Page 44 of Glass Hearts
* * *
As I walked into the fighting den, my adrenaline pulses. I can smell the blood and sweat in the air, building up the anticipation in my veins. The crowd is large today; the sounds rumbling from the stands. I put on my fighting mask asThe Stoneand wait, ready to be announced. I must wear a mask to keep my identity protected, but it is also part of the club rules; it’s all aboutanonymity. Plus, the council would disapprove of my fighting matches.
The council.
At first, their guidance had been essential to me and my brothers. We were lost princes with crumbling empires. I have always respected authority, and it seems like they had it in spades while also seeming to care about us not only as princes but as young lost boys.
A few council members left, and new ones came on. Things started to change bit by bit. But over the years it somehow progressed to their controlling, not advising, our every move.
Part of me has been blaming Arabella for dividing me and my brothers. But really, it’s the council. How good of a brother am I to deny Grayer and Koi happiness? Is it jealousy because so far, it doesn’t include me? I had thought I was protecting my brothers by leading them to follow what the council says. If we just follow this order, they will leave us alone. But will they ever?
The announcer calls my name as I enter the ring. I am up against another regular fighter,The Death Arm.He is a powerful fighter—they don’t call him the Death Arm for nothing. His right hook is nasty. I can’t help the smile forming as he smirks from across the ring.
This is going to hurt, and with excitement, we begin.
The fight lasts long, both of us unwilling to take the final blow, enjoying our brutal dance. I was able to get a few good hits on him, and he, in return, got a few good hits on me. I can feel blood running down my face and cuts opening at my chest from his rough glove. Not up to fighting standards, but I don’t mind.
The crowd gets antsy as we come close to the last round call. The Death Arm makes a sudden attack on me, his normal tells not present. He has me pinned to the mat.
“Well, Stone, looks like this win will be mine today. I am tired of you always winning. Been training harder.”
“Good for you, but you haven’t trained hard enough.” With all my might, I push him off me. We wrestle on the floor before I get him into a headlock. He taps out immediately, and the ring announcer calls my win.
I shake hands with The Death Arm, smiling. “Want to go for drinks, Stone?”
“Not tonight, buddy; you almost had me there.”
“At least I got you all bloodied up. I call that a win.” He laughs as he walks off.
* * *
The Death Arm got a few good hits on me. The cut above my eyebrow is still bleeding by the time I get back to the castle. I will have to stitch it, hoping it doesn’t scar.
I make my way towards the medical bay, close to the servants’ quarters. I am almost there until I bump into someone. We both crash down painfully. The poor woman drops a bundle of linens that falls all over her.
“Shit. I am so sorry.” I automatically respond until I see it is Arabella who I had bumped into.
“Oh my gosh, Prince Sylas! What happened to you?” Arabella crawls to me, worry fretting her brow. Tingles shoot around the gentle touches she gives me on my face.
“I was just about to go to the medi bay to remedy it. It looks worse than it actually is.” I am mesmerized as she frames my face in her tiny hands, taking inventory of all my minor injuries.
“Is it just your face?”
“A few gashes to my chest, but it’s nothing of concern.” She grabs my hands and stands up, and I follow.
“I will have to get you more.” I pick up her now dirty linens, handing it back to her.
She waves her hand at me. “Don’t even worry about it; it was for Kip and Bert, they won’t care.”
Surprisingly, she grabs my hand once more and directs me to follow her to her room. I happily follow.
Her room is so small, I feel like a giant in a shoebox. She places the dirty linens on the desk and into a little ball. Her mice, right away, make way for the pile.
“They like to build nests,” she says as she goes through her drawers, pulling out a little medical kit. “Please sit on my bed, Prince Sylas. I am not trying to make any advances, but you may need to take your shirt off, too, so I can tend to those wounds.”
“You… are you going to help me?”
“Of course, that’s what a decent person should always do.” She snorts as if it’s a silly question. “I will be right back.”
