I do as he asks. My heart is pounding in fearful anticipation. Beads of sweat are dripping down my back, into my eyes. My hands are gripping the edge of the bench, knuckles white.
“Are you worthy of being a Hunter? Worthy of me?” The King asks, holding the sword a few millimeters away from the soles of my bare feet. The King’s eyes bare into mine sternly, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.
I straighten and glare at him. “Yes, sir!” I yell proudly.
And that’s when the sword presses firmly against the bottom of one of my feet.
The sizzling of the heat on my skin rings in my ears, the smell of the burning flesh acrid in my nostrils.
But I do not scream.
I grit my teeth, biting my tongue so hard I taste copper. The King does the same on the other foot, and again I make no sound. This is another one of the King’s tests, and I cannot lose. My nails are digging into the wood where I’m clutching on for dear life, and I’m sweating profusely. I never look away from the King’s stare, meeting his cold gaze with one of my own.
At last, the King removes the sword and tosses it to the ground. He nods slowly in my direction. “You’ll make a fine Hunter, son.” And with that, he walks away.
When I can no longer see the King in the distance, I release a low cry. I extend my legs out on the bench next to me, unsure of how I’ll make it back to the palace. I grab a waterskin that’s under the bench and gently pour the cold water on the bottom of my feet. I have to bite my fist to prevent myself from crying out from the pain. I lean against the wall, hoping that the pain will subside. Hoping that this will all be worth it. There was a sick satisfaction when the King called me son. I never knew who my actual father was, and the King is the only father figure I have in my life. Proving myself to him felt good. At the time, I was the strong, ruthless person the King wanted me to be.
Right when I convince myself that I’m staying here overnight, I hear a familiar voice.
“Cal? What the fuck?!”
I let Rafe’s voice soothe me, pressing my head against the cool stone wall. Has it become warmer out? I’m shaking in a cold sweat. The pain in my feet is making me dizzy, and I can’t open my mouth to respond. My eyes flutter shut, and the last memory I have is Rafe carrying me, knowing I’m completely safe in his arms.
???
I slowly blink my eyes open and groan, the memories of last night’s events coming back to me in full force. My feet have been carefully bandaged, and they’re propped up on some pillows. I don’t even have to open my eyes to know I’m in Rafe’s room. The bed smells like him – like old parchment and bergamot. I move to sit up.
“Woah, easy there, Cal.” Rafe jumps over the back of the couch he was laying on. He passes me a cup of water which I gratefully accept.
“Thanks, Rafe,” I manage to stammer. “I’m sorry for all this – give me a few and I’ll leave.” I look around his room. “Do you have my boots?”
Rafe arches an eyebrow at me. “Oh? Is that so?” He gestures toward the door. “By all means, go ahead.”
He smirks at me, and I see the challenge in his brown eyes. Never one to back down from a challenge, I slowly move my feet off the pillows, swinging them over the side of the bed. That movement alone sets my feet on fire. I gingerly place one foot on the floor before letting out a cry of pain that I didn’t want to slip out.
Rafe plasters another hard expression on his face and I relent. “Fine, can I stay here for a couple of days?”
The thought of staying in Rafe’s bed heats my face more than it should.
“Why, yes, Callum, what a wonderful idea. So glad you’re not being stubborn!” He laughs, and eventually I join in with him.
As soon as the laughter dies down, Rafe grows serious. He sits himself on the edge of the bed and brushes my sweat-soaked hair away from my forehead tenderly.
“Are you going to tell me what happened last night?” Rafe grabs a damp towel from the nightstand and presses it to my head.
I avoid his eyes and bat his hand away from my face. “A training accident.” I shrug. “I accidentally knocked one of the braziers over and stepped on the hot coals.”
“Barefoot?”
“I was trying something new. The soldiers say you should always have balance no matter the footwear.”
“Clearly you need to practice more if you’re so out of balance you’re knocking over braziers.”
I peek at Rafe. I can read him well enough that I know he doesn’t believe my stories. I’m getting worse at making them up. Each one sounds more far-fetched than the last one I told him. I won’t burden him with the truth, though, so I continue to lie and Rafe continues to pretend to listen to them.
Rafe presses the cloth back to my face. I try to protest, but Rafe cuts me off.
“Can you let me take care of you, Cal? Please, for once, stop acting so damn strong.” Rafe practically growls.
