“Braxton,” he says, nodding his head as an invitation to walk towards him.
I don’t greet him back. The fact that he doesn’t tell me immediately what is going on freaks me out. Normally, he starts talking right away.
“Why did you want to see me?” I mutter under my breath. I feel like this is the first time that he looks at me properly since I volunteered two days ago. He narrows his eyes, looking at me like I am the worst thing that ever happened to him. He throws his glasses on the desk, leaning back in that lazy chair.
“We closed the applications tonight. More than fifty people are coming to the palace today, proving they deserve their place,” he reveals. “But since you just blurted out in front of everyone that you wanted to enter, I can’t just erase you from the candidate list.” He locks his jaw in place and that awful smile appears on his face, the one that leaves an endless line of goosebumps on my body.
“Besides, you made good advertisements for me. A prince entering the trials, organized by the king.” He nods his head, fake cheering for me. “I wanted my strongest son to show off, but I guess you will do. There will be no special treatment, no saving, no empathy. Not from me.” I ball my fists as I stand frozen in front of the man, my lips sealed.
“This is all on you,” he continues, his gaze stinging on mine as I hold eye contact and lift my chin a bit higher than before. “If you die, which you probably will, I will not be held responsible or show mercy.” His gaze sharpens, burning so dark, shadows curl up from around his desk, his voice darker than before when he continues, “you hear me?”
I only give him a curt nod, not feeling the need to waste a breath on him. I turn around, ready to march out but he speaks up before I can.
“Oh, and by the way, whoever can win a fight against you, will be entering the trial. You and Zephron will fight first naturally and that is the end of the story.” The only reaction I give him is slowing my pace. I don’t slam the door. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of the hurt he causes. Apparently, I should start getting ready. I will not only fight my brother today, but also a lot of other strong, hungry strangers. It is the only thing I am good for in his eyes. A target for others to train on, so they can become stronger. It is all a show in his eyes, a performance, a survival of the strongest and he doesn’t think I have a chance of living.
He is wrong.
The cold of the water bites my skin, and I am hoping the bruises of this conversation and the past will wash away. I switch the shower off, stepping from under it, and look in the mirror. My skin is red and feels numb. I ruffle my hand through my dark brown waves, shaking the droplets out. My gaze goes towards my body, my tattoos, my sketchbook. I love drawing, I always have. But one day I got so tired of all the papers and had no place left to hang them up. So my solution was tattooing and drawing on myself. I got my first tattoo at twelve years old, and I am now covered in them. Some are works of art, others are just silly doodles. All of them tell a story—hold a memory. I do have a few favorites. On my left wrist I have a compass and clock hidden away in a newspaper, on my other arm I have a sleeve with mountains and birds flying towards their freedom. On my left shoulder, crawling up to my neck, I have the anatomy of the stars drawn out, and on my chest I have a big butterfly. All of my tattoos are special, but those have a special place in my heart.
I pull my sparring clothes on, the tight black fighting and training clothes hug my body. Despite the fact that I am dreading this afternoon, I am curious about the other contestants. I like fighting and sparring, mostly without powers, just using raw fierceness and weapons. I push the door of the sparring room open and stroll towards the weapon rack, grabbing my favorite weapons. I take a bow and arrow, and a bastard sword out of the weapon rack and put them on my back. I am pretty big, and dare to say strong, but it is always good to carry weapons on you. I look outside the small window with a view of our garden. Next to the sparring room, we have a sparring and training place in the garden. And right now it is covered by at least two hundred people. Fucking hell.
Collecting all my courage, I push the door towards our garden open. I take a step outside, holding my head high and my back straight. I feel the soft green grass squeak under my weight. All eyes turn to me and even some mouths fall open. I hear some gasp here and there, while some people take a step backwards as I walk past them. It is completely silent.
A sigh of relief escapes my throat when I see a familiar face. Fintan.
He gives me one of those comforting nods, and just like every time, I am surprised how such a tough dude can come over that sweet. I let my feet drag me towards him. Only when I reach him I turn around, looking over all the people who came here. I can feel Fintan looking at me as I lift my nose higher in the air, holding my arm behind my back.
“You look good, kid. Why is it you don’t have a girlfriend yet?” He chuckles at his own joke, acting like the previous conversation has never happened. I react in a growl and a side eye before putting my head back and closing my eyes. I breathe in softly, my chest rising and falling into a steady rhythm. Thesun shines on my face, and I hear the birds chirping far away. If it weren’t for the number of people standing here now, it would have been a beautiful day.
The same door I had just passed through, swings open. My brother, who is also wearing sparring clothes, steps outside. He holds his head high, taking big steps forward, smiles widely, giving the king exactly the performances he wants. It is all just one big act. The participants and bystanders don’t seem to notice. Most of them take a big bow, smiling and nodding at him. Some of them even clap their hands as he walks. The king follows him. He is looking down on everyone contemptuously, but smiling from ear to ear. Holding his hands wide, encouraging people to cheer for him. And do they listen? Some people take a deep bow before they start jumping up and down, cheering loudly. They show their enthusiasm for these trials, for the person they think the king is. The king and Zephron walk up to me, they turn around, and one way or another Zephron couldn’t resist the urge to bump into my shoulders. I don’t lose my grip or drop my mask, but I do look at him. He shows his teeth in a grin and narrows his eyes at me in a warning, as if he tries to say, “don’t ruin this,” but he is afraid to use his words. I blink my eyes in response, keeping my head high. He follows my lead. They look like the royalty they are, while I look like a prisoner, a murderer or just dangerous and most of all—like I don’t belong here.
The king takes a deep breath, and I watch him swallow, his Adam’s apple moving forward. His eyes filled with something I am not sure how to describe, look into the crowd, before he starts talking.
“First of all, I would like to thank you all heartily for being here today,” he shouts, his face back in form. Looking like he didn’t just let his mask slip for a second. “Since my last announcement, we got a lot of applications, and tonight at 00:00, we closedthe registration. If you applied after that, you came here for nothing.” Some faces in the audition change. Smiles drop and some people turn around to leave. “For everyone who did apply on time,” he continues, giving the people leaving no further attention. “Congratulations, you have made it this far!” A loud cheering erupts and everyone starts hugging each other. “Not everyone of you here will make it into the trials. Some of you might not even make it out of this garden alive. No matter what, you will carry the honor of being here, standing here. Even if it costs you your life.” The crowd stopped cheering when the king started his second sentence, understanding the seriousness of today, of the trials. It is freaking ridiculous.
“On this day, we will decide who is strong enough to enter the trials. You will all compete against each other in one-on-one battles. Whoever wins will go to the next round. We do this until there are a few of you left. Those people will compete against my son, Braxton Lance Dunkeld,” he explains, confirming what we talked about earlier, and gives me a small glance. Some people look scared, other people grin. “At least it is not his older brother you have to compete against,” a girl says. Someone in the crowd chuckles. The king seems to hear it as well.
“Do you have anything to share with us, little redhead?” he hisses, sharpening his eyes at the girl who is chuckling.
“No, Your Majesty, excuse my stupidity,” a familiar freckled redhead with hazel-colored eyes answers, lifting her chin and looking directly into the king’s eyes before she turns to continue staring at my brother. “Good,” the king continues. “Let the day begin! Welcome to the preliminary round of the trials!”
People aren’t just sparring anymore. Everywhere I look people are fighting. There are three battles at a time. Every battle has spectators. Two people have died already.
Their family wasn’t here, and they were taken by our guards. Their names not important enough to be talked about. Twenty people are left, and the last few battles will start soon. A guard informed me that when there are fifteen people left, it will be my time to shine. I pace towards a mat where two girls are fighting. One girl has auburn brown hair with a little stroke of white in it, while the other has plain black hair. The girl with the white stroke in her hair is small but feisty. She lifts her knee and kicks the other girl in her groin. The girl stumbles and falls on her back. She tries to defend herself using her water signet. She shocks the other girl by splashing her, but the other girl doesn’t give up. Apparently, she is a shapeshifter. She changes form. The tiny woman’s body making room for a giant lion, who still has a white stroke in his mane. She growls loudly, flashing her white teeth, stepping forwards. The other girl who is still lying on the floor makes a wise decision. She taps out, not standing a chance against this strong shapeshifter. The shapeshifter changes back to her human form, smiling proudly, her eyes scanning the crowd for someone. A woman and little boy run towards her and hug her tightly. I take a step back. I should probably start getting ready. My stomach growls loudly, interrupting my thoughts. And eat something. I will have to fight with my brother soon, to show the crowd what we got. I stroll inside the palace towards the kitchen. Opening the door, I step inside. Four eyes look at me like I caught them doing something they shouldn’t be doing. Or something I shouldn’t have seen them doing. The freckled redhead from earlier stares at me like she sees a ghost, stepping away from in between my brother’s legs fast. He coughs loudly.
“Braxton.” He nods.
“Zephron.” I nod back, not sure if I should say something. The girl walks out of the kitchen, looking confident as before.
“I will cheer for you, Hazel,” my brother shouts after her, jumping off the counter. She gives him a little wink, turnsaround and closes the door. My brother takes a roll out of the breadbasket and walks into the dining room, not wasting any more words on what I just witnessed. I saw my brother with other girls before. I am not stupid. They just never looked like her.
The only girls my brother has ever dated were from royal and rich families, and not to be mean, but I know this girl wasn’t. I take another roll out of the basket before I stroll back outside. I must do this. I can do this. I will prove myself.
A wolf.
A wolf his warm breath breezes against my face, his breath smelling horrible. His teeth clatter against my face, not giving me a chance to move. I know my brother will not shift back until I tap out, and he knows I am not going to kill him. I can’t slice him with my sword because it lays on the other side of the mat. He ripped it out of my hands at the beginning of our fight. My hairs stick to my face, the wolf’s drool and blood being the cause of that. The wolf’s eyes hold my gaze, and he growls loudly, encouraging me to tap out.
I tap out, even though I promised myself I would do anything to win. But as I watch my brother shift back, smeared in blood, his eyes begging me to not kill him, I see the two-year older brother he used to be. It is all just an act, I tell myself, but somewhere deep in my bones I know it is more than that, way more.
