Sweat rolls down my forehead and clings to my lashes.
I am so out of shape.
After three long days of training, my body is sore and screaming at me to stop. My years of living on the streets have taken their toll, leaving me weaker than I realized despite my regular running from Imperials and scaling chimneys.
I lower my head and bring the hem of my dirt-stained tank to my eyes, huffing as I wipe the beads of sweat from my face. I’m filthy. And sadly, it’s the most normal I’ve felt since I arrived at the palace.
A tall, padded tree looms before me, the indentations from my fists still visible in the rough cushions wrapping around the trunk. I’ve been in the training yard for hours now, along with the other contestants all doing various exercises or sparring against one another.
The yard is nothing like the crude, muddy ring I grew up training in. I turn and lean against the padded tree, sweeping my gaze across the dozen large rings dotting the grassy yard where most of my competition is currently residing.
Wide, wooden racks filled with weapons and shields, all new and waiting to be used, accompany each of the rings. I’ve never seen anything like it. So many weapons at my disposal. So many weapons going to waste.
My eyes skim over the training yard. Everywhere I look, my fellow competitors are exercising, stretching, sparing, and just as dirty and drenched in sweat as I am. They all seem to avoid training with their abilities for the time being, likely waiting to put their powers on display until the interviews.
Just the mere thought has me anxiously spinning the ring on my thumb. This time tomorrow, we’ll be showing off to the kingdom of Ilya while trying to win their favor. From the little I’ve learned from Ellie, the interviews are how the people choose who they want to support in the Trials. It’s a time for the Elites to display their strength, talk themselves up, and try to earn the people’s votes.
And that is exactly what I need to do: win the people over. They play a vital part in these twisted games, and the more votes a contestant gets, the more it boosts their score.
I sigh and breathe in the humid air, smelling of fresh grass, dirt, and more than a hint of sweat. I’m relieved to be training, to be doing something with my hands to keep my mind from wandering to dangerously detrimental thoughts. Such as the Trials and the possibility—the likelihood
—of my impending death.
I’m yanked from my thoughts when my eyes land on tanned skin. With the afternoon sun beating down on us, the boys have long abandoned their sweaty shirts. And it’s annoyingly…distracting, to say the least.
Kitt and Kai circle each other in a ring, smiling as they exchange words, seeming to be sparring verbally before they begin doing so physically. The brothers look comfortable, content in this moment together.
Though the future king isn’t a contestant in the Trials, that doesn’t seem to stop him from training and eating with us as though he is one. I’ve kept my distance from both the brothers and my other competitors, though the tension between all of us only grows with each passing day.
My gaze wanders back to the boys, tracing the identical dark tattoo swirling just above their hearts. Even from this distance, I can make out Ilya’s symbol of strength etched into their skin.
The crest itself is simple, consisting of thick swirls all connected in a sideways diamond. It supposedly represents the different powers and how they all work together, while also representing the four landmarks that surround Ilya. There’s Plummet Mount to the North, the Shallows Sea to
the West, the Scorches Desert to the East, and the Whispers Forest to the South—all coming together to create a diamond around the city.
I blink and tear my eyes from the brothers before turning back towards the tree, suddenly feeling the urge to hit something again. I spin and land a solid kick into the thick pads, resounding in a satisfying thunk. Sweat rolls down my body in rivulets, even after stripping down to my thin tank, now damp and clinging to me uncomfortably. My slim, black pants are hot to the touch under the cooking sun, and I roll them nearly to my knees, tempted to tear the damn things off.
I hammer blows into the matted tree until my knuckles are red and raw before leaning my sweaty forehead against the cushion, panting slightly. The mat stifles my groan before I force myself to make my way to the closest weapons rack.
My fingers dance along the beautiful throwing knives lying innocently on the rack. The smoothness, the sheer sharpness of these knives has me itching to throw them. I turn my attention to the target ten yards ahead of me and begin burying several knives deep into the rough wood. I fall into a rhythm, letting my body relax with each knife I let fly. I feel focused. I feel dazed.
I missed this.
I let my mind wander, watching as the knives meet their mark. Suddenly, I’m standing in my backyard again, throwing small, measly blades into the rough bark of a tree. My father paces behind me, drilling me with questions. Questions about my surroundings, about things I should observe in seconds, even while my mind focuses on the blades sinking into their target.
I can almost hear my father’s footsteps in the dirt behind me.
The familiar whoosh of a knife cutting through the air has me ducking instinctively, feeling the whisper of a blade above my head before looking up just in time to see it sink into the target.
A beautiful throw.
But I’m far too pissed to admire it. I draw up to my full height and whirl on my heel, eyes locking on the gray ones a few yards away.
He’s the perfect picture of innocence: hands already in his pockets, hair ruffling in the breeze, and a lazy smirk on his lips. “Good reflexes, Gray.”
That cocky son of a—
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I stomp towards Kai, closing the distance between us in a matter of seconds. “What if I didn’t duck, huh?”
He shrugs. Shrugs. “Then, I would’ve had less competition to worry about.”
“So, you’re admitting that I’m a threat to you?” “I never said that.”
“But you implied it.” “Don’t flatter yourself.”
My chest heaves as I hold his gaze. A single dimple makes an appearance when he looks down at me, the corner of his mouth tilted in amusement. And with that, the urge to hit him only grows.
“I knew you’d duck, Gray,” he murmurs, his lips twitching with the use of my last name. A shiver runs down my spine despite the sun beating on my back when he leans even closer to whisper something in my ear.
But I never find out what it was he wanted to say.
A prick of pain pierces my ear, and I jerk in shock. I hear the thud of a knife hitting the target behind us and look up over Kai’s shoulder to see Blair, hand outstretched. A smirk twists her red lips but her dark eyes flick between Kai and me.
I reach a hand to the shell of my ear where my fingers are quickly coated with sticky blood. She sent the knife flying into the target, but not before it left its mark on me.
She cut me. On purpose.
A muscle feathers in Kai’s jaw, the only indication of his temper. He remains hovering over me, refusing to turn towards Blair while half blocking me from her with his body.
“Territorial, are we, Blair?” I say, looking from Kai to her blazing gaze. She clearly didn’t like the fact that the prince was giving someone else attention, even if that attention was him throwing a knife at my head. Maybe she’s into that.
She ignores my question, voice smug. “Just thought I would mark my target before the Trials begin.”
And then she spins on her heel and struts away, leaving me staring after her. I swallow, feeling smaller and weaker than I ever have before. Blair’s display was a reminder of how easy it would be for any of these Elites to end my Ordinary life.
She marked me.
“You’re getting blood in your hair, darling.”
My eyes snap to Kai still looming over me, now assessing my wound with his piercing gaze. I reach up, intending to tuck the hair behind my bloody ear when his hand catches my wrist.
“Don’t,” he sighs, his calluses brushing my skin as he pulls my hand in front of my face and nods at my bloody fingers. “Unless you wish to add more blood to your hair?”
I try not to gape at him, and that only makes his grin grow. “Why are you…?”
“Being a gentleman?” he finishes for me, sighing as though he doesn’t quite know the answer himself. “Let’s just say I happen to know how difficult it is to wash blood out of hair, so I don’t envy your current situation.” His eyes wander over my stinging wound and the blood I can feel dripping from it. Then he drops my wrist before gingerly tucking hair behind my ear, muttering, “You’re making a mess, Gray.”
I blink at him, vaguely wondering if a wound this shallow made me lose enough blood to have me hallucinating. Something must be horribly wrong because the future Enforcer just gently tucked hair behind my ear so it wouldn’t get any bloodier than it already is.
“Turn around.”
The command snaps me back to reality.
There’s that lovely future Enforcer.
His brows raise expectantly, waiting for me to obey the order. Instead, the words that fall out of my mouth are, “And why would I do that?”
His voice is flat. “Because I told you to.”
“And that is supposed to mean something to me?”
I am playing a very, very dangerous game.
He cracks a smile. “Fine.” And then he’s suddenly stepping behind me, muttering, “Stubborn, little thing.”
Rough fingers brush against the nape of my neck.
My breath catches as he casually pulls my hair into his hands, combing the strands out of my face and away from my bloody ear. “What are you
—?” I stop short, feeling the pattern he’s gently weaving. “Are you…braiding my hair?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?” he asks simply, unaware that my mouth is hanging open in shock. His voice is full of that cocky challenge as he says, “What, do you need me to teach you how to?”
“No, I don’t need you to teach—” I pause, taking a breath. “How do you even know how to braid?”
He huffs out a laugh that stirs the hair at the back of my neck. “You say that like it’s supposed to be difficult.”
We’re quiet for a moment, and the brush of his fingers traveling farther down my back has me stilling. I clear my throat. “I thought you told me not to get used to you being a gentleman?”
I can practically hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “And I still stand by that statement.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
He heaves a sigh. Fingers fall to my arm, and I almost jump at the sudden skim of his calluses. They stop on the strap wrapped around my wrist before slipping it off to begin securing my hair.
“There,” he says, stepping around to stand in front of me as he flicks the long braid over my shoulder. Then he gives it a tug, admiring his handiwork with a smile that displays his dimples.
I look down at the braid and stifle a snort at the sight of several strands sticking out. “I thought this wasn’t difficult for you?” I laugh as I say, “You do know that all of the hair is supposed to make it into the braid, correct?”
“Odd way to say thank you, but I suppose that is the best I’ll get from you.” He leans in closer, lips lifted into a mocking grin. “Perhaps if you won’t let me teach you how to braid, you’ll consider letting me teach you some manners.”
I nearly choke on my scoff at the thought of the future Enforcer teaching me manners. His eyes skim over my ear before he takes a step away, slipping his hands into his pockets. “You should get that healed up before the interviews tomorrow,” he says casually, nodding to my wound. “We wouldn’t want Blair’s mark on you to scar.”
The sudden bite in those words has me stunned for a moment as I study him in the growing silence. “No,” I finally manage, “we wouldn’t want that.”
His gaze sweeps over me again before he turns, tossing a smirk over his shoulder. “Good luck tomorrow, Gray.”
I don’t bother fighting my smile. “If I had any manners, I would wish you luck as well, prince. But you already informed me that I don’t.”
He laughs, and the sound snakes down my spine as he continues to stride away. Without him to distract me, my ear stings furiously as I begin
my trek back to the castle with one thought occupying me.
He never answered my question.
