Cleaning duty. That is what we get for fighting.
It doesn't bother me much. With the pain I feel, I probably won't make it through the night. There are no infirmaries or doctors here. Just blood, gore and death. Even the walls have dried blood from heaven knows where.
"He could've killed you," the Prince finally speaks for the first time after he dumped me on the ground. I take back everything I said about him before. There is nothing tender about the male. Or kind. He is the cruelest man in this world and I can only pity whoever has the misfortune of getting mated to him.
I don't reply, staring off into space and counting numbers in my head until he lets me go. He let Leander go a few minutes ago. I'm not sure what he wants with me. Could be that he found out the truth, but I know that it is highly unlikely. I've been careful. I didn't even bother with a bath today—I changed my mind at the sight of countless men with and without their underclothes storming into the bathchamber. I couldn't unsee it.
"You were aiming to get yourself killed."
Slowly, my gaze lifts from the crack in the wall to him, seated behind a mahogany desk, eyes tracing every movement I make, every breath I take. "Shocker," I mutter coolly, wincing as every movement of my lips causes a painful throb in my head. "Will you punish me for that too?"
Prince Rafe doesn't respond to that, seemingly more interested in the countless papers on his desk. He holds up one and tosses it at my feet. "A letter from your father."
Breathing becomes rather hard as my gaze drops to the white envelope, bearing the family crest. In a rough scrawl, I read, "For Val."
Tears spring to my eyes and my lips begin to quiver. Heat rushes up my neck and sweat breaks on my forehead as I fight the urge to tear it open—not that I can. I can't feel my fingers. But what I do feel is the weight of the Prince's stare, watching and gauging my reaction.
With my good hand, I push the letter back. "I have no interest in this."
"You should," he says, leaning forward in his seat. "It is the last you will hear from him."
My blood freezes. A breath burns in my throat, a flicker of fear. I stare at him. "What. . .what do you mean?"
"It is protocol to run background checks on each soldier, to ensure that they aren't spies. However, upon reaching House Ironfang, they were met with a grieving party. Your father didn't make it through the night."
Horror fills my ears with roaring silence. My heart stops. My body gives. I shake my head, unable to think up anything but the word *no*.
"No," I whisper, but when my gaze meets his, I know he isn't lying.
"No," I whisper again, more to myself.
Prince Rafe's dark gaze devours me and he leans back in his chair, expression stone cold. "I suppose that is sufficient proof if your ties with him. Get out. You wish to cry, do it outside."
Somehow, I reached my room. Somehow, I slid the bolt into place. Somehow, I got into the bedroll, ignoring Thane who stood off to the side, giving me the space I need to wail.
And I did, well into the night. There was only pain and darkness in my heart. A despair that consumed every inch of me, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake.
*********
Sweat beads down my neck as I try over and over again to hit the mark on the scarecrow at the middle of the training yard.
I had fallen asleep for all of half an hour, but I had woken up... different, with a renewed sense of... something.
Thane had healed my wounds over the night--his own way of expressing his sympathy for me. At least, he is good for something other than speaking absurd things.
Even now, he stands by me, instructing and apprehending my every move. I listen carefully, adjusting my movements to fit his instructions, all the while thinking that father's death will not go in vain. He had gotten ill fighting this stupid war that has spanned out for so long, for reasons unknown to us. We have fought for so long, we no longer remember why Ebonheart despises us so. Why their demonic Alpha King who never dies wages war on us every year.
A never ending war.
I can't die in this. If I do, mother will truly have no one.
I let her become my strength, my reason to fight back. I must return home.
"I suppose you are done cleaning."
I resist the urge to yelp as I turn to find Prince Rafe approaching. Whatever I had to say dies in my throat as...well...he is shirtless.
My mouth goes dry as I drag my gaze up his muscled torso, over the smooth panes of his chest and the rippling cords of muscles that seem to bounce with every movement.
"Y--yes," I respond, turning my attention back to the scarecrow. I feel hot...and I think he saw me staring.
I shut my head, mentally scolding myself to focus, and even Thane seems to have the same idea.
*I could show you mine, since you like his so much.*
"Shut up," I growl.
"What?"
I blink at the Prince and smile sheepishly. I am the only one who can see Thane, since he's my guardian. "It's...ah...prep talk. To get myself going," I say, gesticulating stupidly, trying to make a hit on the dummy. Thane chortles, settling by the window to watch us.
Prince Rafe looks positively surprised. He no doubt expected that I would be lost in grief or maybe I had given in to his threats and gone to kill myself. I turn my focus to the dummy.
Anything to distract myself from that truth. I cannot properly grieve until this is over.
However, the prince speaks again, joining me. "That is futile effort. You are rather small. Building your strength would take months. Time that we do not have. It puts you at a disadvantage. Shifting would get you killed...if you can even. You must learn to use the opponents weight and height to your advantage."
I straighten, dropping my armed hand, and the weight of the wooden sword pulls to the ground. "How do I go about that?"
He folds his arms and I resist the urge to gawk at the bunched up muscles again. He parts his lips to speak, but his nostrils flare as he sniffs. He turns, eyes of onyx narrowing. "You smell clean. Like... jasmine...roses, perhaps."
My cheeks burn, and I shift uncomfortably, like it could prevent him from sniffing me again. I'd taken a bath this morning, and I am sure I still stink of sweat, blood and soup. "No idea what you're talking about, General."
I flex my fingers, raising my sword to resume whatever gibberish I thought I was, but the Prince says again, "You heal remarkably fast for an Omega."
I jolt, raising my gaze and I find him staring at my smooth and slender fingers that are awfully feminine. I snatch them back, hiding them behind my ridiculously large trousers.
He keeps staring at me, eyes narrowed. He studies my face with an intensity that has me grasping for anything to distract him with. "Are you into men? You keep staring at me."
Prince Rafe goes still, then turns away swiftly, but not before I see his pale cheeks turn rosy. He heads to the other end of the room where his gear is and paces, visibly disturbed by my words. He turns at the last minute, teeth bared. "I will have you know that I love women. And they love me in turn."
I snort, fist lunging into the dummy with precision. "I highly doubt that."
"What might that mean?"
"Women do not like unkind men."
"And what do you know about women?"
I tilt my head in his direction, levelling him a cool stare. "A lot."
His lips kick up into a smile I find oddly nauseating. The smile of a man who knows he is charming and sexual, and is absolutely confidential in his... abilities. "Did no one teach you the basics?"
Sword grasped tightly in my hand, ready to strike, my brows furrow. "What basics?"
He laughs, crossing over to where I stand. "About women." He frowns, sticking the edge of his wooden sword into my shin. "Your form is wrong." He continues to stick his sword at me, until I right myself, and then he says, "Showing kindness is no way to tame a woman."
Before I can respond, he lunges for me, and I have a second to jump out of the way before his sword can slam into my head. Panting, I surrender a few steps back, moving in a circle with him. A dance in which I try to glean what moves he makes next, and he just smirks, waiting for me to strike. "Women are not animals to be tamed," I say, and because I am well aware that there isn't a single move I can make that'll earn me a win, I hurl the wooden sword at his head.
He doesn't expect that.
It hits him across his forehead, and because I am feeling particularly good for making one hit, I make a beeline for him, taking advantage of the surprise that has his eyes widening.
I see it too late.
It isn't until pain explodes in my stomach, knocking my flat on the ground that I realize he'd let me think I had a chance.
Gripping my stomach and writhing in pain, I stare up at him, hate brimming in my gaze. He smiles smugly, crouching over me. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were one."