Page 112 of A Requiem of Fire and Ice

“What’s this? Not getting your baby brother to defend you this time?” The eldest boy laughed darkly.

He knew they wouldn’t back down because King Ragan paid these children handsomely. It was a test, and Reen was ready for it.

The youngest moved first. Reen stepped to the side when he swung, grabbed the boy by the arm, and thrust his palm into the boy’s elbow until he heard the snap of his bone. When the youngest fell to his knees, Reen slammed his shoe into his head until teeth spat out of his mouth.

The eldest moved, and Reen’s eyes rolled in that direction before he danced out of his way. The brush of the metal bat breezed across Reen’s face until he gripped it, yanked it toward him, and elbowed the boy who held it until his grip slackened.

Reen held the bat and slammed it across the boy’s face when the boy tried to launch an attack from behind him. The sickening crunch caused Walkyer to kneel on the charred ground and throw up when the boy collapsed and went limp near Walkyer’s feet.

Reen inflicted trauma on the three boys until their lives faded, leaving the oldest for last. Reen’s shoulders trembled with frustration and anger. His nose flared, and his eyes bulged when he stood over the eldest boy. The boy shuffled back when his fingers grazed against something sharp. As Reen slammed the bat down on his head, the boy fought once more, cutting Reen across the stomach before his untimely doom. He continuously did it until the boy’s skull cracked and his brain splattered into the ash.

The young half-prince didn’t need to kill them. Those words didn’t come out of King Ragan’s mouth, but the fear of losing Walkyer caused an intense reaction. He thought if he did anything less, King Ragan would twist his own words, and Walkyer would be another head on the spike like the others he often stared at when he was lonely at night, and the voices in the halls were too silent to bear.

The bat dripped with crimson as Reen rose. Spit slit through his teeth while he trembled with livid anger.

“Reen, you’re scaring me,” Walkyer breathed.

Reen snapped him a look, and when Walkyer’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, for the trauma was too much to witness, Reen dropped the bat and carried his brother into the castle.

King Ragan waited for him at the stairs to the foyer, and as Reen walked past with Walkyer over his shoulder, King Ragan placed his hand on Reen’s arm and told him he was proud of him.

From that day forward, Reen stood at King Ragan’s side and listened to his every order. Not because he wanted to, but because he needed any advantage to protect Walkyer from the enemy—his father.

Reen Kyong, July 23rd

I wake to a looming storm in my head. Sweat soaks the sheets when I rise, clinging to my back until I stand and peel the uncomfortable layer from me. Using a scrubber brush in the shower, I remove the layer of muck from my recurring nightmares. The constant reminder that I need to protect my family, no matter what.

However, someone has come into my life, fogging my mind until I question what I want to do anymore. It’s irritating how she crawled underneath my skin, burrowing into my core like the flat-chested, vulgar woman she is.

Afterwards, I dress, place the chain over my head, and then leave the room with a cigarette between my lips. Alad is outside. A tight smile when he notices me.

I’m not in the mood to talk to him, so I walk away without a clear destination.

There’s nowhere I want to go on this lonely night. The stars hide under the veil of mist, and laughter fills the streets within Tumul Hall Entrance while everything else fades. Usually, when I was in a mood after waking in a cold sweat, I would walk the walls, overlooking the heads on spikes.

But I’m not home. I’m on a ship without a thought of understanding what to do with myself. Revenge consumed my thoughts day and night. The idea of my hands around her throat until it snapped, bones cracking, excited me. I’d watch her go limp in my arms, and the faded look of someone who destroyed my life.

Then, I imagine her life fading in my arms. My eyes narrow, and my teeth grit when I see her disintegrating, oozing down fiery hands until she is nothing but ash. The conflicting thoughts of where my mind stays, but my heart lies elsewhere. If I keep this up, it will get me killed because when I enter the arena, I will hesitate.

I eye her door when I walk past it. It’s dark, with no hint of light. Balling my hand into a fist, my feet feel like iron, weighing down on me, and I know why. I want to stop, turn around and knock on her door. I want to know what she’s doing and how she sleeps. I’m obsessively stalking the woman who murdered my mother.

“Fuck…”

I turn around, but I’m frozen in place. Pandora stands outside her door, wearing a shirt that’s not hers and sweatpants, also not hers. She eyes me and then looks away. The wind that streams through the mist brushes against her fair skin and dark hair. Brown eyes glow, warm and inviting, but not hers. Eyes of another. Her eyes are likely a shade of purple or pink.

She steps forward and leans against the railing. I stand beside her, rest against it, and stare into her darkened room. The tip of the cigarette glows orange, and when the ash bends, I flick it out to sea.

“You’re awake late,” I say.

From the corner of my eye, Pandora smiles, but it’s strained. “So are you.”

“Why are you awake?”

Pandora moves her hand to her waist and says, “Sometimes it itches until I can’t sleep. You?”

I press the cigarette to my lips, inhale deeply, and let the smoke linger. “I find it difficult to sleep at night.”

She turns toward me. “When I was in the closet, you woke up covered in sweat. Do you get nightmares?”