Deciding to return to my training, I steady myself, spinning on the narrow ledge to hop back onto the roof, landing where my weapons are. Thatcher stands in the doorway, shrouded in the shadows of the dark hallway behind him. I realize I wasn’t as discreet as I thought while spying on them below as he shifts in front of me.
“Hello, Princess,” his haunting voice echoes. “What are you doing up here? Be careful. You wouldn’t want to fall, would you?”
I hop down from the ledge and storm past him. “Piss off, Thatcher.” I spit at his feet.
He instantly grabs my arm and pushes me against the stone doorframe, a whoosh of air leaving my lungs as his hot breath beats on the side of my face. “Now, why would there be weapons up here with the Princess of Daramveer?” he whispers. “What would you be training for?” He glances around. “I bet you can’t even pick up this axe with those scrawny arms of yours.”
I forcefully push against his grip; it eases momentarily for me to create distance between us. Acting unbothered, I turn to grab the axe. I’ll show him just how capable I am of wielding this weapon. A blunt force knocks me to the ground, my ears ringing from the fall as I slam into the stone. I feel invisible hands pinning my arms to the ground as Thatcher steps closer, shadows rippling off his massive body and his fingers retracting as if physical claws are trying to break through.
“I wouldn’t do that.” He grinds his teeth. “Maybe if you used an ounce of that magic flowing in those pretty little veins,you’d be slightly more intimidating. Such a waste that a king as powerful as ours has a daughter like you.”
“Get the hell off me, Thatcher,” I hiss, thrashing against his invisible hold.
He chortles. “C’mon, Princess, let’s have some fun.”
Before I can react, he shifts straight to me, his invisible hands replaced with physical ones, and panic swirls in my body.
Still refusing to yield to the magic bubbling inside me, I realize I have only one option in this moment: to fight—not with magic, but with the skills I’ve developed through training. Thatcher is now close enough for me to see the black flames flickering in his eyes. I turn my head, noticing a bit of sunshine peeking through the white clouds as a sudden gust sweeps around us. I close my eyes, hoping he will believe he’s won, that I’m too weak to fight back. In one swift motion, I struggle against his grip, trying to find any weak spots in his hold. My wrist breaks free, and I ball my fists, ready to drive one into his nose.
Black clouds replace the serene afternoon sky, and everything appears to freeze. Thatcher shifts his gaze from my eyes as I seize the moment to drive my fist into the bridge of his nose, prompting a snarl. My knuckles ache from the impact.
Blood drips from his nose. The small droplets of hot liquid fall like rain on my cheeks. I raise my knee, preparing to smash into his groin.
As he lifts his hand to return the blow, Barlowe shifts onto the roof, the sudden impact knocking Thatcher off me and flat on his back. My brother slowly stands, shadows bursting around him like rays of black sunlight, his eyes wild with fury. As children, we always felt linked—as if we could feel the pain the other was experiencing—and at this moment, I’m thankful for that.
Baring his teeth, Barlowe moves toward Thatcher. “Back the fuck off of her.” Invisible shadows slam Thatcher down. “Howdoes it feel to be held down? Do you feel tough now?” Barlowe asks. “I think you’ve forgotten who will rule this kingdom one day, and you will be at her mercy. I know you think she’s weak. But I promise, Thatcher, she isn’t someone I’d mess with.”
Thatcher pushes against his hold, unable to move. Barlowe raises his fist and slams it against his jaw. Blood sprays across the roof as he continues pummeling Thatcher’s face. At this moment, I’m not sure if the blows or the possible drowning from his own blood would kill him. Either would be fine with me.
With a gurgled voice, Thatcher spits, “No one will ever take her seriously,” he gasps, spitting blood from his swollen mouth. “She is a joke since she chose to abandon her magic. I will never acknowledge her as a queen.”.
Barlowe lets up for a moment, pulling Thatcher closer. “And no one is going to take you seriously once I’m finished here, you scumbag.”
He scans the roof, his eyes finding a small dagger next to me. “Briar, hand me that,” Barlowe commands, pointing with a bloody hand. “I think it’s time I hold up my promise and cut his fucking tongue out. Or maybe I should start with one of his hands.”
Thatcher’s swollen eyes grow panicked as Barlowe grabs his wrist.
Standing, I shake the dust off my dress, annoyed at the rip traveling down the side, exposing my hip. I walk to my brother.
“Barlowe, let him go. You don’t want his death on your hands.”
Barlowe snaps out of the daze, his eyes meeting mine. “What?”
“He’s vile and not worth the chaos this would bring.” I glare into Thatcher’s weak eyes. “I promise he’s got what’s coming to him one day.”
Barlowe huffs, releasing Thatcher from his grip. “You must stop being weak and start standing up for yourself, Briar, or he’s right. No one will take you seriously as a queen if you continue to let people walk all over you. You have no idea what’s coming, and I need you to step up.”
Thatcher remains still on the ground. His coughs let us know that he’s still, unfortunately, alive.
My chest heaves—I feel like I can’t breathe.
I take a step away from Barlowe, shaking my head. “I don’t care what’s coming, and I’ll live my entire life hiding in the shadows of this kingdom.”
Chapter 4
As I recall what happened, I move down the stairs, skipping a step every so often. I never expected Barlowe to say those words. They begin to replay in my mind like an unpleasant song. We wrote letters from time to time but always with surface-level pleasantries. I never really let him know what was going on with me or this kingdom.
The distraction of my thoughts throws me off balance, and I crash onto the stone floor, the rip in my dress widening. The skin on my knee tears, sending a flash of pain shooting down my legs. Defeat washes over me as trickles of blood begin to flow down my trembling legs. I start to sob, the tears immediately soaking my cheeks, and I fear my entire chest might cave in.
