Page 12 of A Kingdom of Death & Darkness
He pauses, his eyes tracing my face, and just when I think he’s going to snap back at me, his shoulders settle again. “I understand.”
“You do?” I ask, blinking in surprise.
His chin tips down into a nod. “I am King, Crymson. You think princes are given much choice in the matter?” He reaches down to one of the pulsating flowers and strokes a finger against a petal. It closes up at his touch. “Regardless, right now, I’m unable to change the outcome. I’d appreciate it if we could... get along for the time being.”
I purse my lips, considering his words. “Seven needs more blankets. It’s freezing in that room he’s in.”
His lips tick up in amusement, as if the thought of a vampire being cold is the silliest thing he’s ever heard. Which, I suppose, it might be. “Done,” he says despite his amusement. “I’ll have more blankets brought in.”
It throws me off guard how accommodating he is. It really makes it difficult to hate the bastard.
Sighing, we continue our stroll through the gardens and past the castle. We walk through scenery that takes my breath away but that I can’t really fully enjoy when it all feels temporary. I don’t know where we go from here, where I go. I definitely don’t know where I belong anymore. Glittering waterfalls trail along a pathway built right through the middle of the water, making the atmosphere feel downright romantic. It’s like a fairy tale. I’m walking through a beautiful river beside a Fae King with wings like midnight and eyes like icy fire. That same Fae King keeps looking at me as if he’s really interested in what I’m thinking about, as if he cares how I feel.
My annoyance with him eases just a little. Not enough for me not to act out, but enough for me not to snap at every sentence he blesses me with.
Eventually, we find ourselves back in the training grounds. They’re empty today, all the soldiers off doing whatever it is that soldiers do when there’s no actual battle going on. It’s strange to be standing in a place meant to be full of busy people while it’s empty. It’s even stranger to be standing here with a man like Thorn.
“What are we doing here?” I ask, looking around.
“Have you trained?” he asks curiously, reaching for a staff against the wall.
“Trained for what? CPR? Cake decorating? Accounting?” I ask, gesturing down at myself. “Anything I might have trained for in my world would be useless here against the likes of you or the vampires.”
He tosses the staff to me through the air, and I only barely catch it before it conks me in the head. “Then you should train.”
“Against you?” I ask when he grabs another staff from a rack of well-organized little sticks on the wall. “No, thanks. I’m not looking to die.”
“What makes you think I’m a good fighter?” he asks.
“Seriously?” I deadpan. “You’retheKing. There’re muscles on your abs I didn’t even know existed in men.What makes you think I’m a good fighter?” I mock in a little annoying girl voice. “Fucking look at you!”
His eyes simmer with something I can’t quite make out before he releases a slow smirk and comes forward, his staff cradled in his hands. “Hit me, Crymson.”
Wow. I probably shouldn’t have felt a pang of excitement at that request, should I?
“Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “If I wanted to be humiliated, I’d do something less silly.”
His staff snaps out and smacks across my right thigh. A spreading burn of pain sears through my flesh. I leap back, howling at the sharp sting of it. “What the fuck!?” I snarl.
“Hit me,” he commands again casually.
“Anyone ever told you that you’re a fucking prick?” I spit, gripping my staff tighter.
He grins, and it lights up his entire features. It’s fucking beautiful, and that only pisses me off more. “Not to my face.”
“Fucking shame,” I snarl as he swings the staff again. I only barely block it with my own and mostly on accident. When I said what did training matter, I meant I haven’t done anything at all. Self-defense classes cost money, money I never had growing up. Any training I had was learned the hard way on the streets with only my bloody fists and my teeth.
“Hit me,” he repeats like a broken fucking record.
“You want me to hit you?” I snarl.
“That’s what I said,” he chuckles.
“Fine!” I growl and swing the staff. One second, he’s there about to be hit square in his pretty face. The next, he’s three steps away, out of reach. “You fucking cheater!” I say.
“You think a vampire will play fair?” he asks seriously, and I hate that he’s right.
I swing again and again, but he’s never fucking there. He’s always gone before I can connect, and my anger gets the best of me. I know without a doubt that being angry in a fight is a weakness. I’ve watched people get their asses whooped because their anger made them sloppy. As my own anger swells and my chest tightens, I can’t control it.
