Blood clings to my hands, my clothes, staining everything a sickening red. Torturing tends to be a messy occupation, and despite how many years of practice I’ve had, it never seems to get any easier. Or cleaner.
Unlike Kitt, who has been trained since childhood to be poised, just, and kingly, my training has consisted of more hands-on work. Battle strategies, assassinations, and the art of torture made up much of my education. And due to this unique and extensive training I’ve received, I am very good at what I do.
Except, it seems, when it comes to the Silencer cowering on the dungeon floor before me. It’s been days. I’ve beaten this man to a bloody pulp, and what have I learned in return?
Nothing.
To say that I’m pissed would be an understatement. The only useful word I’ve gotten him to slip past his lips, besides the splitting screams and pleas, is what I’m assuming is his name.
Micah.
I sigh, crouching down to hover over his broken, bloody body. His long hair, matted with blood, falls into his deep brown eyes. They widen when they meet mine, making him look so young. He can’t be more than a few years my senior.
“Now, correct me if I’m wrong,” I say, deceptively soft, “but I don’t believe you’re mute.” I grab his jaw and pry it open to reveal the blood pooling in his mouth, over his tongue, staining his teeth scarlet. “But I could easily make that happen. I could carve out your tongue.”
I drop his head to the stone floor and stand to leave, aware that I’m already late for dinner. Slamming the door to the cell behind me, I offer Damion a curt nod. He gives me a slow bow of his head in return before following me down the long hallway of cells.
Our footsteps echo off the stone walls as we make our way up the stairs and into the bright, sun-filled hallway above the dungeons. I deftly head to the throne room even while my mind wanders.
The Trials are quickly approaching with only four days separating us from the first deadly game. These past few days have followed the same routine of training, eating, talking, and torturing. And well, toying with Paedyn. She’s been my main source of entertainment as of late. She’s entertaining. With her wit and stubbornness and obvious annoyance with me—
Stop.
I push thoughts of Paedyn from my mind as I stride through the large doors of the throne room. My hands find their way to my pockets, casual despite how very aware I am that my navy shirt splotched with blood does not quite fit the dress code for dinner.
The servants have already brought food to the table, which everyone sitting around it is greedily enjoying. Heads turn when they hear my shoes on the polished floor, several pairs of eyes flicking from my face to the blood clinging onto my clothes. I ignore their stares, seeing that I was too tired to change and too hungry to care.
“Ah, Kai. Glad you could make it.” Father sounds peeved, per usual, as I take my seat.
“Honey,” Mother says quietly, leaning towards me, “you look a little…well, bloody.” She cringes as her eyes roam over me, assessing her son.
“Occupational hazard, Mother.” I give her a small smile, the sweet one I reserve for only her. She nods hesitantly before trying to relax back into her chair.
I barely listen to the quiet chatter carrying on around me. I’m finishing the last of my beans when an incessant tapping has me looking up.
Strands of Paedyn’s silver hair fall around her face in loose curls, the rest of it tied back into a messy knot at the nape of her neck. Her eyes are pinned to her plate, her thumb and silver ring tapping a steady beat against the wooden table.
And then those ocean eyes slide up to mine.
I tip my head towards her drumming thumb. “Is there something on your mind, Gray?”
She looks me over as if noticing my presence for the first time. “Is there something on your shirt, Azer?” Her eyes skim over my clothes before widening slightly. “Is that…blood?”
I’m sure I imagine the flash of worry on her face, the look of concern when she thinks it may be my own blood staining the shirt. “Careful, darling. You almost look as if you care.” I give her a lazy smile, and she gives me a lazy eye roll.
My gaze snaps to Mother when her gentle voice cuts through my thoughts. “I hope you all have begun pairing up for the first ball!”
I glance around the table. Only the three who haven’t previously lived in the castle look slightly confused. Hera, Ace, and Paedyn haven’t grown up watching these balls, haven’t even been to a ball. I envy them.
“As is tradition,” Mother continues, “the contestants will partner up for the balls that are held before each Trial. And since there is an odd number of you, whoever does not have a partner will be paired with someone, don’t worry.” Her smile somehow grows wider as she says, “So choose your date and get practicing your dance steps.”
Kitt shifts beside me, and I see him quickly glance in Paedyn’s direction. I run a hand through my hair before turning my attention back on my food, needing to focus on something.
Since the girls outnumber the boys, it’s likely that Kitt will be paired with whoever doesn’t have a partner. But that won’t stop him from asking one of them if he wishes to.
It’s clear that Paedyn intrigues him. But even if Kitt wasn’t going to ask Paedyn to accompany him to the ball, which I don’t doubt he will, she doesn’t want me.
I like a challenge.
But she’s made it abundantly clear on what she wishes us to be: competition.
Enemies.
And more importantly, why isn’t that what I want as well?
I wake the next morning, drenched in sweat.
This isn’t uncommon, not with the nightmares that tend to haunt my sleep. But today is different. Today it is bloody boiling outside. It’s only dawn, and my room is already sticky with humidity.
I roll out of bed and make my way to the bathroom where I splash cool water over my already damp face. It doesn’t take me long to get ready, begrudgingly pulling on a white cotton shirt before slipping out the door and—
And there she is.
She steps out of her room with her head down, quietly shutting the door before looking up and practically jumping at the sight of me.
“Plagues, Kai, don’t scare me like that!”
I blink.
It’s the first time she’s called me by my name, and I realize then that I could get used to the sound of it rolling off her tongue. She seems to notice what she’s said and clears her throat before beginning to walk down the hallway.
“Aren’t you up early for a prince?” she calls over her shoulder. “What, no breakfast in bed?” I catch up to her easily, taking about three strides before I’m walking beside her.
“If you’re not getting breakfast in bed, neither am I. I’m just a regular contestant, remember? No longer a charming prince for the time being.”
“You were never that to begin with.”
I chuckle as we turn the corner, spotting the kitchen looming just ahead. The smell of biscuits and eggs wafting from within is enough to make me change course.
“So—” Paedyn begins, probably the start of some snide comment that I’ll never get the pleasure of hearing because I grab her wrist and tug her towards the kitchen doors. I’m sure she is just as hungry as I am, and breakfast won’t be served for nearly another hour.
I’m doing us both a favor.
Apparently, Paedyn doesn’t share my sentiment. Her feet dig into the floor at the threshold of the kitchen doors, eyes darting between mine. “What are you—” she starts, giving me that murderous look I’ve already grown so familiar with.
“Shh.” I press my finger to her lips lightly and the words die in her throat. “I suppose my job will forever be feeding you now, hmm, Gray?”
Her flustered expression has me laughing quietly before I hear the scuff of shoes, reluctantly drawing my gaze from her wide-eyed one. We’ve drawn quite the crowd. Several servants stand staring at us, taking in the scene before them. But they scuttle away swiftly, snickering as they try to make themselves look busy.
“Hello, ladies,” I call, looking around the room at the blushing servants. “I’ve brought a far more interesting guest today than Kitt.” I place a gentle hand on the small of Paedyn’s back, prodding her forward.
It’s a question, a tentative test, an innocent inquiry.
Is this okay?
I briefly wonder if she’s considering breaking my wrist, maybe contemplating placing a dagger to my throat—
And then she relaxes, easing into my touch.
An answer to my question without uttering a word.
Yes.
I guide her towards the center of the kitchen where I’ve spotted Gail, currently hunched over the stove. “Morning Gail.” She spins around, her face lighting up when she sees me. “You look lovely as always.” My mouth quirks as I hop up onto the counter and sit beside where she flips crispy pieces of bacon over the stove.
“You’re such a kiss-ass, Kai,” she teases, lightly whipping a towel in my direction. Her eyes land on Paedyn and she straightens, nodding curtly. “Ah, Miss Paedyn. A pleasure.”
“Please,” Paedyn sighs with a small smile, “No miss. Just Paedyn.”
I can practically see Gail relax, probably thanking the Plague that formalities aren’t needed. “Now, what is a sweet girl like you doing hanging around riffraff like him?” Gail jabs a thumb in my direction while I snatch a strip of bacon from the pan behind her turned back.
I let out a low laugh. “Oh, sweet isn’t the word I would use to describe her, Gail. She held a knife to my throat only a few days ago.”
“He deserved it,” Paedyn says simply, shrugging slightly.
“Oh, I’m sure he did,” Gail replies, grinning at her. “I probably would have done the same.” She glances at me, nodding towards Paedyn. “I like this one.”
Paedyn tips her head back and laughs. My body goes still as I listen to the sound of it fill the kitchen. So warm, so bright. Then, too quickly, she collects herself, clears her throat, and turns towards me. “So, you and Kitt are close with Gail?”
My head tilts to the side as I peer down at her, my eyes never straying from hers as I say, “Inseparable, aren’t we Gail?”
A loud snort escapes the cook. “Inseparable indeed. The princes won’t leave me alone.” Her eyes sparkle with pride when they meet mine. “I’m the only reason the two of them aren’t stick-thin.”
“Ah, yes,” I sigh, “we have Gail’s sticky buns to thank for fattening us up.”
After Gail gladly informed Paedyn of some rather embarrassing stories from my childhood, we talk casually, a regular routine for the cook and me. I ask about her son, stationed as a guard near the Scorches, all while sneaking bits of food as she swats at my hands. My gaze snags on Paedyn from where she watches me curiously, as though trying to puzzle me out.
Funny, normally I’m the one giving her that look.
I jump off the counter and give Gail a peck on the cheek. “Don’t miss me too much.”
Then I turn towards Paedyn who’s leaning casually against the counter, a small smile tugging at her lips. I take a slow step towards her. Her head tips up to look me in the eyes as I close the distance between us, so close I can smell the lingering scent of lavender on her skin. I reach around her back, fingers brushing her tank.
Her breath hitches and I feel my lips tug upward. When she opens her mouth to tell me off, I pull my hand back slowly, holding an apple in front of her face. “Always feeding you, remember?”
She stares at the fruit before snatching it from my hand, huffing in annoyance. And then she smiles, the dazzling action lighting up her face as she rubs the apple on my shirt, right above my heart.
She takes a bite, her eyes locked with mine. “And you said you weren’t a gentleman.”
By the time we make it to the training grounds, I’m slicked with sweat once again.
Almost in unison, several of us peel off our shirts, unable to bear the heat any longer. Kitt and I set off jogging around the grounds at an easy pace. I watch as the contestants pair off to spar or go their separate ways to train. Andy is currently in the form of a red leopard, circling several Sadies in one of the dirt training rings. Unsurprisingly, Braxton is on the ground doing push-ups while Jax occupies himself by throwing rocks as far as he can only to Blink and catch them before they hit the ground.
Finally, my traitorous eyes slide towards a flash of silver hair. She’s beating on that padded tree, per usual. She always does this. Her movements are quick, controlled, channeling an emotion I can’t place. She spins suddenly, her arm raising before I see her wrist flick. I blink and a knife sinks deep into a tree ten yards away.
Practiced. Purposeful. Precise.
But I’m not the only one watching. Kitt’s gaze is locked on her, almost curiously. I clear my throat and pick up our pace. “So, how are you feeling?”
Kitt’s head whips towards me. “At the moment? Tired.”
I laugh at that, hitting him lightly in the stomach. “Yeah, you’re getting out of shape, Kitty.”
He shoves me at the mention of his childhood nickname. “Well, I don’t exactly have a reason I need to be in shape, do I?”
Though he says this jokingly, I don’t miss the bitter edge in his voice. I sigh, already knowing what this is about. “You know why you can’t.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Like hell you don’t,” I mutter. “Kitt, you’re the next king of Ilya. We need you alive. The Trials are no place for you.”
Shit.
As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew they’d struck him like a physical blow.
“Is my own kingdom no place for me either?” His laugh holds no humor. “Hell, is anywhere outside of the castle not safe enough for the heir?”
“Kitt—”
“I know,” he cuts me off, taking a deep breath. “I know our duties are different. They always will be. I just wish mine weren’t so damn boring.” With that, he shoots me a weak smile in an effort to lighten the mood.
I watch him, waiting to see if he’ll say what we both know he wants to. Waiting to see if he’ll tell me that he feels trapped, that he feels like he’s constantly trying to prove himself, that he wishes he were in the Trials so he could do just that.
But he says nothing of the sort, his smile a silent plea to return to just being brothers and not the future king and his Enforcer.
So, for him, I force a grin onto my face. “Well, at least I can count on your vote in the Trials.”
The tension seems to melt from Kitt’s body, his smile displaying his emotions like it always has. He sighs in relief at the change in topic before saying, “Oh, I don’t know that you can count on my vote after you all but called me fat a few minutes ago, Kai Pie.”
I hate that nickname, and the asshole knows it. So, I stick out my foot, sending Ilya’s next king sprawling to the ground before he drags me with him.
We finish off our laps, dripping in sweat as the sun beats down on us. I stretch quickly before heading into the ring with Kitt. We dance around each other, using both our powers and bodies to fight. Falling into a familiar rhythm, I let myself mull over what Kitt had said, losing myself in my thoughts.
The world flips.
No. I flip.
And then I’m sprawled on my back, trying to suck air into my screaming lungs.
Dammit. Lost my focus.
“Got you on the ground, Kai.” Kitt smiles down at me. “Been a few years since that last happened, huh?” I can tell he’s about to continue gloating, so I don’t give him the chance.
My leg sweeps out, catching his ankles and sending him sprawling to the ground beside me.
“Don’t get used to it,” I say, resting my head on the ground and smiling up at the sky.
Once he catches his breath, he’s barking out a laugh. “I should have seen that coming…” he trails off as I reluctantly stand to my feet and lazily brush the dirt from my clothes before offering a hand to him.
We go our separate ways, Kitt to spar with an insisting Blair, while I head to the targets. I grab the thin knives from the rack beside me and flip one in my hand before flipping it through the air.
Weapons. Fighting. Killing.
This was what I was raised to do. This is why I’ll be the Enforcer and the one fighting in the Trials, not Kitt.
I hear the pounding of fists and quiet panting a few yards to my left, where the padded trees border the training grounds.
She’s back at it.
Once again, she’s hammering blows into the tree. Or maybe she simply never stopped in the first place. She looks frustrated, angry—sloppy. Her punches are weaker, her form far less controlled. She’s tired and her stance is suffering because of it.
I mindlessly flip a knife in my hand, shaking my head at the sky for what I’m about to do. I send my blade cutting through the air towards the target before strolling over to her, coming from behind while she continues to strike the pads. I’m standing at her back now and—
She pivots in one swift move, sending an elbow flying towards my face. I barely have enough time to dodge before gripping her arm, halting it in the air. Her head whips around, strands of silver hair sticking to her face, now slick with sweat.
My lips twitch into a smile. “You should keep practicing before you try to hit me.”
She snorts. “In case you’ve forgotten how I saved you, I know how to fight. I don’t need to try to hit you, prince.” She tugs her arm out of my grip and turns back towards the tree, intently ignoring me.
Well that just won’t do.
“With that form, you will need to try, Gray.”
“Oh, really?” I can’t tell if she’s amused or contemplating trying to hit me at this very moment. Maybe both.
“Yes, really. You’re sloppy. It’s not like you,” I state, making her scoff. Once again, she turns back to the tree and begins throwing more punches, decidedly done with our conversation. Her knuckles are red, raw, and nearly bleeding.
Why does she do this to herself?
I shake my head, already knowing the answer. Because I’ve done it before. I’ve hit pads, walls, anything until blood dripped from my fists. All to find a release for the anger, the frustration, that was pent up inside of me.
And that is exactly what Paedyn is doing.
She’s still swinging too much with her arms, rather than using her whole body as momentum. She’s typically very technical when it comes to fighting, making this especially unlike her. But she’s tired and frustrated.
And despite me knowing all this, I can’t fight the urge to toy with her.
I step even closer to her back and place my hands on her hips, twisting her body as she throws another punch. She jumps and stumbles into me, her head tipping back against my bare chest. “Stop swinging with your arms and swing with your whole body,” I say, bending my head so I’m close to her ear. She sucks in a breath when my hand sweeps over her abdomen, the whisper of my fingers dancing along her thin tank. “Engage your core, Gray.”
Her chest heaves. Then she takes a step forward, the heat of her body leaving mine. My hands are still planted on her hips when she turns her head to shoot me an irritated look.
She knows I’m right. And she hates it.
She got lazy and didn’t realize until now, too focused and frustrated to notice. The thought has me smiling down at her as she huffs, blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes before turning back towards the tree.
“Now, throw a punch,” I murmur, leaning in to add, “Correctly.”
Shockingly, she doesn’t argue, likely realizing it won’t do her any good. She squares her shoulders and bounces on the balls of her feet. Then she jabs, her fist flying towards the mat as I twist her hips in time with the punch. There’s far more momentum behind it, and I can see how much stronger she’s gotten in her short time here with consistent meals and training. When her knuckles sink into the pad, the lean muscles in her back and arms are evident.
“Much better,” I say dully, despite being impressed. After a moment that was most definitely too long, I finally drop my hands from her hips. “Now, do it on your own. Just to make sure you were paying attention.”
She stills, facing the tree.
And then there’s a flash of silver hair as she swivels around, throwing a beautiful jab at my face.
