My eyes squint and I see the frazzled edge of Thane’s form at the edge of my vision. Groaning, I pull the thin cover over my head and drift back to sleep.
"Get up, you lackwit, or your pretty princeling will die!" he snaps.
I ignore him, weariness settling heavy in my bones. My thighs are stiff from crouching, ribs sore from being knocked into the dirt. The General had them blindfold us yesterday, ten men each to the pit with real blades. It turned dark quickly.
They said it was to teach us survival when all our senses were stripped.
But all it taught me was what death looked like.
We lost eight men. One of which had been in my group. He had soft brown eyes but by the tournament’s end, they were cold and lifeless, his skull cracked open, his blood on my sword and boots.
I couldn’t sleep. Because every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. And wondered if he died by my last pathetic strike to save my life. What feels like mere minutes ago, exhaustion had weighed down on me like a net and now, Thane is hellbent on ruining my night even further.
Maybe he does. I can’t tell, because the darkness calls to me once more, making me drool tiredly all over my pillows.
I snap awake to a roar.
It doesn’t echo in the hall outside. It doesn’t rattle the walls like it should. It detonates inside my head, sending me sprawling across the floor, gripping either sides of my head in a pained cry.
I stumble forward, a primal need propelling me out the door in a maddening dash. My body moves of its own volition screaming at me to hurry.
"Quickly," Thane rasps, voice tight with urgency.
The encampment is silent, a loud contrast to the pressure behind my eyes, the desperate thrashing of something behind my ribs that urges me to break into a run. I do not know where to go, where to find him, but my feet do, and I find myself sprinting across, towards the watchtower overlooking the training grounds.
It is a monstrously high stonework and a chill runs down my spine when I realize it is unmanned.
No torches flicker at its base. No echoing footsteps. No barked orders or the clink of armor.
Not one guard. Fresh chapters posted on novelꜰire.net
The topmost ledge where the great bronze bell hangs should be manned by two of the General’s elite, standing watch beside the ever-burning signal flame. Below, there are always a dozen more, stationed at ground level.
But the platform is empty. The flame is out.
And the ground is abandoned.
Something is very wrong.
I burst through the base doors of the tower, bare feet slamming against stone. The air is thick with smoke and something metallic. Blood. I trip on something warm and cry out when my head slams into concrete, my body falling atop something.
Bile rushes up my gut when I realize what I am touching is a body. A dead body belonging to a guard. His armour glistens, his blood still fresh as it drains from his torn out throat. The Silver Wolf sigil on his armour marks him as one of the Prince’s Elite.
I swallow a cry, clambering to my feet. I take the dead soldier’s bloodied sword and take the stairs. There is more blood, more bodies trailing the stairway up. The grounds are unmanned because someone’s killed the guards.
At the top of the stairs, the sound of steel clashing greets me and I run faster.
An enraged roar. More grunts. A violent cough. More steel clashing.
Just as I reach the watch chamber, a hear a thick, accented voice say, "Kill the fucker, Yeager. Dawn is near."
Perhaps, I should have hidden behind the wall and gauged the situation before charging in like a woman avenging her dead lover. But somehow, I knew it in my heart that if I arrived a second later, he would die.
I could feel phantom hands on my shoulders, pushing me forward, making every step lighter, making my movements precise. Perhaps it was Thane. Perhaps, it was something greater than me or Prince Rafe.
But the assassin didn’t see me coming until it was too late.
In hindsight, he was the biggest man I’d ever seen. More than thrice my size, his arms were as large as thighs, his eyes gleaming an ominous red that widened the second he realized he was being maimed. And because I knew it wasn’t a fight I could win against the damned mammoth, I fought dirty.
I swung low and ran the sword clean through his groin.
His howl was guttural and loud enough to wake the entire encampment. His teeth bared in pain as he dropped to the ground.
I do not know what came over me in that moment, but I twisted the sword before tearing it out. The killing calm that fell over me made me murderous. Because he had to die. He and his kind. The Ebonheart demons had to die. He didn’t even smell like a wolf, a person. He smelled like the blood of my people.
And while he cried like a bitch because he’d no longer have children or know a woman, I gripped his dark head and pulled back, so he could look in my eyes and see just who ended him. A tiny, bony woman. An ordinary Omega.
His eyes were filled with hate and I am the last face he sees when I run the sword through his left eye.
He went limp, body hitting the ground with a thud. I took out the sword and upon entering the chamber, my heart stops dead.
The prince is down on one knee, blood slicking his jaw, his blade lost somewhere in the room. Another assassin, much larger than the dead one outside, lifts his sword for the final blow, eyes gleaming with sick delight. Another is already dead by the wall, neck snapped.
"Our King wishes you a long, sturdy path into the After," the monster says, and with that, his sword hand begins to descend.