Glass Dominion

Chapter Twenty-Four

I shot up out of my restless sleep and blinked away the clouded haze over my eyes. My breathing was steady, but my heart pumped strong and fast against my chest.
A cold sweat dripped down my neck which made my skin feel clammy. My eyes were so tired, so sleep deprived that it felt like they were coated in sand.
I looked over at the clock on my bedside table, and sighed. It'd only been one hour after I'd managed to go to sleep again, and I could see through the window that the sun was beginning to rise.
All night was like this, every single night since I'd been there. I had the hardest time falling asleep, and it wasn't long before I woke up again, tossing and turning. My mind wouldn't stop.
I couldn't get that longing for my home out of my bones. I thought that with time it would have faded, now I was learning precisely what homesick meant. And how literal it could be.
But at the same time, I was also adamant to fully settle into this place. Firstly because that made it real, and secondly because I could see how the palace was the kind of place people were meant to get lost in. Not geographically lost, but in the kind of way where it walked you down a path in the corridors of your mind, undiscovered places, unfamiliar places. And it is there that you wonder, how could somewhere so dark have existed inside of you?
I could see it laced throughout this palace, how it affected everything. Nothing ever went untouched by it, like ripples after tossing a stone into water.
Was it sad, though, that no one else could see it? Even if it were the skin they wore, they wouldn't have been able to see it. I couldn't call it purposeful, because this was a place you were meant to get lost in.
I knew this because I could see right through the people I lived amongst. However, the only person I'd yet to figure out was the commander.
What he said and what he did didn't add up. They say to believe actions over words, but the one thing I couldn't figure out was if his actions were simply a front for his words, as if they were a front to hide the truth. Either that, or he was blatantly lying to me in attempts to relate, to seemingly find some kind of common ground between the two of us.
I hated not knowing, and I wanted to have just straight up asked him, but the answers I'd gotten up until that point were all unclear. Everything since I'd been there was all unclear.
I had spent all night waiting for the sun to rise, so I didn't have to toss and turn or yearn for sleep to take me any longer. At night was when I had the most time to think, to feel the deep absence of my family.
Feeling restless, I knew I wouldn't have been able to stay in that room any longer. And breakfast wouldn't be for another couple hours.
The room around me felt so still, still lingering with pieces of the night, sunlight trying to force its way through the curtains.
In the washroom, I splashed my face with cold water and scrubbed at my sleepy eyes. I brushed my teeth and hair, then threw on a couple pieces of the armor over my clothes before starting down the corridor.
It was still dark as night and eerily quiet, causing my footsteps to echo even louder. I crossed paths with a couple maids and servants getting started on their day's work during the calm hours of the morning when they wouldn't be disturbed.
I liked watching them, watching the different types of people. They were all living their own lives, they had their own families, their own thoughts and beliefs, their own homes.
The thing I noticed the most was that no one was truly happy here. This was supposed to be a grand life, people always thought that if they just had more then they would be happy. Nothing ever seemed to be enough though.
Another thing I noticed was that everyone looked so lonely. They were there without their families, doing what they had to do to make it through each day. And that went for everyone, no matter what class or title.
I had never thought about it much before now, but since I'd seen it, I knew exactly what I wanted to try to avoid. I may have found it difficult to trust, I may have kept to myself, been coldly standoffish, but at the end of the day I needed a sense of familiarity, a sense of closeness with someone. In Grassheen, I had that with Vanya, Bertram, Nolan, and Niko. Here, I had only one person, and it was someone I deeply despised. But at least it was someone familiar.
I made my way into the empty training room that was bathed in fresh sunlight pouring in through the skylight. Through the window I saw nothing but light gray skies that looked faded and reminiscent of color.
When in need of blowing off some steam, Nolan and I used to go to the training grounds. He was hardly an opponent, but over the past week I had realized that so was I.
I could fight, but I struggled with taking direction. Though that was only a small part of the reason why my first week of training didn't go well at all. The main reason was that my trainer was an absolute nuisance who had a temper about as short as my patience. And the two did not go well together. I hadn't been to training the last couple of days because of it.
I walked across the mat to pull out a punching bag that sat in its designated place by the back wall. After pulling it onto the mat, I searched through the cluttered bens of miscellaneous things and found two wraps that looked partially used. I didn't like the thought of using the heavily used ones, stained with blood, it disgusted me.
I tied my dark, frizzy hair up messily to keep it out of my face. Then I wrapped the cloth around my knuckles, and made sure they were secure.
Staring at the punching bag I was trying to figure out the point of it. It did nothing for me except give me sore arms and fists. What was the point in punching something that didn't punch back? I would have asked Zhao, considering it was her instructions we'd been following all week, but everyone knew better than to question her.
Lazily, I tossed my fist at the hard punching bag. It didn't move, as if I'd just hit a stone wall. I raised my fist and assumed my position before it with my right foot back and my left shoulder forward.
I punched the bag harder this time, and immediately withdrew my fist, then did the same with my right hand. I cursed under my breath at the amount of pain it'd caused me. It hurt less punching someone's face, which didn't make a lot of sense. Maybe it was the lack of adrenaline when it was simply training. Maybe that was what made training beneficial.
I tried to remember what Christian had taught me, the pattern you were meant to follow. It was difficult to focus, to remember what I was learning because half of the time I was halfway present, and too tired to function properly. I wasn't able to sleep, but at least I'd been able to eat, which I was thankful for.
The pattern I was taught, that was the basis that every warrior in training followed, was made for two people to practice. And the punching bag before me was a lousy opponent. It seemed we were matched perfectly.
Punch, punch. That was all I knew to do, all I could recall from previous training sessions. If training wasn't done to benefit the emperor, to serve the kingdom, I might have enjoyed it. It was a wonderful way to release all of the pent up feelings and emotions I carried with me. All of the anger, all of the sadness, it finally had somewhere to go.
Punch, punch. I continued to tell myself, hitting it harder each time, forcing myself to not think about the pain that ignited in my wrists and elbows.
A punch for the anger I felt, a punch for the sadness, the homesickness, the anxious and constant tremble in my bones, for everything that kept me up at night.
I gritted my teeth together hard, pushing through the pain I felt, the discomfort that felt almost unnatural. Why did I need to feel it? Why did I crave the pain, and want more of it?
"You're doing that wrong." From behind, a low voice crept over me. I jumped, startled by the sudden presence that'd entered the room.
I stopped punching, my arms tingled and throbbed. Catching my breath, I wiped the sweat from my brow and turned to face him.
Whatever breath I'd caught seemed to escape me. He approached the mat, completely shirtless. Those massive muscles in his arms, his pecks, his abs, all flexed beneath his smooth skin
I hated that I noticed how his chest was bare, but a line of hair trailed from his belly button down. His pants were buttoned low around his torso, and his blond hair looked messy, like a sleepy kind of messy. He carried a couple pieces of armor with him, and a strap with a blade sheathed in it.
As he stalked closer, I finally found my voice. "What are you doing here?" It was five o'clock in the morning, no one else would be up for the next two hours. And of all the people I could have ran into, it just happened to be him.
Those blue eyes hadn't bothered to look my way yet. "What are you doing here?" he returned the question, going through the same miscellaneous ben. "I come in here every morning to train."
"Of course you do." I watched as he picked out a couple of wraps, cleaner looking ones. His sleepy gaze focused intensely as he wrapped his knuckles in the cloth, his hands held low by his stomach that's muscles flexed.
With his head hanging low, his eyes glanced up at me through his brows. "You didn't answer me," he pointed out.
His tone was so unbothered, so linear. Either he suddenly hated me even more than he already did, or he was still half asleep. Both could have been possible.
I forced my eyes off of him, having to recall what I was meant to be answering. "I couldn't sleep."
Christian walked toward me, slowly, but intently, which pulled my gaze back to his. It was all I could do not to let my eyes trail downward. He stepped closer and closer, then too close, but I stood my ground.
He lifted a hand and delicately touched the soft skin of my flushing cheek. Then, his thumb grazed just under my eye. My heart was beating so fast, but I refused to move a muscle.
"When was the last time you slept in peace?" he asked idly, withdrawing his hand. My skin lingered with the sensation of his touch. His voice was in the depths of his chest, still sleepy and rough.
I swallowed, my rapid heart feeling as though it was climbing into my throat. "It is none of your concern." It seemed nothing on earth could have made his persistent closeness waver. I wondered if he knew how much I craved it, and how much I hated that I did.
Not by my answer, but by the lack of, he already knew. He knew before he'd asked. "It's been a while, I can see it in your eyes."
With that, he left me standing there at my lonesome. "Well you're certainly not a morning person," I griped as I went back to my stance before the punching bag.
"No, I'm not." I can tell. Christian drug his own punching bag onto the mat. My eyes trailed over his entire upper body that fluctuated with the strain of his muscles.
I pretended to unravel the wraps around my hands, just to stand there an extra moment to redo them. While doing so, I couldn't help but watch him.
With his right leg back, his left shoulder forward, he lifted his fists. He started punching, hard and fast, in flawless fluid motions. The punching bag shook greatly with every strong punch that it took.
I was in awe watching him. He wasn't General Commander for no reason, he was just as much of a warrior as anyone in his armies, maybe even moreso.
Once I got the wraps back around my aching knuckles, I found my stance, and started the punch, punch pattern again. Though, the more I thought about it, it didn't match what Christian was doing. I continued anyway, with no desire to ask the grump for his help.
I noticed as he stopped to catch his breath, holding the punching bag to bring it back to its still position. I didn't acknowledge his stare, and continued my pattern, already starting to break a sweat.
"Ambrose," he said hoarsely, trying to catch his breath. "You're still doing it wrong."
I ignored him and continued my boxing rhythm. I had to ignore the pain too, honing in on trying to make each punch hard and precise, like he had been doing.
"Ambrose," he repeated, vexation tugging at his tone. He approached me with haste, demanding my attention when I hadn't given it to him.
I hit the punching bag as hard as I could once more before I finally snapped. "I don't need you to tell me what I'm doing wrong."
"You'll hurt yourself doing it like that." He firmly took hold of my wrist, and I was suddenly so aware of the male and his closeness. "You'll shatter your goddamn wrists holding your fists like this." He pried open my hand and situated it closed properly, then did the same with the other. I was paying attention to nothing but his eyes.
I examined what he'd done. "There's no difference, this is exactly how I had them before."
"You were holding your thumbs, their meant to rest on the outside of your knuckles," Christian explained to me. I could feel the heat he radiated, his soft skin glistened with sweat. "Now, take your stance," he instructed me.
My eyes reluctantly let him go to face the punching bag. I lifted my fists and planted my feet, so acutely aware of the presence behind me.
With one step closer, his large, heated body was pressed to my back. I went completely tense. A hand snaked around my side and my body lit with a feeling I shouldn't have felt, not in that moment. His touch was firm, pressed against my skin, as he grabbed my hip and shifted me back on my right leg—back into him.
"Now," he hummed, and both of his strong arms wrapped around me, taking hold of mine. "Hold your arms up like this." His low voice crept over me, coming from right over my shoulder, closer than I ever thought close could be.
Then just like that, he let me go. I felt cold without his damp warm body against mine. Christian held the punching bag, leaning into it to hold it steady.
Those piercing blue eyes finally looked up at me. I knew that he was aware of the redness my cheeks radiated. I could have easily blamed it on the boxing though.
"Now follow this pattern: One, two. One, two, three." He said, then braced himself for the impact. Which I wasn't sure why, he'd seen me punch.
I followed his instructions, one, two, one, two, three, over and over again, creating a steady rhythm. The pain was still there, just not as uncomfortably intense. I was able to hit with a stronger, more sufficient impact.
"Much better, isn't it?" asked Christian once I stopped to catch my breath.
I shot him a glare but never responded. I couldn't have given him the satisfaction of being right. He shook his head, as if shaking off my glare.
"This is a bit futile, don't you think?" I asked, demonstrating a lazy punch. "Punching something that doesn't move?"
His brow lifted in intrigue. "Care to have a moving target then?" He stepped forward, as if offering himself up.
I scoffed at him, turning my attention back to the punching bag. "I'm not going to fight you." In a fight with him, I'd spend more time knocked on my ass than anything.
"Why not?" he asked. I wasn't sure why I was so pleased to see that familiar vain smirk back on his lips. "It'll be fun, doing some one on one." The look in his eyes nearly dared me.
As if he weren't taking no for an answer, he made his way toward the center of the mat. I wasn't sure what I was getting myself into, but I didn't like it. I could have fought anyone, anyday, as long as it wasn't him. Yet, the moment we found ourselves in had offered the opportunity up to us.
I knew the pattern I was meant to follow, that was the one thing I remembered from his teaching, but we'd yet to put it to practice.
The male I now faced watched me with an audacious demeanor, and eyes that gleamed sky-blue reflected the sunlight.
I lifted my fists, took my stance and so did Christian. Blinking my eyes away from his smooth upper body, I returned his sharpened gaze.
Out of spite, I started our fight. It surprised him, which I liked. I threw a left, then right punch, and he threw his arms up and blocked them both. Then, I took two steps back as he swung at me twice, and I blocked both with my forearms.
He ducked beneath my swing, I jumped back to avoid the swipe of his leg, and then we were to follow that pattern again. At times, you or your opponent could add or take away a step, which made the training beneficial, and allowed for improvement, and quick reflexes.
I swung twice again, a step toward him everytime he took a step back to block. The large training room echoed with the swift sounds of our movements, the sound of our struggle and heavy breathing. I knew that he was taking it incredibly easy on me.
Deciding to test out the improvisation, I took a third swing at him. He caught my fist in his. I scowled, and he smirked, then swung at me. I blocked him, dodged him trying to swipe my feet out from under me, and he ducked when I realized that I'd missed my step and took a desperate swing. Then another, and another, both of which he dodged.
Pleasantly surprised, there was a flash of teeth. "Easy now," he rasped, eyes dancing over me.
He came at me, just barely getting two swings in before I chased him down again, feeling bolder than I should have considering who my opponent was.
I swung with my left hand, he blocked with his right. I swung with my right, and he blocked with his left. I swung again and he caught my left fist in his right. Spitefully, I swung with my free hand, which he stepped completely out of the way to dodge.
It happened faster than I could comprehend. My hand was still in his, which inevitably jerked me with him when he dodged my last punch. I felt like a dainty doll that became unraveled and completely lost my balance.
I landed with my back against his warm, muscular body. He still held my fist in his, his heavy arm around my chest, the other around my stomach. His sweaty skin stuck to mine, and I felt his hot breath across my neck.
We panted trying to catch our breath, frozen in that moment. His fingers spread across my stomach, digging into my skin, sending internal chills through me. A taste of something forbidden, which made me want it even more.
Christian's body was hard and unyielding behind me, his strong arms around me. I felt him dip his head down, his fingers idly adjusting his grip to cling to me harder, to press me to him harder.
I was unprepared for the way my body ignited when he nestled his nose against my skin just behind my ear. His breath sent chills across my neck, I knew his mouth was so close to me. Too close, but not close enough. He could have taken a complete bite out of me, and I would have offered him another.
I wondered if he could feel the effect he had on me. My rising pulse, the way my body leaned into his, and seemed to fit perfectly. Did he think the same? Or was he simply toying with me? He had to have been toying with me.
With the morsel of self-control I had left in me, I forced my way out of his grip, out of his strong arms. As much as I wanted to have melted beneath his touch, I would have kicked myself later for being so naive. I wanted to kick myself right then as well.
"Flustered, Ambrose?" he hummed dauntingly. His head was still dropped, something threatening in his eyes that stared right through me. Always to be found on his lips was that smirk.
I cleared my throat and did my best to regain my composure. I ran a hand over my face that was hot to the touch, knowing that I was burning red, which I hated he could see.
He looked so unphased, like nothing had happened. Maybe nothing had happened, maybe it was just my imagination making what it wanted of the situation.
After I found myself a good distance away from him, I finally dared to meet his gaze. He looked betrayed by my sudden distance, and hungry at the same time. I knew that deep pitting look swimming in his eyes, it was desire.
He attempted to fill the gap between us with a subtle yet desperate stride. But with every step he took toward me, I took one back.
"Christian, stop," I managed. He did not stop. If anything, it was even more of a dare to him, eyes darkening when I said his name. "Stop," I demanded again. "Stay away. We need to stay away from each other."
That smirk was still present. "And why is that?" he drawled, persistent with his approach.
"Because," I grasped for any reason I could think of, "we hate each other. We can't keep doing this, playing this game. I despise you, and you despise me. We need to stay away—" My back hit the western wall, and I shudder. The racing heart inside of me beat on my bones, and the closeness of the male before me continued to press on me.
His eyes narrowed. "That is not what you want."
"It is," I gasped.
I wasn't sure if I wanted to cave into him, cave into the yearning between the two of us or run away from him as fast as I could.
"See, Ambrose, I don't think I can stay away from you," he growled lowly with another step closer. "And I know you feel the same... Because, something in those glinting doe-eyes begs for me." He placed his arm above me on the wall. I did my best to hold his gaze. "Despite your obstinacy, your adamance, and the unyielding bane that you cause me..." I turned away as he pressed his cheek to mine, whispered delicate words across my skin, into my ear. "In your presence, all I find myself wanting is to beg for you the same."
I gasped when his warm mouth opened against the skin of my neck just below my ear. He grabbed my waist with a handful of my shirt tightly, and I felt his body press against mine. His tongue and teeth trailed across my skin and I thought I might have died—toppled off the edge of the cosmic universe, and into the stars.
Suddenly, the click of the door echoed throughout the large room and I took that as my chance to escape. A couple other early-morning warriors were entering when we untangled ourselves.
I hurried away but didn't get two steps before Christian reached for me, and took hold of my arm. I was pulled back to him, to those eyes of ice that had never felt more cold. I jerked myself out of his firm grip and rushed toward the door. Looking back, his gaze followed me all the way out. And yet, he didn't.