Hurt and Ruined - Healed and Loved

She Knows

Heyyy guys!!! I'm back(rather quickly lol) I decided to travel back to The Cruel Prince and write an excerpt from Cardan's POV. I don't think there are any spoilers in this... but I guess you never know.

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The only reason my brother would've summoned me so late at night is because I have done something wrong. Or, more likely, because he is bored. It is a game to him, hurting others. Even if I am his brother. Even if I am the prince of Faerie.  

My thoughts go to Jude and her twin sister. Taryn. They are loved by the General and they are nothing more than mere mortals born to his unfaithful wife. I, on the other hand, am the prince of Faerie, who is ignored by my whole family. Other than one of my brothers who takes pleasure in beating me.

I can see Balekin standing at the end of the hallway, his gaze tracking my every step. I make sure my face has the usual lazy expression, even as the fear kicks in my chest. What tortures will I have to endure this time?

Balekin doesn't say a word as I stand in front of him, only claps me in the back, hard, and leads me upstairs to the room where it always happens. 

"I hope you've been practicing, princeling," Balekin says, with his customary cruel sneer. A male servant, obviously ensorcelled, enters the room holding a court sword with gold engraving along the hilt and metal wings making the shape of the guard. 

"Must we?" I ask, hoping I sound bored.

"Show me what you've learned." Balekin lifts a single staff from a vessel beside his desk that holds an assortment of staves and canes. "All you have to do is get a single hit in. Just one, little brother."

Little brother. He says that when he wishes to remind me that I am nothing, that I am under him. But I don't need reminding. I've always known it.

"Pick up the sword." Balekin's voice snaps me into reality.

With an exasperated sigh, I lift the blade and take my stance, deliberately making sure it is sloppy and terrible. The only thing I wield against him is irritation and I will use it the best I can. 

"Now, attack," Balekin says, lifting his staff.

I don't want to. Even if he is as cruel as he is, I don't want to hurt him. Not like this, at least. After a long moment, I swing my sword, not really having a strategy or a plan in mind. I just swing because I am aware that if I refuse, my punishment will be worse. 

Balekin brings his staff down on me hard, hitting me on the side of my head. Pain explodes through my head, and I stagger forward, momentarily blinded by the agony.

"This is ridiculous," I spit blood on the floor. "Why must we play this silly game? Or do you like this part? Is this what makes it fun for you?"

"Swordplay isn't a game." Balekin swings again. I try to jump back, but the staff catches the edge of my thigh.

I flinch, bringing up my sword defensively. "Then why call it swordplay?"

Perhaps mocking him wasn't the best strategy, especially now, because Balekin's face darkens. What was then a thundercloud turns into a dark storm. His grip on the staff tightens. This time he jabs me in the stomach, striking suddenly and with enough force that I sprawl on the stone floor. "I have tried to improve you, but you insist on wasting your talents on revels, on being drunk under the moonlight, on your thoughtless rivalries and your pathetic romances—"