Kingdom of isolation - you can't hide

Twelve - Alexander

Alexander

Age 23

The crowd grows hungry for blood, waiting to see who wins tonight. Excitement fizzles over the knowledge of who's playing and the guaranteed twelve rounds with plenty of blood. It's common to have multiple fights take place in one night. Not tonight, one will be worth a dozen. 

It's the first fight of the season and I can already smell the coppery tang of blood, permeating the air in delicious waves. The House of Royal University is the perfect place to shed blood without facing any major repercussions, allowing the most uptight royals and aristocrats to become animals in the night. 

It's like Switzerland but lawless for the elite, a place to let go and do whatever we want, consequences be damned—within reason. It's not as barbaric as cage fighting, because that would definitely ensure the elites cease to exist and it's not something highly sought after in our world. Wouldn't that be perfect, though? 

I'd be in favour of cage fighting just so I can whittle down the weakest links. Underground fighting at HRU is probably the closest thing to it. Here, opponents have a choice whereas cage fighting is far more simple. You either kill or be killed.

The House of Royal College, HRC, back in the states was constricting in that sense, always having to play by the rules of the council. Of course that didn't stop me, but it certainly had Caspian Hart in an invisible chokehold. 

He's a stickler for rules and regulations, just like his father. So I wasn't surprised the second he landed at HRU, he joined the fight club and challenged the reigning champion. Challenging me, a second year, his senior and with plenty of wins under my belt. 

Here's the problem with that little equation; I don't fucking lose. Ever. Thus far, he hasn't won a single fight against me but that hasn't stopped him from challenging me every year like a wounded lion. 

Not that I mind, throwing punches at the titan is exhilarating, I want to torture him. When we fought for the first time, I saw great potential in him and maybe a sliver of respect might have bloomed in my dead heart. But it quickly went downhill from there when he let his anger take control and got sloppy. 

Nearly four years later, it's still no different. The problem isn't necessarily his technique, the guy's athletically built to withstand a hurricane. It's his inability to control his emotions long enough to land a good punch, or at least try and catch me off guard. 

He's won his matches against every other opponent except for me. I don't see how this fight is going to be any different.

I watch him getting angrier and angrier the longer he sits in his little corner, staring at me like he wants to pummel me to death. Like a lion caged in his cage just waiting to get out and shred me to pieces. 

Good, all of that anger will eventually lead to his defeat. Caspian always thinks he's gearing up to beat me into a pulp but fails to deliver every time. I smirk at my opponent for the night. I'll be doing all of the beating into a pulp tonight on his behalf because why the fuck not? 

He initiates it every time, it's only fair that I return the favour and beat his ass to smitherness. Besides, I'm in the mood to ask him some questions , I think it's time that I did. It's time he realised how much he fucked up. 

We stand in front of each other, our heights almost parallel. I tilt my head, scanning the prince of the Hart kingdom. Short light brown hair, gunmetal eyes, pale skin littered with bruises, sharp features that took a while to grow into, the resemblance to his father is remarkable.