Page 37 of To Bleed A Kingdom

Ajax finally speaks. “May I speak frankly, Sir?”

I nod slowly.

He squares his shoulders. “I have reported this type of behavior before. Multiple times. Yet, the guards have never been reprimanded.” He shrugs. “I assumed this was acceptable behavior.”

Surprised, I straighten. Breaths ripping from my lungs and my heart thumping against my chest, I feel the surge of blood rushing to my head and my temples begin to throb.

Ajax pays no mind to my reaction and continues without pause. “As for allowing such a perversion to take place within my presence? I don’t. I was ready to step in when the women handled it themselves.” He chuckles. “And they did so beautifully.”

Sucking on my teeth, I plop down in my chair, rubbing at the scruff along my jaw. Disinclined to admit my ignorance, but acknowledging to myself the fae deserves the truth, I bite out, “I haven’t received any of your reports.”

He snorts. “Figures.”

Opening a drawer, I pull out a few sheets of parchment and slide them across the desk. “I need you to write down every instance a guard's conduct was abusive, as well as the names of those who sanctioned these activities.”

Ajax shuffles forward to the edge of his seat. “Of course.” Grabbing a quill, he dips it into the inkpot and begins to write.

Mind cycling from one thought to the next, I drop my head back on the chair and allow the scratching of quill meeting parchment to clear my thoughts and, hopefully, quell my anger. Or at least lessen it.

I’ve always been what others might say overly aggressive, quick to anger. My mother says it comes from my human half, while Aurora believes it's from all the fire in my blood. They're both wrong. It's a Gods Blessing. Necessary tools bestowed by the gods themselves to a child who was destined since conception to be despised. Armor forged from anger gave me the strength to emotionally survive in a world inhospitable for a half-breed bastard such as myself, and aggression gave me the power to dominate those who refuse to accept me as I am. Strength and power are the only deterrents in this world, and mine is unparalleled.

In more ways than one.

Opening my eyes to half mast, I find Ajax still scribbling away. Reaching forward, I grasp the file I was reading before his arrival and flip it open, scanning past the charcoal drawing of Ajax’s likeness until I reach his test scores.

Magics: Highly Gifted

Sword work: Exceptionally Gifted

Hand to Hand Combat: Exceptionally Gifted

Archery: Moderately Gifted

Blade Combat: Exceptionally Gifted

Analytical Thinking: Profoundly Gifted

His scores take me by surprise. Very few immortals have ever tested as well as him, and never has a fae. He even received the best possible score in Analytical Thinking. Besides myself, the only other person alive to have received it is Griffin.

He should've been promoted ages ago. Why wasn't I notified of this?

Scanning the rest of his file, I see he’s requested to be transferred on multiple occasions due to altercations between him and other guards but was denied each time. Dropping my gaze further down the parchment, I grind my teeth when I discover the number of times he’s been sent to the whipping post as punishment. In several of those instances, he received more than ten lashes. I've rarely issued such a severe punishment, typically assigning no more than five lashes at a time, yet he’s received double that on multiple occasions.

The crisscrossed scars slashed across my back twinge in remembrance of my own floggings. I roll my shoulders, searching for the name of the superior officer who signed off on these reports.

Lieutenant Jareth.

A growl rumbles through my chest at the sight of his name. Although I can’t say I’m surprised.

“Here,” Ajax says, his arm extended with the completed report.

With a growing suspicion, I snatch it out of his hand and skim through its contents, searching for the names of the commanding guards with whom he filed his reports. I bite out a curse when my suspicions are confirmed.

All under Jareth’s command.

My stomach flips onto itself as I wade deeper into his statement, churning faster and faster as I learn of occasion after occasion of the guards’ mistreatment of our people until it's nothing but a wild, acidic roil. Feeling bile rise in the back of my throat, I swallow convulsively but force myself to continue, to read every depraved act in which my guards participated. To channel my disgust into a white-hot rage, blistering my lungs and scorching my veins. Reading the last incident, my fury peaks and my palms burst into flames at Ajax’s retelling of Jareth torturing a child. A human child. Even immortals and fae who despise humans would never torture someone so young.

Tossing the report onto the desk before it can ignite, I grip the arms of my chair and attempt to restrain myself from hunting down each and every culprit Ajax listed. But then an image flashes before my eyes. A glassy eyed, screaming Lena struggling to fight off my guards.

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