Amery

I wake with a start beneath a twilight sky, drenched in an icy sweat. I’m an idiot, I think, bolting upright. An idiot!

Lulu is snoring beside me and I shake her awake.

“Huh?” she sits up, rubbing her eyes.

“Lulu—you said Artair was coming today?”

“Who? Oh, the prince. I guess, yeah. He’s probably here already.”

Right. Artair’s first night at Hodgson’s estate. The awful night that will start him down that path to the villain from my nightmares. The villain he’s destined to become, if someone doesn’t step in.

I only hope I’m not too late.

“Amery, where are you going?”

“Head back to the manor, Lulu. I’ll be in later!”

“Amery—”

I don’t hear the rest. I’m already through the gate and tearing across the training yard.

How could I have been so stupid, so naïve? Till now I’ve thought only of myself, how Artair’s coming would affect me. I’d completely forgotten how much his arrival here will affect his life, and change it forever.

I run past the barracks and training grounds where a few of the general’s disciples are still up milling around, though most of them are in bed after evening drills. These are capable young soldiers, come to learn under the great war hero General Sully Hodgson. Not everyone will withstand the rigorous training they’ll face here, but those that survive this hellish boot camp will earn the title Exemplary Knight of the Silver Crown, and go on to command their own company in the king’s army.

Artair has just arrived to join the number of hopefuls, filled with excitement at the prospect of his future. But that future’s about to be snuffed out, together with the lives of two fellow disciples.

They’ve pulled him aside tonight for some bad-spirited hazing, but these trained disciples aren’t expecting to be bested by a newcomer. Their stubborn desire to put him in his place will meet the young man who’s yet to learn his true strength in a perfect storm, and the fallout will be fatal. Two lives taken, and Artair’s conscience devastated. Together with the guilt he’ll carry, he’ll earn the ire of all the disciples on the estate, and the attention of the sadistic Knight Commanders who will make his life a living hell for this.

God, please don’t let me be too late!

I burst through the front gate and reach the road breathless. Here is where I read in the game the altercation takes place, but in which direction? I look left and right, and listen. I think I hear sound coming from the right, so I take a chance and dash down the road.

I guessed right. The clouds part, and light from a thin crescent moon faintly illuminates five shapes up ahead, one significantly bigger than the others. My thrumming heart gives a little shiver of recognition.

Artair Cain. In the flesh.

I’m still thirty feet away when I see the brawl begin. It’s four against one, but Artair holds his own against these knights in training. Their relentless blows hardly make him stagger. Then one man goes in for a tackle around his torso, and I watch Artair catch him, and throw him back like a ragdoll. He hits the ground with a sickening thud.

Thanks to Artair’s fearsome power, two have backed off for the moment to check on their fallen comrade who’s struggling to rise. He’s not dead, I realize with relief. Not yet.

“Don’t fight!” I cry, skidding to a stop amidst the row. Artair hesitates a moment to consider me and takes a punch to the face, which he answers with a growl and a crushing blow that sends the aggressor stumbling backwards into his fellows.

“Stop this, all of you!” I gasp, facing the four with Artair at my back. I am breathless from my run, so terrified my whole body shakes. Somehow, I manage to speak, coming up with a story on the spot. “Th-the commanders found your empty bunks! They ordered everyone to search for you, even the staff. If you’re found fighting there’ll be trouble. Go back quietly, before the general hears about this.”

The young men look to each other, alarmed. No one here wants to cross the commanders, and they definitely don’t want to earn the ire of the general. But one among them stands straighter, and challenges me stubbornly.

“She’s bluffing. Listen. There’s no one out tonight but her.”

“It-it’s no bluff,” I say, struggling to maintain my composure beneath this many gazes. “The others will find you any minute.”

“Ha. There are no others,” says the man, and he exchanges glances with his fellows. Now they’re leering and snickering amongst themselves as they eye me up and down with intent. “Sit tight, sweetheart. We’ll play with you just as soon as we fix this newbie.”

I take an involuntary step back, and thud against something solid behind me. Before I can look up I feel an arm circle around me, and a face comes to rest just over my shoulder.

“You’ll fix who now?”

My heart thumps painfully and I swallow. Artair’s face is so close to mine I could faint.

“I’ll send you all to hell, if that’s what you want.”

There is a tense standoff of a few seconds, then, as though by miraculous design, a whistle happens to blow within the walls of the estate. At the sound the men shrink and curse.

“There, see?” my voice is shrill. “They’re looking for you.”

“I tell you it’s a bluff!”

“Let’s just go,” says the one who fell earlier, clutching his ribs. I can see at a glance all the fight’s gone out of him. Another who’s nursing a broken nose begins the retreat without even waiting for the others. Soon they’re all retreating, stumbling through the dark and kicking up a light cloud of dust behind them.

Artair straightens and releases me, and my legs give out. I fall flat on my butt, still shaking from the ordeal. This is too much for me, I think, clutching at my racing heart.

“Losers,” I hear Artair murmur behind me, and I tip my head back to see him. He’s dressed head to toe in worn black leathers; a heavy belt cinches his trim waist with a buckle made of brass. His muscular thighs stand like two tree trunks, his great hands hang at his sides, fingers running slightly with blood from the cuts on his knuckles. One of those hands he lifts to wipe a smudge of blood from the corner of his mouth where I watched him get hit earlier.

“That was unnecessary,” he declares, gripping my collar and hauling me back to my feet with barely an ounce of effort. He turns me toward him, though I still have to crane my neck to see his face towering so high above my own.

“A woman’s got no business sticking her nose in a man’s fight,” he glowers at me. “I don’t need your protection.”

I shake my head, a bit stupid with the nearness of him. “It was them I was trying to protect.”

Artair considers this, and to my surprise shows a sliver of teeth in a fleeting grin. “Ha,” he says, and goes quiet, studying me with momentary interest.

I study him back, this man so handsome they should carve him in stone for all future generations to see. His face is dark, his hair and eyes are black as sin. His nose is straight, his brows are thick, and his cheekbones are perfectly cut, casting shadows across his face even in the darkness. He seems expressive, not like he is in the game, after his spirit’s been broken. Though he’s lived a hard life up to this point, I can see hope still burns in him.

So his fate hasn’t been sealed. From what I’ve just witnessed, I’d say he stands at the threshold, but he’s not a villain in entirety.

Not yet.

My heartbeat is racing uncontrollably as I take him all in, and my knees are weak. I think I’ll collapse again, but Artair catches me with a big hand and sets me right. He frowns.

“Can you walk?”

I nod automatically, though perhaps ambitiously.

He releases me abruptly and starts away. I turn to watch him go, mind blank, but he surprises me by stopping. His shoulders are tight, his whole frame tense, like a humongous cat about to pounce.

“What are you waiting for?” he says without turning. “I’ll leave you behind.”