The Purple Eyed Girl

35. The Devil's favorite

A deep breath escaped my lips as I stood in front of two large doors. I really didn't look forward to this. The guards standing watch next to the doors looked at me questionably as I stared in front of me, shaking my head and contemplating all the life choices that had led me up to this moment. With one last annoyed sigh I pushed up the heavy doors and walked in, bracing myself for what was to come.

Fittings.

Fucking fittings.

Four weeks had passed since the talk with my father and now we had less than a week left until the conquest was going to start. I hadn't done much, I did my daily workouts and skipped everything that was conquest related including trainings, preparations and media obligations. I mostly hung out with my father, we had actually gotten clearance to leave the palace ground and just do father/daughter activities. We held movie marathons in our actual house, had dinner, went karting and swimming. We even ran from paparazzi, because ever since the interview I was now number one in every poll and social media activity out there for some reason.

Even though it was a breath of fresh air compared to the other weeks, it hadn't changed anything about how I felt, which was the exact same. And now, at this very moment, a time I dreaded had come, the final fittings during which the outfits were going to be revealed.

My eyes roamed across the room, every fighter was here, including their trainers. The fighters were standing in their underwear, changing into their outfit. It was exactly like the three piece outfit the stylists had said it would be. It was completely black with a simple embraided name of the specific fighter on the left sleeve of the vest. Names I knew would be forgotten a couple weeks after the conquest, with the exception of a few. Names belonging to people I might had to kill myself when the time came. So as much as I wanted to get to know them, I didn't, because it would only make it harder and it was of no use. In the end, we were all just numbers, drawn from a bowl, destined to die.

A stylist motioned for me to follow her behind a folding screen where I had to strip down. She handed me a heavy garment bag and a big box that were set to contain my outfit and I instantly knew something was up. The first red flag occurred when I opened the box, revealing black, leather thigh-high boots with black, metal greaves on them, which I hadn't seen the other men wear. I pursed my lips when I zipped open the bag, my earlier suspicions had come true. I didn't get the same comfortable three piece outfit as the rest.

I got armor.

It consisted out of a black, leather, strapless sweetheart bodice, topped by a black metal dragon whose wings were spread out over the chest and a small part of the shoulders, connected to a short, black, leather skirt. Two separate black, metal arm bracers in the shape of a dragon that would twist around my forearms were included as well, along with a small metal headpiece covering my forehead resembling two dragon heads breathing fire in opposite directions, ending just above my cheekbones.

The stylists handed me two large silver swords to get 'the whole picture' after which I waved them away, put the entire armor on, grabbed the swords and stepped out from behind the screen, ignoring the mirrors next to me. Combined with my dark hair hanging on my back, I'm sure it looked quite intimidating.

The entire room went quiet as everyone's eyes fell upon me. Their blood drained from their faces as their eyes widened and they looked at one another.

"We're supposed to fight her?! Looking like that?!" A human fighter gulped.

A vampire fighter pointed at me. "S-She- She looks like-"

"Death." Haimon cut in.

Ironic coming from someone who was dead.