"Something wrong, Princess?"

"Yes, remove your arm before I do it for you."

"Now, now. I am only doing what the professor wants. It’s not my fault you fight for shit," says Quinton as his hold around my neck tightens with each breath. I gasp for much-needed air. He does not need to hold on that tight.

Growling, I send my fist into his gut with enough force to get him to release me. He stumbles for only a moment before sending a kick straight into my chest. I don't even know how he managed to regain his balance before I did. I wasn't the one who had a fist shoved into their stomach. I am not that smart, especially compared to Quinton, but I know I can pack a punch. Before Quinton can lower his leg, I grab his ankle. His eyes widen when I pull him forward. He's about to fall into my chest when I bring my fist up to deck him.

He growls and grabs my arm. I shout as he flings me over him. With a loud umph I fall back to the ground, and before I have time to blink I find myself on my stomach, arms held behind my back by a pair of rough hands that can only belong to Quinton. From the corner of my eye, I see the smug expression that makes my teeth grind.

"Ask nicely, Your Highness, and I might let up," Quinton teases. I feel the rage inside me, the same rage I feel every time this prick is around. It’s been two weeks since I started school and, as I expected, Quinton has been a pain in the ass.

Two days after the chair incident a couple of my loyal followers decided to pay Quinton a visit. I was shocked when the both of them returned covered in bumps and bruises. Quinton was fine—not a single scratch on him, other than the bruised knuckles that showed me exactly how my followers had gotten those bumps and bruises.

Four days ago I asked some of the upperclassmen to pay him a visit. I found the students known for being the best fighters in the entire school. After all, Thorton is a school that not only teaches royals about politics, but also about how to protect and defend themselves or others. We're royalty, after all. We get death threats on a daily basis. Me even more so, I can’t count how many times letters or emails or even broadcasts have been hidden form me. My parents don’t want me “exposed” to it, though they know I’m going to have to be eventually. Being the next king comes with it’s disadvantages as well.

Four upperclassman went to “visit” Quinton after the incident with the other two students.

Quinton had a busted lip, a sprained wrist, and a few bruises while two of them were so badly off they couldn't leave their rooms for a week. The other two were too scared to go anywhere near him. Smart and good at fighting? Is this guy an alien? He really pisses me off...

"Do you have any idea what I could have done to you?" I hiss, doing my best not to allow any dirt into my mouth. He is pressing down so roughly on my back I am sure I will leave an imprint on the ground.

Quinton snorts, and with a roll of his eyes, he says, darkly: "Don't you mean what your father can have done to me? You can't do anything." Quinton relinquishes his hold and I get up in a flash, sending my fist directly into his face—or at least, I wanted to hit his face.

He moves in the nick of time, barely grabbing my wrist and using the grip to toss me over his shoulder and onto my back yet again. I am prepared this time though, and send my legs up hard, knocking the boy away before he can straddle me again. The anger within me has erupted like a volcano. "Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up!" I scream and run at him full speed. My arms wrap tightly around his abdomen in the hopes of knocking him over. His heels dig into the dirt and he moves but an inch before I feel his elbow dig into my back with a force that brings tears to my eyes.

The pain does not make me let go. Instead, I pick him up and toss him to the ground with a force I didn't know I had. I am so pissed that I ignore the stinging of my back and the sudden loss of air in my lungs due to his knee coming up and burying itself into my gut.

I jump on him and throw punch after punch. His arms are up, blocking each blow. He bucks me off him the moment he gets the chance, then jumps up, only to have me running at him again.

I'm mad. I'm embarrassed. I hate him to my very core. Why would he say that? Why does he speak to me like that? Having someone look down on me makes my skin crawl. I want to hurt him. He's a piece of shit!

Suddenly, I am pulled away from Quinton. He has managed to get a good enough hold on my sides to pull me away. I can't even take a breath before his fist is plummeting into my face.

A whistle is blown seconds later and Quinton is pulled away from me and I from him.

"Boys!" Professor Yarley shouts, standing between the two of us with a stern expression. I see now after we’ve been torn apart that I have managed to do something to Quinton. During my thoughts I ripped his shirt to reveal that I was holding onto him with a grip that is already forming a gruesome bruise around his abdomen. I imagine the reason he nearly broke my nose with his previous punch is because he couldn't breathe while I was attached to him.

Dick.

"You ass!" I scream, pointing an accusing finger at the somehow still smirking brat. My other hand is desperately trying to keep the blood from my nose from running into my mouth. "He could have broken my nose!"

"This is self-defense class, but you two went overboard," Professor Yarley says with a snarl. He eyes Quinton's stomach, bruised from my fists and my death grip. He looks to me with an already bruising face and sighs. "It seems I can no longer allow you two to spar together... you don't seem to understand the word 'restraint.' Come on, boys, you both need to see the nurse."