Page 103 of Forcing Fate

“You’re mine, got it?” He glared, crossing his arms.

“I belong to the King, General Rafe,” I bit out. My heart slammed into my ribs, but I lifted my chin. I could defend myself.

“No,” he said, closing the distance between us, “you belong to me. You joined the King’s army, and I’m the head.”

“One of four,” I replied, speaking of the three other Generals that led the King’s army. My insides trembled as he took a step closer. I craned my head to peer up at him.

“There’s only one General here. You obey me.”

His deep voice sent shivers down my spine, and I tried to steel myself against his presence. As long as I didn’t disobey him, he had no reason to hurt me. I opened my mouth, and he shook his head.

“Defend yourself!” he snapped, lunging for my arm.

I jumped back, thrashing against his hold as he latched onto me. With a squeak of protest, I dropped my weight, struggling to pull my arms out of his grasp. He chuckled, swinging a leg behind my knees, and released me. I grunted as my back slammed onto the dirt path and glared up at him.

“Those blades are useless without training. When you’re ready, seek me out and I’ll teach you,” he said, his eye glinting with mischief as he stalked off.

I mentally cursed him and stood, brushing off my trousers. I checked my blades to be sure they were still sheathed and glared at the few men that chuckled at me.

“I’ll never have you teach me anything,” I muttered as I headed to the bunkhouse.

Chapter Twenty-Three

That night, I made use of my new blades.

The door rattled not long after ‘lights out’. Even though I was ready for them, my stomach roiled with dread. Faint light trickled in from the crack as the door rammed into the cot.

Pale fingers curled around the wood.

“Go away!” I hissed.

Someone shoved against the door with a grunt. Their hushed whispers drifted from the other side, but I couldn’t make them out.

“This is your last warning!” I growled through a tight throat, but somehow managed to keep my voice steady.

I gripped my bandit breaker. The handle felt warm and snug in my grasp, almost as if it was made for me—for this task.

“Come now, kitten.”

Victyr.

Bile crept up my throat. He reached inside, far enough that his wrist breached the door, grasping for the cot’s frame. My heart raced, thumping hard enough to bruise my ribs. Darkness spun around me as fear flooded my veins. I slid closer to that exploring hand, with its long fingers groping the air. I took a deep, steadying breath, clutching the blade’s hilt.

His reach hovered right above the frame. If he moved the cot, they would storm into my room. They would attack me—hurt me.

I had to hurt them first.

I slashed the bandit breaker in a sloppy arc, catching his palm. His shrill cry cut short as he jerked his hand from the doorway. I leapt forward, slamming it closed. Crawling to press my ear against the door, I heard quiet curses and hurried footsteps receding from my room.

“Oi! Keep it down, or it will be latrine duty for the lot of us!” Another soldier growled from nearby.

I forced my heaving breaths to slow, listening for anyone else. I pressed my lips together, hoping that was the only slicing I’d need to do to deter them. Victyr had it out for me, and that he would be so bold to attack me in a crowded bunkhouse made me anxious.

I eased away from the door and wiped my blade on the corner of my blanket, mindful of the sharp edge. Only a few chimes had passed, and it had already been worth the gold I paid. Sheathing it, I laid back on my cot, clutching it to my chest. I dozed in and out of sleep throughout the night. It wasn’t a good sleep, but it was far better than the night before.

The days passed, and they placed Darrak and I in a company under Commander Dewal. Every morning we rose to Sergeant Briggs’ bellowing and followed an easy routine throughout the day. Well, the routine was easy to remember—the training itself was brutal.

Every day left me feeling more inadequate. I was so small and weak. No matter how hard I tried, I simply couldn’t compete. The men were all bigger and, by the principle of gender, stronger than I was. Even the gangly young men, barely old enough to grow facial hair, seemed stronger than I. Even Victyr, with his bandaged hand, fared better than me. I applied myself nonetheless. This wasn’t meant to be easy. The Shadows wouldn’t grant me leniency simply because I was a woman.

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