Torrid Throne

by Julie Johnson

  Chapter Nine

  “Ow!”

  I snatch my throbbing hand to my chest and scowl at the punching bag. It barely has the decency to swing, despite the fact that I’ve just thrown my considerable body weight at it. I’m pretty sure the only damage I’ve managed to inflict with my strike is on myself.

  Galizia makes a tsk sound. “Your grip’s wrong again.”

  “You don’t say?” I snap, shaking out my swollen, red knuckles. “Can we call it a night, now? It’s past ten. We’ve been at this for two hours and I think I’m only getting worse.”

  “Princess, if you spent half as much time working on your grip as you do whining about it, you wouldn’t be in so much pain. Now, try it again, but this time do it like I showed you — keeping your thumb wrapped around the knuckles, not tucked inside. Tight, but not so tight you lose circulation. Feet light, shoulders square. Move with the bag. And remember, your index and middle fingers have the strongest knuckles in your hand, so you want to lead with them when you make impact.”

  “Sure, sure. Whatever. Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.”

  “Sarcasm won’t improve your technique, Muhammad Ali.”

  I roll my eyes and adjust my stance. My next few punches are marginally better, but it’s safe to say I have a long way to go before I’m ready for my first cage match. Still, I must admit, Galizia was right — there’s something cathartic about slamming your fists against a bag, sweating out the tension trapped inside your bloodstream.

  After meeting with my father this morning, I couldn’t seem to get his words out of my head, no matter how many laps I paced back and forth in my bedchambers or how many hours I spent standing in Ginger’s stall, brushing her glossy coat and feeding her sugar cubes after our two-hour ride.

  You’ve already captured the hearts of the press, of the public.

  You have the natural charisma of a true leader.

  You are poised to become one of the most influential queens in the world.

  I’ve been so wrapped up in the utter obligation of it all, I never really stopped to think about it — the possibility that I might actually be good at this. At being something more than a wild-haired college student with small dreams and a set career path.

  At being a Lancaster.

  A royal.

  A queen.

  Needless to say, it was a lot to digest all at once.

  When Galizia came to my chambers for her final check-in of the night, she found me pacing a hole through my floorboards, my dinner sitting untouched on a platter by the terrace, my fists clenched into balls by my sides. She took one look at me and ordered me to follow her.

  The last place on earth I expected her to bring me was the Gatehouse. I haven’t been back since my blowout with Bane, and stepping so much as a toe in his territory — even in the off-hours, when no one else is around — makes me more than a little edgy.

  Thanks to Galizia, I soon found myself enrolled in her version of basic training. Or as I’m fond of calling it, the most painful two hours of my life. I swear, my arms are going to fall off if we keep this up for much longer.

  Blessedly, before she can issue any more orders, the doors to the practice arena are yanked open. I brace myself for the incoming storm of Bane’s contempt, but instead am pleasantly surprised to see a familiar figure strolling inside.

  “Here you are!” Chloe calls, exasperated. She flips her long red hair over one shoulder of her stylish, fur-trimmed jacket and stalks toward us on sky-high stiletto boots. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

  “Well, you found me. Nancy Drew’s got nothing on you, Chloe.”

  “I had to flirt the information out of a very nervous pageboy. I’m not certain that counts as true detective work, but…” Her nose scrunches. “What’s with the late-night workout session, anyway? You don’t workout. And you definitely don’t workout at this time of night. Usually you’re in the kitchens, bribing Patricia the cook for more chocolate chip cookies…”

  “Trust me, I would much rather be doing that right now. But someone—” I shoot Galizia a loaded glance. “—insists on keeping me in shape so I can run from assassins and dodge death threats, et cetera, et cetera… How unreasonable is that?”

  I expect Chloe to laugh or crack a joke in response, but she says nothing. Probably because she’s finally turned her attention to Galizia. Her eyes are locked on the statuesque blonde with stark curiosity.

  “And who might you be? I don’t believe we’ve officially met… and I thought I knew every hot guard in the castle.”

  Galizia, ever the professional, snaps to attention and gives a formal nod of greeting. “Second Lieutenant B. Galizia. I serve Her Royal Highness directly.”

  Chloe’s grin is shameless. “You know… if you’re ever looking for someone else to serve directly… maybe next time you’re off duty… ”

  “Chloe! Don’t harass my personal guard.”

  “Oh, relax. I’m only teasing.” Her eyes glitter with innuendo. “Speaking of which, teasing happens to be one of my specialties… if you’re ever interested in a demonstration…”

  I roll my eyes. “Quit it. Galizia isn’t interested. And even if she was… she’s way out of your league.”

  “Rude! No one is out of my league. I’m an honorary princess!”

  “Pretty sure that’s not a thing.”

  “I’m basically royalty! By association!”

  “Good for you. She’s still not interested.”

  Chloe scoffs. “How do you know?”

  I glance at my guard. “Galizia?”

  “The only thing I’m interested in doing tonight is correcting your extremely poor punching form, Your Highness.” She pauses, lips twitching. “Now, I’m going to the locker room next door to grab some ice for your knuckles before they start swelling. Do not head back to the castle without me, understand?”

  I salute her. “Sir, yes, sir!”

  She sighs tiredly, as though I’m a tremendously bothersome child she’s been forced to babysit, and turns on one heavily-booted heel. I wait until she’s out of earshot before I meet Chloe’s eyes.

  “Not to say I told you so, but…”

  She scowls and plunks herself down on a stack of folded practice mats. Fishing a perfectly rolled joint from her bra, she lights it up and takes a long inhale. A second later, twin tendrils of smoke spiral from her nostrils up toward the lofty ceiling.

  “So, why were you looking for me, anyway?” I ask, wincing as I unwind the tape from my bruised knuckles. “You’re usually out on the town by this time of night.”

  “True,” she agrees, her voice scratchy from the pot. “But I was worried about you.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “A little birdie may’ve mentioned you haven’t been sleeping…”

  I go still, my brow furrowing. “This little birdie wouldn’t happen to be your older brother, would it?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Wow!” Throwing the knuckle tape to the floor, I start pacing in tight circles. “Wow. Wow. Wow. He just— I can’t— Wow.”

  “Darling sister, find a new word.”

  “I don’t have any words!” I throw up my hands. “I’m too—”

  “Pissed? You look pissed.”

  “I am pissed! I mean, where does he get off talking to you about me? I’m not his problem to manage. I’m not some little girl who needs looking after. And I definitely don’t need him walking around the castle broadcasting my private affairs to anyone who’ll listen.” My voice drops to imitate his rasp. “Have you heard the gossip? Our poor little princess wakes up screaming in the dead of the night. How pathetic.”

  “Was that supposed to be Carter? Because you sound more like a B-rate actor playing a character with mesothelioma on one of those awful daytime-TV soaps…”

  “Not helping.”

  “Honestly, E, you’re getting all worked up for no reason. It wasn’t like that. He knows I care about you, that I’d be concerned if I knew wh
at was going on…”

  “Your concern is noted and appreciated. But I’m just fine.”

  “That’s not what Carter says.”

  “Carter can mind his own damn business!” I snap, suddenly so angry I want to resume my session with the punching bag.

  Chloe stares at me, a knowing gleam in her eyes. “E, I don’t claim to understand the weirdly silent, strange dynamic you share with my brother… but I do know him pretty well. And that’s why I can tell, when he spends thirty minutes complaining to me about how inconsiderate you are, keeping him up night after night with your nightmares… it’s code for him being really fucking concerned about you.” She shrugs lightly. “He’s not great at expressing how he feels. Maybe that runs in the family. But obviously, if it was important enough for him to come talk to me about… I wasn’t about to blow it off. I had to make sure you were actually okay.”

  “Like I said: I’m fine.”

  “Uh huh.” She takes another long hit from her blunt. It’s silent for a moment as she lets the smoke roll around inside her lungs, then blows it out the corner of her mouth in one long, mesmerizing stream. “Can I say something without you going all wow-wow-wow on me again?”

  Sucking in a gulp of air, I take a seat beside her on the stack of mats and stare down at my dark grey workout pants. “Consider the phrase officially retired from my vocabulary.”

  She pauses, and I get the sense she’s searching for a delicate way to phrase her next words — which is so opposite her usual bluntness, I feel a few nervous butterflies burst into life in the pit of my stomach.

  “Just spit it out, Chloe. You’re starting to scare me.”

  “Okay! Jeeze.” She flicks the end of her blunt and a small shower of sparks falls to the floor. “Do you realize the only time you get worked up like this… the only time you ever seem to lose your shit completely… is when we’re talking about my stupid brother?”

  My mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

  “I mean, every time I bring him up in conversation you get this weird look on your face… and your whole body goes tense…” Her eyes slide to mine. “Kind of like you’re doing right now.”

  With considerable effort, I force my muscles to unclench. My attempt at a carefree smile feels horrendously transparent. “Chloe, it’s not…”

  “Look, I’m not an idiot. I have eyes. And Carter acts the same way whenever I talk about you.”

  He does? I think, stomach somersaulting.

  “So, I guess I’m just wondering… why?” Chloe’s curious gaze moves over my features. “Why are you and my brother so damn skittish around each other? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were in love or something.”

  My pulse is roaring between my ears. I search for a response — any response — but I can’t seem to come up with anything. At a loss, I reach out and pluck the blunt from Chloe’s hand, lift it to my mouth, and take a long hit.

  The smoke blasts into my lungs like a freight train. A freight train carrying bricks of charcoal, to be more specific, because I feel like I’ve just swallowed half the contents of a furnace. A violent cough explodes from my mouth, searing my throat raw as puffs of smoke vacate my body.

  “Whoa there, slugger,” Chloe says, removing the blunt from my grip and patting me gently on the back. “The first time you smoke, you decide to take the biggest hit of all time? Not a genius move, but I give you points for gusto…”

  “Why—“ I gasp. “Would anyone—” Another gasp. “Ever do that—” I cough again. “Willingly?”

  “If you inhale properly, it doesn’t burn your throat. And the aftereffects are quite enjoyable…” She lifts the blunt to her mouth, holding it delicately. “Like this — watch me do it.”

  My eyes track her movements; the light purse of her lips, the way her cheeks go hollow as she sucks in a small breath. When she passes the joint to me once more, I take it with hesitant fingers.

  “Slowly, this time,” she says, watching as I make my second attempt. “That’s it — not too much at once! Now hold the smoke in your lungs for a few seconds, let it work some magic…”

  Unable to withstand the burning sensation in my chest, I cough out a gulp of smoke. Thankfully, it’s far less violent this time. My throat still feels like an ashtray, but at least my eyes aren’t watering too badly.

  “Much better!” Chloe praises. “You’ll be a pro in no time.”

  “I doubt that.” My voice is a croak.

  “Practice makes perfect.”

  We pass the blunt back and forth a few more times, trading off hits. By the time it burns down to nothing, I’m not coughing at all. In fact, I’m remarkably relaxed. The whole world has gone rather fuzzy at the edges.

  As I look around the empty, fluorescent-lit gym, a dopey smile spreads across my face.

  Was it always so pretty in here? I never want to leave! Look the shiny floors! The super high ceilings! And all those different dumbbells!

  Ha.

  Dumbbells.

  Why are they called dumbbells anyway?

  That’s such a weird name.

  Dumbbells.

  Dumb bells.

  Bells can’t be dumb, they aren’t even alive!

  Psh.

  The person who came up with that was dumb.

  A real dumbbell.

  Haaaaaa.

  I giggle to myself and lean back on my elbows. I feel strange — like I’ve stepped inside an impressionist painting. It’s all one big pastel smear of light and sound.

  I’m living in a Van Gogh!

  Huh.

  Van Gogh.

  He probably smoked a lot of weed.

  There’s no way he painted Starry Night sober.

  When I share this observation with Chloe, she hiccups out a laugh. “Dude, you’re so high.”

  I glance at my legs, extended out in front of the mats we’re sitting on. “We’re actually pretty low to the ground.”

  “Not exactly what I meant.”

  “Chloe.”

  “What?”

  “Serious question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Why are they called dumbbells?”

  She giggles and the sound is so infectious, I can’t help laughing too. The sound of my laughter only spurs her on and, soon, we’re both bent over, gasping for air, tears in our eyes. It’s not until Galizia finds us a few moments later that we’re finally able to pull ourselves together.

  “Really?” My bodyguard looks down on us, her expression radiating disapproval. “I leave you two alone for ten minutes and you hot-box the training center?”

  We dissolve into giggles again.

  “Come on. Up you go.” Galizia yanks us both to our feet and starts herding us toward the gym doors. Her deep sigh barely permeates the fog in my head as we move toward the exits. “I guess you won’t need this ice for your hand, Princess — my guess is, you’re not feeling much pain anymore.”

  “None!” I grin, lifting my bruised hand triumphantly overhead in a fist-pump.

  “You’ll feel it tomorrow,” Chloe announces cheerfully, looping her arm through mine. “In your head, at the very least.”

  Galizia snorts, holding open the exit doors for us. Chloe glances at her as we slip outside onto the dark grounds.

  “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  Galizia pauses. “No.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “No.”

  “Dog? Cat? Bird?”

  “No.”

  “Are you from around here?”

  “No.”

  “Where are you from?”

  Galizia ignores her, but Chloe is persistent.

  “How old are you?”

  Galizia keeps walking.

  “What’s the B in your name stand for?”

  No answer.

  “Is it Beth?” Chloe guesses. “Belinda! Bonnie. Bethel?”

  “Bellatrix!” I yell excitedly.

  “Chill out, J.K. Rowling.” Chloe snorts. “Bianca? Betty? Brittany? Br
idget?”

  “I once named a raccoon in my neighborhood Bridget,” I murmur.

  Both Galizia and Chloe glance at me skeptically.

  “What?” I ask, defensive. “I never had a pet.”

  “Yeah…” Chloe winces. “You should keep that particular story to yourself, E. Especially when there are press around.”

  I elbow her sharply in the side.

  Galizia just shakes her head, as though we’re terribly tiresome, and keeps walking down the dark path that leads back to the castle. It looms large in the distance, a dark shadow that grows bigger as we approach. My eyes fixate on the tallest turret, silhouetted against the stars, the waning moon shining like a beacon behind it.

  I bet the constellations look incredible from all the way up there. I bet you could reach out and pluck one straight out of the sky.

  Chloe’s still rattling off names. “Bree? Barbara? Oh, what about—”

  “Chloe, you’re wasting your time. Galizia is a locked box. I’ve been trying to get personal information out of her since we met, like, a million years ago—”

  “A week,” Galizia corrects wryly.

  Undeterred, I continue. “—and she never tells me anything about herself.”

  “Hmph. Fine. Whatever.” With a displeased grunt, Chloe finally gives up her interrogation.

  For a while, there’s only the sound of our feet crunching against the frozen gravel and the faint whisper of wind blowing through the leafless trees. We’re nearly back at the entrance to the castle when Chloe glances at my guard with an intent, extremely serious look on her face.

  “It’s Babbette, isn’t it?”

  I burst into giggles again.

  Back in my suite, I toss and turn in bed, unable to sleep. I always thought smoking weed was supposed to make you lethargic, but it’s having the opposite effect on me. No matter how hard I try to keep my eyes closed, I can’t seem to relax. It’s too quiet. Too dark.

  Too everything.

  After steering us safely into our respective rooms, Galizia headed back to the Gatehouse barracks to sleep. Chloe evidently had no issues passing out immediately, but I’ve been staring at my ceiling for the past forty-five minutes and I’m still wide awake.