Page 77 of Duke of the Sun

Rhys rolled his eyes. “Come on, Michael,” he snapped. “Do you take me for a blind man? Perhaps a foolish one, is that it?”

Michael remained silent, determined to stop the room from spinning all around him. He breathed in deeply before pushing himself off the ropes, his fists desperately launching forward without entirely seeing where he was going. Rhys merely needed to side step out of the way, letting Michael tumble till he landed on the opposite side of the ring, leaning against the ropes once more. Rhys paced behind him.

“Michael -”

Letting out a pained grunt, Michael pulled himself off again, the world beginning to take shape around him once more. He threw punches towards Rhys, though his depth perception was wildly off. Rhys kept blocking and parrying, obviously making sure not to deliver another hit to Michael. The frustration grew louder and louder in the back of his head as Rhys continuously avoided landing a punch, merely tapping him on the chest every now and then.

“Rhys,” Michael growled. “Are you a coward?”

“What?”

Michael threw another punch but drastically missed. “You refuse to hit me! You are a coward! I wanted a fight, and you give me a pandering game!” He shouted, dipping forward again and launching his fists forward as fast as he could. “I demanded a fight! I demanded -”

Rhys suddenly lurched forward, ducking beneath Michael’s onslaught and delivering a rough shove. Michael crashed down back into the ropes another time, his head swirling. He swayed and rocked, unable to carry himself on his feet as the exhaustion crept into his vision. He shook his head once and another time, but it was to no avail.

Rhys slowly walked towards him, barely even breaking a sweat. “I know what you want,” he muttered, “And I refuse to give it to you.”

“How can you possibly know a thing?” Michael angrily grunted, desperately trying to hold himself up on the ropes. He could taste the venom in his mouth when he spoke, but he hardly cared. Despite Rhys being his closest friend, the one person he had leaned on throughout his entire life, Michael found himself desperate to hurt him, desperate to poke his buttons till he could unleash some sort of pain upon him. He was beyond desperate for it.

Rhys sighed. “You want me to punish you in a way that you cannot punish yourself.”

Silence answered him, only the sound of Michael’s heavy pants filling the air.

“Do you want to know how I know that?”

Michael pressed his lips together. He already knew what Rhys was going to say, and it was nothing he wished to hear.

“I lost a cousin to the very heartache you wish to succumb to right now,” Rhys continued, not waiting for an answer, his voice rising in anger. “The poor sod went to war for it. Eager to punish himself for the things he had done, but only managing to be lost to everyone who ever loved him. To this very day, Michael, we know not what became of him.” Rhys stepped closer, trying to meet Michael’s eyes. “Is that the same fate you wish for yourself?”

Michael kept his gaze down, his teeth clenched together so hard it rattled his head.

“Answer me!”

“You know nothing,” Michael finally hissed. It was a lie, he knew, but he wished to convince himself of the opposite. Deep down, Michael was very much aware of how it all seemed, of how it looked to Rhys, and he was entirely right to believe it. Michael sought a punishment for what he had done to Cordelia. He never should have returned in the first place, and that needed to be hammered into his head.

Just like how his father used to crack the whip against his back.

“I look at you now,” Rhys continued, “And do you know who it is I see?”

Michael looked up at him.

“Your father.”

The anger rushed through his arms like adrenaline, pulling him off the ropes almost instantly. He let a yell out, the sound slamming against the walls and echoing throughout the private practice room. The newfound energy in his arms riled Michael forward, allowing him to land punch after punch against Rhys’s chest. His friend stumbled backwards in surprise, his teeth gritted with every hit. Michael was seething as he delivered a hit to his friend's cheek, stunning him further.

Despite the injury delivered to Rhys’s face, he merely spit on the floor, and returned to his stance. “You’re pushing Cordelia away,” he shouted, “In the same way the old Duke pushed your mother, pushed her all the way to -”

“Shut up!” Michael growled. “Say another word, Rhys, and you’ll regret it!”

“Why? Because you know I am right?”

Michael surged forward, shoving Rhys against the ropes. He continued forward still, clutching his friend's collar in his hands, raising a fist over his head. Despite this, Rhys remained still beneath his hold, meeting his clenched fist straight on.

“You are taking away the best thing that has happened to you,” Rhys said through gritted teeth, a bruise already forming on his cheek, “And for what? To prove a point to yourself? To become more like the beastly Duke that all of London already believes you to be?”

“You are wrong!”

“Am I?” Rhys shook his head. “They said the same about your father, and you know that. You grow more like him with each passing day, and you are too afraid to admit it!”

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