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“Yeah, yeah, and you’ll steal my girl away from me and marry her yourself. You can have all the wishful thinking you want, it still doesn’t make it fact. Just dreams thought up by a boy with too much anger inside him.”
“I’m not angry!” he says, banging at the iron bars.
“Could have fooled me.”
“Let me out of here, Teo!!!”
“You know the rules. Calm the fuck down and I will.”
“ARGH! You smug bastard! I’m going to kill you!”
“Words spoken from the same kid who refuses to see he has anger problems.”
Atlas keeps banging at the bars, throwing out all the curses he knows at me, but it’s for his own good. He’s so angry he can’t even see straight, much less think clearly. If I let him out now, then he’ll run his mouth to the king about how I kissed his daughter. King Orville would have my head, but then he would lock his daughter away to ensure her virtue and make sure that neither one of us would be able to get close to her ever again. My pretty head would be decorating one of Tarnow Castle’s many spikes, while Atlas and Levi would be shipped back to their kingdoms, never to see our Katrina again.
Atlas might not see that now through his rage, but he’ll thank me later once common sense pays him a visit.
Unfortunately for me, I underestimated his hatred toward me. Atlas fumes and shouts for hours, never running out of fuel. I limit myself to sitting on the floor, leaning against the opposite wall in front of him, watching him have his meltdown.
He hates me for kissing Katrina.
And right now, Atlas isn’t my favorite person either.
I could be upstairs in her garden just basking in her love, but instead I’m spending the rest of my night in this musky, dank dungeon enduring my little brother’s abuse.
I must doze off in between rants, only to wake up when I feel something hitting me.
“Do you mind? I’m trying to sleep over here,” I say, closing my eyelids again after I realize it’s Atlas throwing little pebbles at my head to grab my attention.
“I won’t tell her father,” he mumbles.
One eyelid opens followed by another.
“Go on.”
He lets out an exaggerated exhale.
“I won’t say a word to anyone,” he promises, his expression filled with defeat.
“And how do I know you’ll keep your word?”
“You don’t. You’ll just have to trust me.” He shrugs.
“Not good enough.”
“Fine.” He throws his arms in the air. “What can I say that will make you believe me?”
I get off the ground and inch closer to the bars.
“I want you to swear on it,” I demand.
“Fine. I swear on all the gods that my word is true. I will not tell a living soul what I saw tonight. Not even about how you locked me up in this dungeon.”
I tsk, shaking my finger at him.
“Nope. Don’t swear to me on the gods. Swear on something that actually means something to you. Something sacred.”
“And what could be more sacred than the gods?” he counters with a laugh.
