Page 31 of Vicious Princess
My opponent jerks her chin at me with a cocky smirk. “I’m Bloom. Let’s see what you got, princess.”
I open my mouth to protest the royalty claims, but Daegel’s voice booms around us.
“Engage in a fight with your opponent until first blood is drawn or you hear a gong. Whichever comes first,” he says. I glance over my shoulder to see him pace behind us with his hands clasped behind his back. Everything about him in this moment is tough, from the strong line of his shoulders to the tight set of his jaw. “After, you switch to the opponent on your left and fight again. You may use everything at your disposal to help you win.”
I scoff internally. How much shit they give me for the barbarian ways of training Decarios in Wetra, and yet, here we fight here until first blood like savages.
A whistle pierces the air. There’s a moment of tense silence.
Then chaos erupts.
With a roar, Bloom charges at me. She’s taller and broader than me. And she has fae agility on her side. But I manage to move out of her way just in time before she levels me.
Right as I twist out of her way, I extend my leg and place my feet under hers. With a curse, she stumbles and almost kisses the stone underneath her feet.
I don’t have time to recover because she’s back on her feet in the blink of an eye. All Decarios are gifted with unnatural strength no matter our species. But we’re not equals.
When Bloom’s fist connects with my stomach, I almost hurl my breakfast on the floor. She fists the hair at the back of my neck and yanks my head backwards. I see the fist flying my way just in time to cross my forearms in an attempt to block.
Baring my teeth, I hold off her punch. The back of my head burns so bad, tears spring to my eyes. I blink them away and push against Bloom. I elbow her in the side, and her grip on my hair eases enough for me to rip away from her.
For a moment, we both pause. Panting, we glare at each other. The sounds of others fighting around us only fuels my rage further.
She advances towards me, fists swinging. I don’t wait for her to approach—I throw myself at her, ducking low. She doesn’t expect me to tackle her by the waist and lift her over my shoulder.
That’s the only reason I manage to throw her on the floor, landing right on top of her. Her lungs heave from the impact, and I use the moment she’s startled to get in a few punches.
My knuckles ache and burn. But I only stop when blood pours from her nose and she taps my thigh. Breathing heavily, I rise to my feet and offer her a hand. A peace offering.
She takes it, and I help her back up on her feet. The blood is all over her face and chest. But she doesn’t give a single fuck.
“You might be a princess, but you fight like a warrior,” she says with a bloody smile.
The moment I whip my head to the side, I have my next opponent to deal with.
I have to lift my chin pretty damn high to meet the unfriendly gaze of a larger-than-life man with a bald head.
He sneers at me, purple eyes flickering with hatred I haven’t earned. “Measly little human. Let me put you back in your place.”
Yeah, this one won’t go down as easy as Bloom. I reach for the blades strapped to both my thighs and wrap my hands tight around the carved iron handles. These two were a gift from Dad for my sixteenth birthday. My favorites.
With a short exhale, I advance. This asshole might be bigger than me and stronger, but I’m?—
He grabs me by the throat, his grip ironclad. I choke and let out a strangled sound when he raises his arm and my feet leave the ground.
One blade slips from my fingers, clattering to the floor. When my opponent doesn’t let go of me and black spots start to appear at the edges of my vision, I panic.
He’s trying to kill me.
A new wave of adrenaline surges through my veins. I kick my feet at his stomach, to no avail. His abs are hard as a rock. The second blade starts to slip from my grip, but I don’t let it fall. Holding the handle as tightly as I can, I lift my hand and slash at his exposed forearm horizontally.
I dig the dagger deep, slicing not only the vein but also the muscle. He seethes when his grip lightens, but he doesn’t let go.
“Not one to obey the rules, I see,” I croak.
With a free hand, I grab his forearm and dig my fingers into his open wound as hard as I can. That finally gets him to let go of me.
I land back on the ground with no grace. I’m too lightheaded from the lack of oxygen to catch myself, so I land on my knees. Panting, I rub my neck. Tomorrow, there’ll be a bruise.
