Rhea
Ever since my announcement a few days ago, I've been getting numerous letters. Some people are absolutely pissed, thinking I'm not fit for queen, for provoking another kingdom.
Others want to avenge their former king and queen. They think I'm right.
I've been asking myself the same question since.
Do I really want a war?
Do I really want to risk everything?
My answer is yes.
I want a war. I want a war for myself, for my parents, for other kingdoms who have been wronged by the Campbell's, and I want a war for Elijah, for Kinsley.
The past couple of days, I've been ordering Dal and Elijah around. Telling them what to do. They've abided by my every command, training my soldiers, teaching me self-defense, watching at my towers.
Elijah and I haven't even had a moment to ourselves because we've been so busy. He's my worker at this point.
Our conversations are short and professional, unless we're on the mat.
Unless we're training, and our bodies are close. When his lips are by my ear telling me a series of techniques, and rules.
It never felt like this with Allen. Whenever he taught me to defend myself, I was focused, I was stubborn, and I failed a lot.
It isn't like that with Elijah.
I'm too aware of him, of his lips, his body against mine, the seriousness in his tone when he's teaching me. I could care less that Dal and Liam are always watching.
"Arm in, if you have it out like that, your opponent could grab you easily, like this," Elijah roughly grabs my elbow, twisting me over him until we land on the ground, him above me.
He stares down at me, knife to my throat. "You have to be more aware of your body," he insists, huffing out of breath.
He lifts himself up, holding a hand out for me.
I take his hand, letting him pull me up and onto my feet.
"Again!"
I get into position, my arms tucked close to my body, my dagger in my hand, curled into my fist. I step back once, watching Elijah as he circles me.
"Be aware of your body, how much weight are you balancing? Could you move out of the way fast enough?" He calls out.
I focus, trying my best to ignore his gaze.
He takes a swipe at me, his blade just inches from my eyes, I step back on instinct. He takes this opportunity to kick under my feet as I move, knocking me on my back. He drops himself to me, the tip of blade just barely pressing into my skin.
"Just like that, you're dead."
I sigh, pushing him off of me, frustration burning into my mind.
"Don't get mad, emotions cloud your judgement. If your opponent pisses you off, you'll start taking swipes at them instead of defending yourself. You'll be vulnerable."
He stares at me, watches the emotions swirling inside me. "Breathe, count to your favorite number, over and over until you're calm."
"18."
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18
I exhale, looking straight at him.
YOU ARE READING
Perfect Flaws
FantasíaI lift my hand, holding my pistol to his chest, hovering over his heart. He stares at me, emotions spilling out of him. Emotions I can't decipher. He leans closer, the tip of the barrel pressing into his skin, just above his heart. "Do it," he whisp...
