Weak.
Completely useless.
You should crawl into a hole and die.
These are not my words. They are Crown Prince Rafe's words to me as his wooden sword hits the mark on my face for the fifth time today.
I feel pain everywhere. Blood trickles down from my nose and there is an awful metallic taste in my mouth. I have two dark swollen eyes and an entire horde of werewolves laughing at me.
There are tears in my eyes but I won't let them fall. I am on my knees but I won't beg. Thane is somewhere beside me, telling me that I am the chosen one who will lead Silvermoor to victory.
I think Thane is a drunk fool.
I am pathetic and I should just run from here and let the archers shoot me dead.
"Mediocrity won't cut it here!" General Rafe's voice booms across the yard as the tip of his wooden sword raises my chin so I can meet his gaze. "You think this is hard, runt?"
Runt?
The men behind me snicker and I swallow hard, trying not to break down.
Men don't cry.
"You either fight back until your limbs no longer function—even then, you crawl with whatever part of you works, or you die. Do you wish to die?"
Men don't cry.
"No," I whisper over the pounding in my head.
"Good." He withdraws the stupid sword and tosses it aside as he rests back on his heel. "Come at me with all you've got, runt." His voice is as dead as his eyes. I hate him. I hate him so much. I hate that he isn't going easy on me. I hate that he is merciless. I hate that I have no control over my anger at everything.
A rush comes over me at the thought of hitting him. Fingers tightened into a fist, I run for him, and when I get close, I swing for him. He makes no attempt to dodge my blow. It hits him square in the face and I half expect it to hurt at least, but it is me who cries out at the impact. It jolts my entire arm and a sickening crack fills the air.
I have barely enough time to register my fingers breaking when he strikes. His fist connects with my cheek and the blow echoes through my skull. I pass out before I hit the ground.
******************
I limp into the swarmed hall, grabbing a plate from one of the many scattered across the disgusting muddy floors.
"Ay! Look who woke up in time for dinner! The Runt!" someone barks and everyone laughs at me as I try to navigate my way to the line, swaying heavily on my feet. I can barely see through my swollen eyes and I bump hard into someone.
"Watch where you step, worm."
I raise my head to meet a cruel dark eye, with the other missing. Leander Silverthorn bares his teeth at me, expecting me to cower in fear or run from him, but I'm too tired to care. I woke up in the middle of the training yard to the cruel beats of the rain, left alone to die or recover, I'm not sure. I am drenched and cold to my bones. My fingers are bent the wrong way and they hurt so much, they are now swollen and numb.
I'm going to die anyway. Why not let Leander get it over with? His arms are so large, he could crush my skull in one swing. My gaze travels to the ugly brick wall. Maybe he will splatter my head on the wall. A quick death. That seems awfully blissful to me.
I reward him with the same frosty look I gave Astraea. "You think losing one eye makes you tough? You're an insignificant rot. Do us all a favor and kill yourself so we don't have to look at you anymore."
Silence falls. Time stops. Everything stops. Even the faint sound of crickets in the distance dies. Breaths are held, conversations paused. Why? Because someone's about to die.
Someone is me.
Fingers encircle my throat, squeezing tightly as they lift me off the ground. The bowl in my hands clatter to the ground and I don't bother trying to pry his fingers off.
"Take that back," he growls, saliva sputtering from his mouth onto my face. The world seems to constrict along with his grip, making it difficult to breathe. Every gasp for air is a struggle, as if my windpipe is being crushed with an iron vice.
My feet dangles in the air and soft laughter fills the air. I am startled to find that the laughter belongs to me. A wretched, hopeless sound.
I spit in his bad eye. Salt to injury.
He tosses me across the room and I crash into the serving table. Soups, broth, and stale bread scatter across the ground. Not nearly enough, I think as my head lolls to the left, inhaling the pungent smell of the soup I am now covered in. Bets are placed on how I will die. Shouts and hoots fill that air and I feel myself get picked up and thrown across the room while Leander yells, "I will kill you!"
Get to it. Please, I want to say, but air whooshes out my lungs as my back hits a table, breaking it in half and it collapses on me.
Leander picks me up again, and when I think this might just be the hit that ends it all, HE ruins it by showing up.
"WHAT IS THIS?!" The Prince's voice thunders, a sonic shockwave that reverberates through the air, instantly arresting every motion and freezing every soul. The voice of an Alpha and a King. The ruckus comes to a screeching halt, everyone's eyes snapping towards him—even mine—bodies submitting to his domineering aura.
He makes his way across, face tight with fury as he observes the wasted food. His face grows even tighter when they land on me and Leander.
"What is the meaning of this?" he asks no one in particular, and Leander drops me, lowering his head in subservience.
"He provoked me—"
The Prince raises a hand, shutting him up. "Report to my study. The both of you." To the entire hall, he growls, "What codes did I drill into you today?"
The words sputter from my lips, even as I try to stand, and it echoes with the rest of the hall's. "United in battle, bound by brotherhood; together we rise, for none stand alone."
The tension in the air is palpable, and the atmosphere is heavy with shame. The Prince's teal eyes narrow at each of us as he says, "In the light of your disgraceful conduct, there will be no food served tonight and tomorrow. Consider it a consequence for your foolish cheers, a reminder that such idiocy will not be tolerated."
Not a single word is said to fight his order, but I can tell that I have earned a new set of enemies because of it.
The Prince tosses a look in my direction, lips tightening with disdain as he notices that I am still trying to get on my feet. "For the love of the Goddess. . ." he cusses softly under his breath and he grabs my torso.
My heartbeat spikes a thousand fold. His hands are dangerously close to my breasts. One wrong move up and he will feel them. Also. . .i have never been touched like this by a man before. It is scathing. It is hot. It is distracting.
It is in the way he smells and the way he lifts me with care, even if he thinks I am a man. His hands are more tender than they were earlier today when he knocked me out, and I hate the way it brings heat to my sticky and smelly skin.
His shoulder wedges under mine and my arm goes around his neck, fingers gripping his shoulder tightly for support as we walk side by side, exiting the hall with Leander trailing behind, eyes on my back like a target.