Angel of the lake

Chapter Eight

Up in the heavens, games were a daily part of life. Sporting games, mostly, in which the Valkyries would be divided up into teams. The Mistresses said it was to work on team spirit. Getting to know each other better so they'd be better equipped for fighting alongside each other.

Well, in many rounds of different ball games, Meg had been made aware she had quite the throw. Beth once told her she was lethal in a game of dodge ball.

Apparently, hurling a large rock the same way she'd hurl a soft ball across a mystical court was surprisingly effective against demonic Kings. Like a sack of spuds, Claudio sunk to the bottom of the water.

Guilt hit her like a freight train.

This was not a part of the plan.

She'd only meant to incapacitate him long enough to get her point across. The demon King would see that her going her own way wasn't up for negotiation and leave her to it.

Suppose, knocking him clean out worked just as well as anything.

Still, she couldn't shake the guilt.

What if he drowned?

Stupid King. He was supposed to fall to the bank!

Though he wore none of that metal armour on the top, she'd bet her ass he wore something of the sort under those trousers of his.

Whatever it was, alongside all of that muscle, was weighing him down. There wasn't enough water to keep him afloat.

Darn it. She didn't want him to drown. Dangerous or not, he'd still been kind to her.

I cannot believe I'm doing this.

She tried not to think of all the time she was wasting.

When her feet touched the water, she bit back a wince, the cold piercing straight through her.

Maybe I could just leave him...

But her conscience would never live that down.

Waist deep, she swallowed back a loud cry.

This is your fault Meg—deal with it.

Did he have to be so darned heavy?

She grabbed him by the shoulders, wrapping one arm around his back.

He was literally made of muscle.

His head lolled to her shoulder as she heaved him towards the bank, certain her back would break at any coming moment.

"That's it," She panted. "Nearly there."

With all the force inside her body, she mustered up the strength to push him. When that didn't work, she took a breather then tried again.

So miracles do exist. They must do, because somehow, in the end, it worked.

Cold and wet, he laid upon the snow beside the lake.

The feeling of guilt still didn't leave her, so she wrapped him up in one of his many blankets before heading back to his tent.

Meg didn't know what his healing was like, so she decided to work fast.

She found his girl shoes first, slipping her toes into a steel toe-capped pair of walking boots. Huh. They'd stay dry within the snow, keep her feet warm and stop her toes from getting hurt. Bonus.

Next, she helped herself to one of his many weapons. That man had too many swords for his own good. Surely he wouldn't mind if one just so happened to go missing.