Ruined

by Rebecca Grey

  “If you’ve come to fuck the princess I don’t think you’ll get very far wearing the armor of a measly guard. Best run off to find you some actual riches so you could afford to pay for her sex,” someone else crowed.

  A few of the men laughed. Crude men who hadn’t gotten enough of their mothers’ love.

  Somehow I remained disciplined, tugging at the collar of my shirt. These suffocating clothes were far too hot. How did these men continue when they were being strangled by the material. Tierasia wasn’t like this.

  Minutes would pass with the unmoving line until they let another group go in. Then men were running to keep their place in the shambles of the line. Stone walkways turn to dust nearing the large dirt arena where men charged one another in simple battle. Sunburned and sweating, a few waiting guards passed out thick wooden swords. Play swords. Children’s toys.

  The large weighted sword in my hand was familiar in the way that I often held weapons. Though my training in the queen’s castle contained actual blades, sharpened to split hairs. You may have easily lost a limb from practice with a real man’s sword. It was good motivation not to get hit.

  Some men glanced around nervously for the thousandth time. Others set to glare down their opponents, with poor intimidation tactics. When I met their aggressive ill meaning stares, I returned the look with the confidence of a true soldier.

  The echo of shouting indicated the end of the round. Fae men corralled like cattle were ushered out of the arena as we were ushered in. Blistering and incandescent, the sun beamed down on the large oval arena. White stone seats, looking like the steps to heaven, rose around us. Red plated armor glinted on watching guards that were scattered about the seats.

  “Fight,” a burly guard with an untamed beard shouted.

  For a split second nobody moved but in the next blink the world became a chaotic blur of dark brown swords and curse words.

  Easily, I towered over the men near me. Certainly this realm just grew smaller fae. A square faced man in front of me winced as the training sword I held smacked him in the middle of his chest. To my left a sword swung through the air, narrowly missing me before I shot out charging toward him with my own weapon till his was no longer in his hands.

  We fought this way until my lungs burned and my arms begged for rest. Blood was still spilled over the dust of the earth. Crimson droplets from hits that would have ruined men's lives, had they been with sharpened blades, scattered at our feet.

  Wood splintering over breaking bones and bloodied faces became a melody that fueled me. I cut on men with sword and body. My elbow slashed across the face of a man who charged with unbridled anger and little proper training. A gash formed against his eyebrow. Cheers rose from the sideline. A pair of guards who watched and nodded easily to one another enjoying the show. I had seen them watch me, while I dodged yet another blow, seemingly impressed.

  “Stop. Stop,” a few guards yelled in unison.

  They pointed to a few men directing them to fight once more as they watched. Then they pointed at me.

  “You, come this way,” they shouted, motioning to me to come forward.

  I pushed back the dark strands of heavy bang from my forehead, the pieces clinging together in my dripping sweat. Deserting the spot where I had defeated challenger after challenger, I dropped the wooden sword at their feet and waited for further instruction.

  “What’s your name, boy? You stick out like a fucking sore thumb.” The fae before me crossed his arms, his blonde eyebrows raised in curiosity from under his metal helmet.

  Perspiration made my clothing damp. Fabric clung to me in ways I had yet to experience in my life. The more I felt the damp material hug my skin, the harder it became to think straight. With a heavy exhale, I leaned down, grasping at the dirt covered pant legs of my brown trousers, ripping them at the knee. Air hit against my calves like fresh water washing away my sins. I would just have to purchase a new pair of pants after this.

  Standing tall, I replied plainly, “My name is Milo Piercing, sir.”

  He grunted, sending a look I could not read to his partner next to him.

  “Where are you from?”

  Mild panic gripped my chest, my heart barely maintaining a steady beat. Slowly, I took a deep breath, smiling at the king’s men. Where was I from? Why hadn’t I thought about this sooner? I needed a story to tell, one that wasn’t totally mine.

  “I’m sorry?”

  The blonde man returned my smile, though it didn’t hide the menace in his features as well as mine did. “The olive skin, dark hair, brown eyes. Just not traits we see often around here.” He motioned to the crowd of men gathered for their chance to join the king’s ranks. I noticed he wasn’t wrong, many were fair skinned with softer features.

  “I am originally from here but I, admittedly am a bit of a wanderer, I enjoy traveling around. Much like my father. My looks take after my mother, she hails from another region but moved here to be with my father. Her loyalty is to our king, as well as mine.”

  “You fight well,” the second guard said.

  “You don’t always run into friendly fae or other creatures when you travel about. I learned out of necessity for my life.” The last part wasn’t a lie. For anything to be believable you had to share a little truth.

  The first grunted in response, pointing down at my sword. “Pick up your weapon, we will go a round.”

  I swiped my sword up from the ground and held it balanced in my hand. My muscles protested from the continued movement but it was a welcomed pain, something I had grown accustomed to throughout the years.

  “What is your name, sir?” I asked, pointing the tip of the wooden blade at him as I took a large step backward.

  “Why do you wish to know?” He laughed, already enjoying himself, pulling another wooden sword from the barrel next to him.

  My shoulders lifted in a lazy shrug. “I like to know the name of the men I defeat.”

  “My name is Marcus, and I will accept your formal apology when I win.” Then he lunged. Marcus was fast; I’d give him that.

  A breeze cooled the sweat pooling on my back as he swung the weapon rapidly passed me. Our swords knocked together, clanking loudly again and again as we pushed back and forth. Neither of us were able to easily make the first blow. The crowd started to draw in around us, opening and following us as we moved about the arena.

  Marcus’s style was different than mine, but not better.

  I would be better.

  I was better.

  Jasemit. Collin. Demetri. Timothy. Lance. Justuan.

  Marcus.

  Those were the men I beat that day.

  FOUR

  Dace

  “I told you Macken Woods would be a great place to hunt. Look, you can already see all the little footprints all of these tarakeets have made in the fresh snow. They’re nearby,” Torrance slurred the words.

  Snow and ice crunched under our boots with each and every step. Though we tried to be gentle with our movements, the liquor we sipped through the night had finally begun to take its toll on us, making our steps clumsy and loud. Torrance let out a laugh smothered by the woman riding on his back.

  The pair playfully crept through the trees. Her bouncing drunken laughter easily scared away anything we might find on this so-called “hunt.” She was very pretty for a lesser fae, I noted.

  Shavarra walked quietly beside me, her cheeks still blushed from our very public romance session. She rolled her large lavender eyes and she watched the other two slip between the trees stumbling along the way and tripping into the snow.

  Friends with benefits. That was the one thing that defined our relationship. It was almost as if the sex was her way of counseling me. The gods knew I needed it, seeing how messed up I had become in my head. The privileged prince had lost his mind. I could see the headlines already. It was only so long before my crazy would start to show for the world to see.

  “Why are we here, Dace?” Shavarra whispered, her voice line
d with nervous haste.

  “I didn’t know Torrance would bring us here. I thought it would be more suspicious if I refused last minute. The best we can do is try to divert his attention, push the hunt to the north.” My voice was hardly audible, no more than just the image of moving lips that Shavarra had to read.

  She nodded, knowing how to play her part. She jutted her chin toward Torrance and spoke loudly. “Aw, the way they keep romance alive,” Shavarra drawled with a sarcastic smile.

  “I would hardly call that romance.” My voice was bitter and sad. A frown formed on Sharvarra’s full lips as soon as I spoke the words.

  “I suppose you are right. That is liquor and raging hormones.” She nudged me with her elbow. “Relax, Dace. It’s okay to smile on occasion.”

  I flashed her a look of warning. She knew as well as I that as long as we shuffled around this part of the woods, I would not be able to relax. We were too close.

  The wind picked up, howling through the pine covered branches of the trees. Above us the moon winked in and out of the clouds, playing like Torrance and the girl between the timber.

  The girl, who I did not bother to learn her name, fell with Torrance as his boot caught on a lifted root. Nimbly, she crawled over him and climbed into his lap. She leaned herself forward and let her navy blue hair tumble like a curtain over the show they were about to put on.

  Cool to the touch, I wrap my hand around Shavarra’s wrist in an attempt to pull her away. “Let’s go on without them. Perhaps we might actually catch something now that they’ve managed to entertain each other’s tonsils.”

  A cloudy night sky with few stars gave us little filtered light to work with. Creatures of the night howled and cooed. An ominous warning.

  “No, you won't.” Torrance pushed the girl off of him. “There will be plenty of time after the hunt for us both to taste our tarts. I won’t let you get the bird without me.”

  The pink in Shavarra’s cheeks darken to full crimson. I slip my hands into my pockets, worried they’ll strike out in anger.

  “Don’t call us tarts,” Shavara growled, her breath blooming in large white clouds.

  “Speak for yourself.” The woman smirked.

  Heavy foot falls caught my ears, and I knew Shavarra had heard it too, though she didn’t tilt her head to the noise like Torrance did. He cocked his head with a greedy smile.

  “Let's head north. Sounds like another hunter is wandering these parts. Probably already killed what birds were here.” I turned myself north.

  “Since when do you not want to make a new friend, Dace Augustus. How, unlike you.” Torrance raised his eyebrows, charging ahead toward the noise.

  What are the chances someone left the refuge to hunt? What are the chances we were about to stumble upon the one thing that could make me lose it all?

  “Torrance, wait.” Icy snow flattened under our feet, a steady grind of frozen crystals loudly filling the air as we chased after him. The tartlet giggled as she trailed closely behind.

  “What are you hiding, Dace?” he sang, breaking into a full sprint.

  “Nothing, you half wit. I just want to catch a damn tarakeet.” I grunted pushing myself forward in a long jump, my arms stretching overhead as I grabbed Torrance by the waist and dragged him to the ground.

  Snow caught on my lips. A twig pressed against my torso. A laugh, rigged and wicked rung through the air.

  “What has gotten into you?” Torrance rolled to face the evening sky. His chest heaved with the effort of his boisterous laughter. “Tartlet,” he looked up at Shavarra, “get your prince off my feet.”

  “I’m your prince too.” I spat as Shavarra offered me a hand.

  She patted my shoulder and dusted my jacket looking down at my so called friend with a deepening frown.

  “What have we here?” a foreign voice called.

  It was moments like these where fear skipped around inside my head like a stone being cast across the surface of an abounding lake. Though when the stone was meant to stop and settle into its destiny below the tides it only slowed its rhythmic dance, never fully disappearing from view. The paranoia never really left me.

  My gaze darted to the sound, relief flooding my body. I had half expected to see a nymph crouched in the snow protected only by bow, arrow, and the measly bit of hope that I offered. That alone would hardly be enough if Torrance found out my little secret and sang like a blue bird searching for its mate. Instead, a pearly white beard neatly blended with a hunter’s porcelain skin, his head topped with a flannel navy hat, and tarakeets swinging by their feet from his belt filled my vision.

  Shavarra kneeled down, one hand resting on the blade tucked into her boot, making as if she’s righting her laces that have unraveled from the small bow. Torrance pushed himself up from the grounds, unworried of the snow that clung to his chest.

  “Ah, good sir. Have you left any of those pesky little birds for the rest of us?” Torrance pointed a steady hand to the man’s waist belt.

  “I’m afraid if you want an easy kill, there are none left. You’ll have to scare them from their hole if you want some.” He grunted, patting his kills.

  “What if we buy them from you?” Torrance suggested.

  “Why would we buy them?” I interjected.

  “Better to look like we did the work we set out to do than return to the bars empty handed, no?” Torrance winked, patting his pockets.

  “These birds are not for sale. This is dinner for my family.” The hunter’s violet eyes looked over the group, his hand drifting to settle against the sword on his hips. “If you’ll kindly excuse me, I’ll be heading home now.”

  “Ah, ah, ah.” Torrance grabbed the man’s shoulder, jerking him toward us before he could turn fully away.

  In one heartbeat the man’s sword was drawn between him and Torrance. My fair weather friend chuckled. He stretched an arm toward me, summoning me with one finger toward the hunter.

  “Listen, I know you need your supper but you wouldn’t want to embarrass your prince now would you. We will pay for the bird and you can take your family out to eat. Or Prince Dace can pluck the birds from your waist without offering a cent.” Torrance licked his lips. “Come on now, Dace, take the birds from the man and we will be on our way.”

  It was the way of royalty. Torrance wanted me to be no less than what I was born into, to take without fear of repercussion because my name and bloodline deemed it so. He wanted me to act the part of prince.

  The hunter narrowed his gaze on me, recognition in the similarities that made me and my father look so undeniably related settled with exhaustion inside his sad eyes. The sword returned to its sheath.

  “That’s better,” Torrance purred.

  “Here,” I offered. Easily, I plucked the birds from his waist with an openly vile sneer. Sometimes it didn’t feel like an act when I played the part of nasty ruler. Sometimes it felt like who I was meant to be. Sometimes, if I thought too hard on it, I hated myself for it more.

  “A pleasure doing business with you.” Torrance’s salute was a mockery of the job he had just done. Without a thought, he pushed the hunter away with the toe of his boot.

  The man stumbled but didn’t look back as his shoulders slumped forward and he disappeared behind the brush. His tracks stayed behind, the only thing left of his hunt from the night. A hungry family would be served nothing but his grievances tonight.

  In victory, shameful, entitled victory, I held up the birds. Feathered wings dangled below them, their stares frozen as they were in death.

  “Here, hold these.” I shoved the clawed feet into the hands of Torrance’s whore. She gasped holding them out for Torrance to take. He cut his hand through the air, dismissing the notion and the girl.

  “See a successful hunting trip! And we didn’t even have to get our hands dirty.” He charged ahead of the group back in the direction we came.

  “You just had to steal it from an already poor family,” Shavarra pointed out.

 
“Just call it taxes.” Torrance shrugged, tossing us a look over his shoulder so we could see his wide toothy grin. “For the prince of course.”

  Silence followed us the rest of the way through the woods. Only the occasional howl interrupted the sound of our steps. The lights of the outskirts of the city were seen through the last of the trees. My royal carriage waited just where we left it.

  “Oh, thank the gods,” the tartlet moaned, shuffling by us faster.

  I supposed holding the still warm corpses of someone else’s dinner wasn’t much fun. Perhaps she’d think harder about whose throat she wanted to stick her tongue down. Though that was highly unlikely.

  The coachman stood by the door and offered his hand to each of us and assisted us with the minor step in. “Looks like you managed a good hunt.” He said with a small nod.

  “Indeed we did.” Torrance beamed and handed the coachman the animals. “Be of help and keep those up near you. I don’t think the prince wants his carriage to smell of dead animals.”

  Honestly, I’m sure it has smelled worse. I’m not too proud to admit that on the occasion when I’m desperate enough I have taken in a tartlet or two of my own. Have you ever smelled an orgy inside a small confined space? Not pleasant. Body fluids, everywhere.

  The coachman smiled politely, taking the birds in his hand before closing the door. As the carriage rolled forward, Torrance wrapped his arm around his girl. Shavarra glanced down at my hands, one sitting lazily in my lap the other propping my chin up. I watched her throat bob as she leaned back into the seat.

  Disappointing Shavarra would be the least of my worries come morning. Shavarra knew to expect little of me. It was my shrewd mother that would likely have my head. And tomorrow would be painful to say the least. Scarier than the mythic wrath of a burgundy witch that came to collect on her bargain was the fury of my mother. There would be nothing good waiting for me when I got to the Heathern Court. If I survived my mother long enough to make it there.