“We used to go through surprise drills,” he continues, his gaze no longer focused on me, now staring into the night-cloaked forest. “Asmo and I would be woken from a dead sleep and attacked.”
I don’t say anything. My gaze is locked on him as he shares the memory.
“It would be the middle of the night, and all the lights would be cut. We’d be woken by someone’s hand over our mouths, and we would have to fight that person until one of us was incapacitated. My father said it was necessary to be prepared for anything. What if our House was ever attacked or someone wanted to hurt us? We needed to know how to defend ourselves.”
“What happened if you were the one who was incapacitated?” I ask quietly.
He huffs, a poor attempt at a laugh. “We’d have to do it over again the next night. If we still couldn’t beat the attacker, we’d repeat it every night until we did. If so, they’d come every other night or in a random pattern, so we couldn’t learn when to expect it. By the time they did come, we’d be so exhausted from lack of sleep that it was nearly impossible to win. Or it would result in our magic panicking, immediately going into fight mode.”
“Fight mode?” I ask.
He nods while he takes a sip of his wine. His throat bobs as he swallows, then elaborates, “I’m not sure if that’s what other people call it, but when your magic goes into fight mode, it sends out a powerful burst. It’s essentially your magic’s final stand. It’s rare for that to happen, but it would happen regularly with us due to the distress we were under. We would win, but it would leave us spent and drained for days. It would also seriously harm whoever was attacking us. We never knew what happened to them after we won,” he says.
“How old were you?” My voice comes out soft, just barely a whisper.
“It started when we were six,” he says, his gaze back on the dark forest. “It’s never stopped.”
The blood drains from my face. Six years old. Taught to fear. Taught to fight. At six.
“You were six,” I repeat. “How…how did you survive that?”
His laugh is bitter. “The first time it happened, Az told me to hide. He tried to fight by himself. He was down in moments. My magic…I’d never felt anything like it before. It felt like I had lost all control like I was being ripped apart from the inside out. I was terrified. I was the first of us to experience the burst. I woke up to Az standing over me, shaking me. To this day, I’ve never seen him look so scared.”
My heart breaks for the two Serpent Princes. “Marik, that’s awful…”
“Yes, it was.” He clears his throat and shifts in his seat. The sorrow is replaced by something harder as the moment of vulnerability dissipates. “But it made me better. It made Az and I fit to lead, to protect. It may have hardened us, but it was for our benefit.”
I lean over and place my hand on his toned forearm. “Regardless, I am sorry that you had to experience that. I can’t imagine the terror you must have felt.”
“Thank you,” he says curtly. I remove my hand at the sudden shift in his tone.
“Are all of the Houses like that?” I ask.
“I think your House and maybe House Ursidae are different, but the rest of the Houses are.”
“Is that a practice that you want to continue with your children?”
He hesitates, seeming like he’s struggling for the right words. “Yes, but not to that extreme. I think there’s value in pushing children and training them under duress, but I wouldn’t want to start that young or that intensely.” His eyes roam the dark forest. I can’t help but wonder what memories he’s sifting through, what atrocities he’s recalling.
“That wouldn’t be something I’d be comfortable with,” I say firmly. “In any form.”
He shifts in his seat. “I think that would need to be a conversation to be had. Like I said, the practice has its benefits.”
“No, Marik. I know this is only our first date,” I say, forcing a laugh to ease the tension that’s begun to rise. “But as High Queen, that’s not a practice I’m willing to condone in our kingdom against children. That’s something I’ll be changing. There has to be an age of informed consent, at least.”
His eyes narrow, and I swear I see them turn darker for just a moment. “Figures,” he says with a scoff.
“What does that mean?”
He waves me off. “Nothing. Forget I said anything.”
“No, Marik. What do you mean by that?”
He hesitates, then says, “The Deer Court has always had this picture-perfect idea of the world and how the world should be. Some of the courts just aren’t like that, but you all refuse to accept that. Instead, you try to change laws and force policies that try to change the way we live.”
“I don’t see how ending a cruel practice against children is a negative thing,” I retort, my tone slightly argumentative.
He sighs, then runs a pale hand through his black hair. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to start an argument. It’s been a long week. You’re right; this is only our first date. Let’s spend it getting to know each other first. The important stuff can come later.” He relaxes back in his chair and takes a long sip of his wine. “More wine?” he asks, a bead of red wine still on his full bottom lip, like a singular drop of blood.
