Instead of pushing my arm away, like he usually does, he rolls over pulling my shiny golden hair. It surprises me and I lower my dagger.
He notices.
I kick him in the stomach, hoping he will cramp together, but he doesn’t react. He is stronger than me. He takes advantage of my own dagger and since I am unbalanced, he gives me a taste of my own medicine and presses my dagger against my own throat.
“Okay, okay, sorry, you win!” I breathe out, laughing.
He doesn’t laugh, eyebrows furrowed and no smile to be found.
“This isn’t a joke, Eliane,” he whimpers. “I want you to win, to survive. I need you here. You’re the only daughter I have.”
“I won’t leave—I promise,” I whisper, grabbing his hand and dragging him into a hug, trying to wring this fear out of him. I will not let it happen. Not if it will cause Da that much pain.
“I will not let it happen,” I repeat myself in a whisper, a soft smile dancing on my lips. Even if it might be my only way to freedom, but I keep that to myself.
I know why he is so scared. It makes total sense. He seems to be extra on edge today. Don’t know why that is. Before I came into his life, he had a wife and a daughter.
They died 18 years ago.
It is a heartbreaking story. Fintan, his wife Selena, and their daughter Mirae were sleeping at home. The home that was standing at this exact place before he let it rebuild. Mirae was crying and Serene went to check on her. The crying got worse and before Finn could reach them, Mirae’s bedroom was on fire. 4-year-old Mirae lost control of her fire signet, and Finn couldn’t get them out. He lost both his beloved wife and daughter.
When the palace found out what happened, the king and queen offered him a job as signet and fight trainer. Serene was the queen’s friend, so they wanted to give my da a chance. Besides that, he is one of the strongest fire controllers after all. He agreed. He decided he would take care of everyone he trained and would make sure no one would lose control. Not with him asa trainer, that’s for sure. When he saw me 16 years ago, he knew one thing. He would take me and love me like I was one of his own. The same way he loved his wife and daughter. He promised himself he would make sure that I would be in control, always.
He told me all of this on my 14th birthday. Right after he told me what happened to me and what will happen to me in the future. He believed I had every right to know about his past and future, since he also knew everything about mine. I think that sums him up as the person he is and the way he taught me to be.
I rush out of the sparring room, Da already being in the shower. My heart thunders in my ears, my breathing pitches as I try to move my feet as fast as possible. The pressure on my chest makes it hard for me to breathe. Every time I get this feeling, it overwhelms me. I hate it. The more I think of it, the harder and faster my heart starts to pound. I bolt towards the lake, sink to my knees and let my hands feel the cold water. The cold bites my skin, but it makes me feel something different as I let the panic attack wash over me.
The last thing I want to do is put Da through all of that again. I touch my skin, but it feels numb. Sweat trickles down my back and thoughts run through my head, racing at 100 miles per hour. What if I do get killed? What if I hurt someone? What if I am not good enough?
What if I never taste freedom?
I am scared.
Terrified.
My hands shake, and I lose control of my own body. I can’t stop hyperventilating.
Fuck.
“Breathe in, breathe out,” I whimper in a shaky voice to myself.
I let the panic attack take over my body. They aren’t new to me, the panic attacks. They just have never stopped being eerie. My overthinking drags me into them. They are my weakness. And the fact that I have no control over them scares the living shit out of me.
Chapter 2
Braxton
The king smirks at me. He hovers over me as I scream.
His eyes filled with disappointment.
I scream louder, tied to a torture table in a dungeon. I try to move, but my hands are tied to a rope that cuts my wrist. There is a whip in the hand of the big torturer.
I want to make my father proud, but he still looks so disappointed.
“I won,” is what I want to scream, but I keep quiet. Until the whip touches my ribs again.
“Dad, please,” I squeak out, trying to move away under the man. “Please, I will do whatever you want me to.”
