He laughs so loud it interrupts me. “Of course he would say that. Do you want to be a pretty princess that dies because she’s got no idea how to look after herself? Or you can train with me.”
I would almost suspect he is trying to make me stronger, but that makes no sense. “Why do you want to train me?”
“Because I said so. I don’t need to give you a reason.” He nods to the track just as two fae run past so fast I barely spot them. My knees already feel weak. “Seeing as you’re here, and not running away again, I assume you don’t want to follow perfect Daegan’s polished advice.”
I narrow my eyes on him. “That’s not fair. Daegan is my friend, and he is protecting me.”
He smirks. “Sure. Believe that. We’ll start with running.” He takes several backward steps towards the track. “Come on, Storm, or are you too scared to train with me?”
Straightening my shoulders, I walk to his side. He isn’t showing me up. Part of me wants to train and learn how to protect myself… I’ve never been given that chance before. I might be terrified of Ziven using this as an excuse to make sure I end up dead, but so far, he seems to be hell-bent on the law that forces me to be in his dynasty for half the week. Even if it’s pretty terrifying to train with people that have been trained since they were kids and I’ve never had a chance. “I warn you, I’m pretty clumsy.”
“Then fall. No one’s going to pick you up,” he coolly responds. “Come.” He starts running off. A slow jog, even by his standards. I quickly run to try to catch up with him. Within five minutes, sweat is pouring down the back of my neck. Within ten minutes, he picks up speed, and I’m breathing heavily, barely surviving as pain stabs at my stomach, my body threatening to give up even if my mind is not having that. We haven’t even run twice around the entire track, and I’m struggling. He looks over his shoulder at me, shaking his head once in disappointment, but he doesn’t slow down. When we get to the end of the track, I barely manage to stand up, panting and trying to make sure I’m not sick. I’m very glad I didn’t eat breakfast before coming here. Ziven stands in front of me. I stare at his dragons almost dancing around his thick forearms. “Get on the mat.”
“What?” I heave.
Ziven glowers. “That was a warm-up. Get your pretty ass on the mat, Storm.”
Several people are watching, several of them smiling, and some of them are not. Those ones look like they would prefer it if I wasn’t here. That makes two of us. I wince at my sore body as I follow Ziven onto the nearby mat. He peels off his top and I gape. Shiny, thick muscles cover his chest, rippling down into his trousers. There is a fine amount of hair on his chest, dipping to the thick V shape of his stomach. There are so many dragon markings that begin at his hands all the way up to his muscles, and I quickly lose count after ten. He must have done the Decidere a lot…maybe he is the one who did it fourteen times? There is a scar, almost like scales, across his left shoulder, and I pull my eyes away even as my cheeks burn up and my body feels like it’s on fire. “Eyes up, Storm. How have you trained before? What self-defence moves do you know?”
He thinks I know how to fight. “I don’t know what part of slave you didn’t understand, king.” I’m unable to hold the sarcasm back. “But the vampyres don’t train slaves to defend themselves. We aren’t allowed to even touch a weapon. To defend yourself is just asking to be painfully killed. I didn’t get to defend myself from shit, and I don’t know how.”
He cocks his head to the side. “Fae are good at playing the sheep when they can be the wolf.” Am I the sheep and he the wolf? He moves into a defence position. “Stand like I do.”
I know there is no point telling him no. I mimic his stance, or I try to. He shakes his head, coming to me. Ziven pats my leg to the left, and he pushes up my spine to straighten me, but I can’t think of anything but how my skin burns where he touched me. “When someone comes at you, you move. You’re fast.”
“No fae is as fast as vampyres, so what is the point?”
Ziven searches my eyes, and whatever he sees only makes him mad. “I don’t want to talk about the vampyres’ bullshit. I’m not training a vampyre, am I?” He shakes his head, looking forward. He moves to stand in front of me. “Most people, when they attack you, they go for delicate places.” He touches my throat with his finger, and my heart leaps. “I usually go for here, but you?” He touches my stomach, and the throbbing of my blood only gets worse. “Here would be better, as you are likely shorter than your enemy.” Yes, my enemy is currently towering over me. “These places, if you hit there, you’ll knock them down. But it also means if you are hit there, you are going down unless you know how to block.”
I nod, my mouth dry. I’m thankful when he finally steps away from me. “Hit me. We both know you want to.”
A bubble of laughter nearly falls out of my lips. Did he just make a joke? “I-I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” he answers, somewhat patiently. “Go for my stomach. Like I just told you. Knees if you’re feeling brave. Hit me. We certainly know you are aware of how to hit me in the balls. Don’t do that again though.”
That is a fond memory of mine. Knowing what an asshole he is, I wish I kicked harder. Ziven smirks. “Unless you’re hiding the fact that you’re extremely well trained and you know exactly how to take me down. Like a spy would do.”
I glare at him. He’s really not dropping this idea that I’m a spy sent here to kill him. He must be completely delusional. I step up to him, feeling nervous, and go to punch him straight in the stomach. He grabs my hand, twists my arm, and I go flying, flying straight onto my back. I wince as the air is completely taken out of my lungs and pain lances down my spine. Ziven stands over me, and he doesn’t offer me a hand to help me up. “Again, and faster this time. Anyone could have stopped you. You are fae, do not hold back.”
He makes being fae sound like it’s a good, powerful thing. Not a weak, terrible way to be born, like the vampyres teach.
My eyes widen. “You’ve got to be joking. That hurt.”
“And you can have a healing bath afterwards,” he snarls. “I’m not Daegan and I’m not treating you like a fucking baby. Get up, do it again. You are in my dynasty, and so far, you are making me look bad. Get up, learn, or tell me the truth about who you are.”
I have told him the truth—well, most of it. I’m not a spy and maybe he might believe me when this day is over and I’m still shit at fighting. I get up and attack him, again and again and again. He knocks me over countless times. I lose track of how many times he has me on my back until he finally seems to give up and everything in me hurts. “Training’s over. Come for breakfast.”
I watch him walk out of the room, away from the mat where I’m still lying on the floor. A hand is shoved into the air above me, and I take it, needing some help to stand. It’s the man from earlier, and he offers me a towel. “I think you did really well today.” I take the towel and wipe the sweat from my head. “Ziven is one of the best trainers, even if his methods are harsh. He trained with me as kids, and I never once beat him. I’m his second-in-command.” He shows me where to put the towel, in a basket with piles of others. “It’s good to meet you, Story. I’m Calix.”
“Nice to meet you too, Calix.” I wonder if this is the right hand man that Etena was talking about, her entwined. I vaguely remember his name mentioned. He’s very good looking, slightly shorter than Ziven and Daegan, I’d bet, and he’s thinner. Not less muscled, but slender.
He watches me, and I watch him right back as we leave the training room. Bursts of orange sunlight are shining through the trees, the beams flashing across the dragon’s stone wings through the glass window. “Breakfast will make you feel better.” I’m not sure anything is going to make my bones stop hurting unless it’s one of those baths. He is trying to be nice, so I don’t say that.
We wind our way down the steps, and it’s not empty anymore. People stop and stare at me open-mouthed after jumping out of the way of Ziven. I try to ignore them, focusing on where I’m walking so I don’t pass out on the floor. They lead me into a dining hall in the Moon Dynasty apartments, and only then does Calix leave my side. It’s nothing like the Sun Dynasty dining hall. There’s one long table, and it’s far cozier in here. Plush silver rugs line the wooden floor, dark couches are pressed into the corner, and rows of bookcases filled with ornaments and a few books line the walls. There’s a big roaring fireplace in the middle, and it feels more like a family dining room than a public place. Ziven’s sitting at the top of the table when I get the guts to look for a seat. There is a seat empty next to Ruelle, and I walk over. “Am I alright to sit here?”
She pulls the back of the seat, and the chair slides out. “Sit down. Sit down.” I take the seat, pulling the chair in and wincing. “I’m sure you’ve been beaten up enough this morning.” Everything hurts in me as I sit down in the chair, and I don’t know how my muscles are ever going to recover. No one waits before digging into the food, and I watch from the corner of my eye as Ziven makes sure Hettie has a plate full of food before he takes any for himself. The food is similar to Daegan’s, and I take two eggs, a piece of toast and a slice of melon. I eat in silence, but everyone else talks openly, and laughter fills the air. The moment breakfast is over, Ziven stands, and they all look at him. I feel completely like an intruder. Even Hettie doesn’t look at me. “Time to return to your room until lunch, Storm.”
Great, he really plans to lock me away in there. I follow him out of the room. This time, he just opens the door to my room, lets me go in before he slams it shut behind me. So, this is how my day is going to be. Trapped inside this room. Not that being alone is something I’m not used to. There were days when I was alone in the castle, weeks even, when he was away with his family. Those were the only times I felt like living was worth it back then. I glance at the windows, the sun quickly rising over the treetops as a memory comes flashing into my mind. I’m forced back into the past like it’s here permanently to haunt me, like something I can’t escape even when I did.
“This dress looks beautiful on you.” Prince Emyr strokes my bare back, over the hundreds of bite mark scars, some fresh and new, others now healed into silver scars. The bites are the one thing Kyrell can’t heal. Something about the bite is permanent, and fae magic doesn’t fully work on it. I used to care about my body, about my soul, and want to live, but that is gone. I feel empty, broken, and I don’t care anymore. He runs his hands down my arms, down the millions of bruises. He doesn’t bite my arms; he likes them smooth and scar free.
The shiny red dress is too tight, pushing my breasts up, and the lace is wrapped tightly around my ribs. The skirt flows down to the ground, and it’s ridiculously expensive. I know a fae made it, likely poured their heart and soul into this dress, and I should appreciate it, but I can’t when it’s another dress to wear in a prison of gold. He likes to dress me in silks, especially when there are bite marks all over my stomach, from how he’s spent the last three nights feasting on me like I was food after he came back from his trip. Three weeks…and for a moment, I felt safe. How delusional I was. He hasn’t done anything more to me yet, not yet, but the way his hands roam freely across my body, I know it’s not long. He’ll want more soon, that much is obvious, and it will just be another part of me he takes. Like my blood, my freedom, and no doubt my life in the end.
I’ve asked Kyrell to kill me seven times, and he always says no. If it was because he didn’t want to be killed for hurting me, I’d understand, but that isn’t his reasoning. He fully believes I’m meant to live through this and there will be a different ending for me.
Prince Emyr clips a diamond necklace around my neck, the heavy jewels tugging at me. “What is tonight?”
He looks pleased and surprised. I don’t speak to him unless I’m screaming for him to stop. “Tonight is a special party to celebrate my father gifting me Nightwell city. In a year, he will come to see my progress.” He looks away. “But that is boring vampyre business. I told everyone at court about you, and my friends want to meet you tonight. Don’t fear them, but they’re not allowed to touch or taste you. You solely belong to me.” He puts his hand on my back, a possessive gesture, and escorts me from the room. I can’t move. I feel frozen in a nightmare as we walk down the corridors and I take everything in. I barely left his room or mine in months, other than to use the bathroom and clean up. To wash the blood off me, to let Kyrell heal me and give me more tea to keep me stabilised. God knows I can’t keep the food down these days without throwing it up, and I’m thinner. Too thin, according to Kyrell.
Prince Emyr leads me straight down corridors into a massive ballroom that is busy, alive even if everyone here is cold-blooded. There are vampyres here, loads of them, and blood slaves line the walls in red dresses, waiting to be drunk from. I expect to go and stand with them, but instead the whole room stops, pauses as Prince Emyr leads me through the middle of the ballroom. They move out of the way, making a pathway to the other side, to a small red throne. They all bow, their eyes leeching over me like I’m their new dessert flavour, and I hate it. It feels like spiders crawling across my skin, wishing they could bite.
To my shock, Prince Emyr pulls me onto his lap, clicks his fingers, and they go back to talking in groups or dancing to the music played by the orchestra on the right. Their silk gowns, all reds and golds, flash in the low lights of the fires hanging from the chandeliers above. It’s beautiful and horrible all at the same time. A couple come up, bowing low, their eyes dancing across me. “Congratulations on finding a new favourite. You had the same one since you were a child. I thought you’d never get bored with her.”
“Well, she wasn’t half as tasty as this one.” He kisses my bare shoulder, and I gulp. “She was kept secret from all of us. She has delicious blood, and she is exquisite to look at. Born for a prince.” They are both staring at me with hunger. “Look at her like that again and I will rip out your fangs.” They both immediately drop their gaze. “She’s mine. She will not be touched.”
That statement doesn’t need to be shared, they heard, and it’s clear because, for the next hour, people come over, and he introduces me one after the other. They don’t dare look at me too long. Eventually, he takes me to the dance floor and dances around with me. When he is bored with that, he bites my wrist once, showing everybody my blood like a trophy. They cheer for him, and I feel like I’m in a haze, like none of it’s real, even though it is. I can’t escape.
He wanders around with me before he leaves me sitting on the throne to go off with some of his male friends. I don’t move for so long I wonder if I’m frozen, until I lick my dry lips. I need a drink. I spot a table of drinks nearby, and I barely get a few yards away before a man steps into my path. A vampyre, tall, dark hair and red fangs shining through as he speaks. “It’s lovely to meet you, Story Dehana. You look very familiar. Have I seen you before?”
