If I'm being honest, she knows how to wield a sword—too well for someone who shouldn't even know how to fight. Her movements were more than decent; they were deliberate, controlled, and precise. It was clear she understood what she was doing, that she'd practiced these maneuvers countless times before. Her stance was almost perfect, the kind that only comes from proper training. Every swing of the blade cut through the air with force, and her grip on the hilt was strong, unwavering. There was a sharpness to her focus, an almost feral intensity in the way she moved, as if the sword was an extension of herself. And yet, this was something I wasn't supposed to know about her.
Does anyone else know about this? About her being able to fight like this? The question churned in my mind as I watched her from my hidden vantage point. It didn't make sense. She wasn't supposed to be capable of this—none of this fit the image I had of her. And yet, there she was, defying my every expectation with every calculated strike.
It was almost amusing, in a dark, twisted sort of way, to watch her. She screamed in frustration as she hacked away at the practice dummies, her voice carrying across the field like a war cry. Each swing of her blade was filled with so much anger, so much unrelenting fury, that it was impossible to miss. She wasn't just attacking those targets—she was imagining they were people. That much was obvious. And not just any people.
No, she was imagining me.
She was picturing my face, channeling all that bottled-up rage into every vicious strike, as if that would somehow bring her peace. Her movements grew wilder, more reckless, her anger consuming her like a storm. It was almost comical to watch, the way she lost herself in the act, her control slipping with every swing.
And then something unexpected happened.
After one particularly brutal strike that left her gasping for air, she threw the sword away. The sound of the blade clattering against the stone floor echoed loudly in the otherwise quiet space. She sank to her knees as if all the strength had been drained from her body. Her shoulders trembled, her hands clenching into fists on the ground. And then, slowly, a sound reached my ears that made me freeze in place.
Eileithya was crying.
She was crying.
The sight of it hit me like a punch to the gut. I wasn't sure what I had expected, but it wasn't this. From where I stood, hidden in the shadows, I had a clear view of her face. Her tears ran down her cheeks in steady streams, her expression raw and full of anguish. She looked… broken. Vulnerable. And I hated it.
It made me uncomfortable.
Why? Because it would've been so much easier if she were ugly. If her tears twisted her features into something grotesque, if they made her look weak and pathetic. That would've made this so much simpler. But she wasn't ugly. Not even close.
No, she was beautiful.
She was probably the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, and that infuriated me. It wasn't fair. Someone like her shouldn't be allowed to look like that, especially not when she was crying. It made everything worse.
When my sister was still alive, I'd had a crush on her—Nsomi Eileithya D'Arcy. I never admitted it, not to her and not to myself. Instead, I buried those feelings deep down, pretending they didn't exist. I treated her with indifference, acted as though I didn't care. But somewhere along the way, those buried feelings twisted into something else, something darker. Loathing. Resentment. Hatred. And now, standing here, I was confronted with the undeniable truth that she had only grown more beautiful since then.
It made me sick.
Her golden, curly hair fell around her like a halo, gleaming in the dim light. Her skin was pale and flawless, like freshly fallen snow. And her body—gods, her body. The curve of her waist, the shape of her hips, it was infuriating how perfect she was. But the worst part, the part that drove me to the brink of madness, were her eyes.
Those ruby-red eyes.
I had forgotten about them, but now, seeing them again, I couldn't look away. They were dangerous and captivating all at once, the kind of eyes that made you forget yourself if you stared too long. And as much as I hated her, as much as I wanted to see her broken, I couldn't deny that those eyes made her even more gorgeous.
It only fueled my rage.
I couldn't take it anymore. I stood abruptly, my movements sharp and agitated, and turned away from the scene. Without a word, I left, disappearing into the shadows and making my way back to the castle. My chest was tight, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts I didn't want to unpack. By the time I arrived, my anger was radiating off me in waves, enough that everyone I passed gave me a wide berth.
Everyone except two people.
Adonis Veilo Rhory, the infuriatingly handsome brother of the Red King, and Sohan Meir Erebus, the ever-charming bringer of light in the nether darkness. The two of them had a knack for finding amusement in my foul moods, and today was no exception.
"What's got you so angry, Princess?" Sohan asked, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. His tone was light, teasing, and it only added fuel to the fire burning inside me.
"That bitch dared to come here!" I snapped, my voice dripping with venom.
At my words, their expressions shifted. Their smiles faded, replaced by something darker. Like me, they hated her. And for that, I was grateful. At least they understood.
"What?" they said in unison, their disbelief mirroring my own from earlier.
"I don't want to talk about it now," I muttered, shaking my head. The anger in my voice hadn't lessened, but I forced myself to take a deep breath. "But I swear, I'm going to make her pay for what she did."
Turning to Stephen, my secretary and the castle's butler, I issued my next command. "Find a way to organize all the girls from the Trials to stay at Avy's castle," I ordered, my tone leaving no room for argument. "And make sure that Nsomi Eileithya D'Arcy is located in my sister's room. Oh, and put Emilia—my sister's former nanny—as her maid-in-waiting."
Stephen blinked in surprise, his hesitation lasting only a moment before he nodded and hurried off to carry out my instructions.
"Are you sure about this?" Sohan asked, his tone cautious now.
A slow grin spread across my face, one that mirrored the darkness of my thoughts. "I've never been so sure of anything in my life," I said, my voice low. "She didn't come to my sister's funeral. She hasn't set foot in this place since Avyanna died, and she hasn't even visited her grave. I'm gods-damn sure she's terrified of facing anything that reminds her of my sister." My grin widened, sharp and cruel. "This is going to break her more than anything else could."
Both Adonis and Sohan exchanged a look, their initial doubts fading as they began to see the genius of my plan. Now, all that was left to do was wait. Three days. That was all it would take before she was here, before the game began.
"I'm going to make her life a living nightmare," I muttered, more to myself than to them.
And I meant it. Every single word.