steps!” Mother says warmly, as she’s always enjoying the balls far more than the bloodshed of the Trials.
Father smiles at his wife. It’s a genuine gesture, the kind he only gives away to her. “Enough talk of the Trials. Let’s eat.”
And with that, the procession of servants begins, all carrying steaming trays to the table. Dozens of dishes piled high with food are set before us. Seasoned turkey and heaps of beans are being shoveled onto plates. Gail herself brings out a tray of gooey sticky buns, setting them before Kitt and me to tease the two of us. I give her a quick wink as she walks away, rolling her eyes at me before bustling out of the room.
Kitt and I talk idly as we pass trays of food around, shooing away servants when they offer to serve us. I’m in the middle of piling turkey onto my plate when my eyes snag on Paedyn, sitting rigidly across from me. Her jaw is locked tight as if she’s trying her hardest not to let it fall open. Curious, I look down the table at Hera who is wearing a similar look of awe on her face. Even Ace, who seemed to be the better off of the three, can’t help but silently stare at the amount of food placed before us.
My gaze slides back to Paedyn who’s too busy blinking to bother eating. I can only imagine what is going through her head. Probably something along the lines of how disgusted she is at the amount of food we waste while she barely had enough to survive. As I look at the masked anger growing on her face, something tells me she’d rather go hungry tonight.
And that won’t do.
Just because we are competing against each other doesn’t mean I want to beat her by default due to her starving to death. So, I stab a piece of turkey with my fork, reach across the table, and plop it onto her plate.
Her eyes snap to mine, her face a cross between annoyance and shock. “Do you like beans?” I ask casually, and when she doesn’t answer, I pile them onto her plate anyway. “Well, I guess I’ll find out.”
I lean over the table, adding potatoes to the growing pile of food on her plate as I murmur, “Are you going to make me spoon-feed you too, or can you handle feeding yourself?” With that, I smile at her in a way that will undoubtedly make her want to throw her beans, and a punch, at my face.
Her eyes burn like blue flames, practically scolding me with a glare. But just as I suspected, she reluctantly picks up her fork and shoves some beans into her mouth with her gaze pinned on me. I lean back in my chair, grinning. She could see it in my eyes that I would, in fact, spoon-feed her if she didn’t start eating, and there was no way in hell she was going to let that happen.
The next several minutes are filled with the sounds of clinking silverware and scattered conversations. Blair turns towards Kitt and me, talking about Plague knows what. In general, Kitt is a far better man than I am, and especially so when it comes to her. He talks casually while I offer my attention to the food in front of me instead.
Father’s voice suddenly cuts through the din of conversation. “So,” I look up to see he’s staring at Paedyn, intrigued, “this is the girl who saved you in the alley?”
Only after robbing me.
I can feel everyone’s eyes flick towards us, all listening in on the conversation. Paedyn gently drops her fork and stares at the king with so much intensity in her gaze that she briefly reminds me of Blair. There is a certain emotion clouding her eyes as she looks at him—an emotion she is trying to hide. I don’t have time to try and decipher it before she schools her features into neutrality with the blink of an eye.
“Yes, I did save his life. Isn’t that right, Your Highness?” She turns her attention toward me, her smile turning into a challenge.
“So you do know my title after all.” Sarcasm coats my words while a smile toys at the corners of my lips. “You know, I wasn’t sure. Because back in the alley you were calling me something very, very different.”
Her smile is all teeth. “I’m sure whatever I called you was warranted.” A pause. “And accurate.” A smile. “And deserved.”
Cocky bastard.
Her eyes, her smile, her tone—all of her screams the two words. Screams the title she’s bestowed upon me.
“And what was your title, again? The Silver Savior?” I huff out a quiet laugh. “Fitting. I know how much you love silvers.”
Paedyn’s cool smile falters at the meaning behind my words.
She’s annoyed. I’m amused.
Mother’s feelings clearly mirror Paedyn’s, because she shoots me a look before saying, “Thank you, Paedyn, for helping Kai. It did not go unnoticed by us, or the people, seeing that they wanted you in the Trials.” Paedyn dips her head and smiles softly at her, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
At the sound of my father’s voice, her smile wavers. “I must say, I’ve never met a Psychic before.” He looks at her curiously. “Your powers are…intriguing.”
Paedyn relaxes and laughs lightly. “Yes, well, my father said it’s a rare, yet small gift that not many Mundanes possess. I suppose the most useful part of my ability is that I’m not affected by the Silencers, as well as your son, it seems.” A strand of silver hair falls into her eyes, and she tucks it behind her ear absentmindedly as the rest of the table returns to their previous conversations, apparently bored with listening in on this one.
“Ah, yes, your father. Adam Gray was a great Healer. A very educated man,” Father says thoughtfully.
Paedyn goes rigid in her seat. “You,” she clears her throat, “you knew my father?”
“Yes, I did. He would come to the palace during fever season to help our own court physicians when there were too many patients to attend to.”
Paedyn nods. “Yes, I remember him doing that every winter.”
Their conversation is cut short when the servants pour back into the room to clear the dishes. They weave around the table, grabbing plates and silverware before disappearing back into the hallway, leaving a spotless table in their wake.
Father and Mother stand as one. “Get some rest, Elites. Your training begins tomorrow.” With the king’s final words, they turn and stroll out the grand doors.
A beat of silence passes before chairs are scraping on the marble floor, and everyone is standing to their feet. Three Imperials are heading towards the new Elites, ready to escort them back to their rooms.
I watch as a young, redheaded guard saunters up to Paedyn with a grin. And suddenly, I’m stepping between them before I can stop myself. “I’ll take it from here.”
He looks at me, confused. “Sir, I am to escort—”
“I’m aware. And I’m perfectly capable of making sure she gets to her room, don’t you agree?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” And with that, he tips his head towards Paedyn before striding from the room.
I glance at her myself, the look of confusion on her face mirroring the boy’s. And then I turn and stroll out the doors, not waiting for her to catch up. She huffs before the quick click of her heeled boots begins echoing behind me.
“Why the sudden urge to be a gentleman?” she calls dryly from behind. I stop and spin on my heel, watching her as she walks towards me, my gaze briefly flicking over her.
“Don’t get used to it,” I say with a quick smirk. “My room just happens to be across from yours, so I might as well be a gentleman just this once.”
I shove my hands into my pockets as we begin walking again, this time with her at my side. “And why would a prince be staying in the contestant’s wing of the palace?”
“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, I too, am a contestant in the Trials.”
She huffs out a humorless laugh. “Yes, I have happened to notice. But I thought the prince was supposed to have some grand room stocked full of servants who wait on him hand and foot?” Her question is accusing, lovely words laced with venom.
“Oh, don’t worry, I have one of those too,” I reply coolly, hearing her scoff beside me. She’s only partially right. I do have a grand room, though I refuse to let servants wait on me. “All the contestants are to have the same living conditions before and during the Trials. That way, no one can accuse anyone else of being favored or having the upper hand.”
We stop outside her room where she turns to face me fully. She looks like she might laugh again, but when she speaks, her words are bitter. “Just because we are all staying in similar rooms, doesn’t mean others don’t have the upper hand.”
I’m quiet as I consider her for a moment. If I were a Mundane thrown into the Trials, pitted against some of the strongest abilities Elites can have, I don’t doubt I would feel any differently. Her power isn’t something she can wield as a weapon like the rest of us. She’s forced to rely on her own strength rather than the strength of an ability.
I suddenly think of how she fought the Silencer, so skilled and so sure of herself. Perhaps she has a better chance of surviving these games than she gives herself credit for.
I watch her gaze trail over my shoulder to the door I’m currently blocking. She opens her mouth to say something, drawing my attention to the healing split in her bottom lip.
On an impulse I couldn’t seem to ignore, my fingers catch her chin and lift her face up towards mine. She’s too stunned to move, and I take advantage of it. “I would have thought you could avoid a direct hit like this. Guess you’re not as skilled of a fighter as I thought.” I shrug and tilt her head towards the light, casually examining the angry cut in her lip.
Oh, but she’s no longer standing there stunned, still, and silent.
In one swift movement, she grabs my wrist from under her chin and twists it outward with a jerk, sending a shooting pain up my arm. Then she’s gripping my shirt and shoving me against the wall. Her free hand finds the dagger strapped to my hip and slips it out, settling the sharp blade against my throat.
“Would you like to find out just how skilled of a fighter I am?” She looks up at me coolly, amusement dancing in her eyes at the situation I’m currently in. She loves the sight of the prince pinned against a wall. And not just any prince: the future Enforcer.
I lean against the cool stone, laughing darkly as I slip my hands casually into my pockets. That only has her pressing the blade harder against my throat, threatening to draw blood.
Vicious, little thing, isn’t she?
“Careful, Highness. I wouldn’t want to spill royal blood.” She’s mocking me and it’s an adorable attempt.
I lean towards her, letting the sharp steel of my own blade bite into my throat, drawing a thin line of hot blood. “Careful, darling. You forget that spilling blood is what I do best.”
We stare at each other.
She’s eying me with an expression I can’t quite read, but she recovers quickly, diverting the conversation with ease. “One of your Imperials did this to me.” She uncurls her fist from my shirt and gestures to her lip. “Speaking of, did you ever ask him about me? I’m sure he had much to say.”
I had, and he did. After speaking with each Imperial assigned to the morning rotation, one mentioned his recent encounter with the Psychic. The man’s disdain for Paedyn was more than obvious as he recapped what she had sensed from him.
And yet, he failed to mention how he’d hit her.
Perhaps I’ll relieve him of one of his hands, so he never has the opportunity to lay it on a woman again.
“I spoke with him, yes,” I say quietly. “Though it seems we may be having another conversation in the near future.” Her eyes flick over my face, making me feel abnormally and annoyingly anxious under her gaze. I clear my throat and look down towards the knife she still holds steadily against my neck. “I thought we established that you do know who I am, correct?” The corner of my lips twists upward as I say it, remembering our encounter in the alley. When I had her pinned against a wall.
“I do,” she says, so close to me now that I can study all the different shades of blue in her eyes. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. A cocky bastard?”
I laugh, only making the dagger sink farther into my flesh.
“Besides, it doesn’t matter who you are.” Her gaze drops to the floor briefly before fixing it back on me. “We are competing against each other now. No favoritism, remember? You said so yourself.”
Fine. I’ll play along.
I slip a hand from my pocket and reach around her back, slowly, holding her gaze all the while. She looks at me, confusion written all over her face, though her hold on the knife is firm. She and I both know she won’t actually slit my throat, so I’m not the least bit worried as I continue to wrap my arm behind her until my fingers brush against the cold handle of a dagger tucked into the band of her pants.
I knew it was there, saw the sun glint off the silver hilt when she stood from the dinner table, turning her back to me.
Smiling down at her, I slide out the dagger slowly, my fingers briefly brushing against her lower back. I think I hear the faintest gasp slip past her lips as I press her own knife to her throat, mirroring what she’s doing to me.
“You’re right. We are competing against each other now.” I laugh softly. “Guess I better start trying then.”
We watch each other for a long moment. Her gaze is unwavering, reminding me of the still ocean, the calm before the storm. “Mark my words, prince, I will be your undoing.”
I lean in, ignoring the knife against my throat as murmur, “Oh, darling, I look forward to it.”
Far too much time passes.
And then—
Slowly, surprisingly, she drops the knife from my throat.
I too lower my—her—dagger and place it in her expectant, outstretched hand. She moves to pull away, to leave me and this conversation, but I catch her wrist. She stills at my touch, and my eyes lock with hers as I guide her hand, and the knife clutched within it, to my chest. The blade lined with my own blood meets the fabric of my shirt, and her knuckles brush my chest as I wipe her dagger clean.
“So much for not spilling royal blood,” I sigh.
She exhales slowly. “It was going to happen sooner or later.”
“So, I should get used to this?”
“You should expect this.”
I smile. “Then I look forward to our next encounter.”
I wink and she rolls her eyes before slipping my dagger back into its sheath and returning her own into the band of her pants. And then she’s brushing past my arm and heading for her door.
“Always a pleasure,” I say, striding to my own room across the hall.
“Unfortunately, I’m afraid I can’t say the same.” I see the flash of a grin before she steps into her room, swinging the door shut behind her.
As soon as I’m on the other side of my own door, I’m pacing around the room that just so happens to be right across from hers. My fingers stray to my neck, feeling the sticky warmth of my blood there.
This girl might be the death of me. Literally.
