Wicked Hunt

Chapter Three, Part III

Rafe: Control

He glanced up as muffled voices rose in the empty expanse around him. The noise sounded hollow and far away. He tried to turn right to go toward the library but was seen at the last minute.

"Commander!" He groaned but stopped. His back still faced the footsteps that had begun to pick up their pace excitedly. A flash of blonde out of the corner of his eye. Strappy, fallible sandals. A weak chuckle.

"There you are." Prince Adrian Laurel of Rodantha stood before Rafe as he turned his face toward him. The other, shorter one with the deep brown eyes, rough beard, and wispy curls was beside him. Rafe couldn't conjure the man's name, but he was the fool wearing the same sandals as the night before when they had descended on him like a pack of hungry wolves.

Adrian scrutinized Rafe with sharp, intellectual eyes. The blue there should have been comforting, like the warm waves of the ocean-or so Rafe would have thought. He had never seen it nor the shores of the island. He didn't care to. Instead, their hue was refined into something more like ice; all piercing and steadfast. Adrian's golden, chin length hair was half tied back with a black string, revealing heightened cheekbones and a chiseled face. Had his narrowed eyes not been so severe, he might have been attractive.

The other man, by contrast was all rounded edges instead of harsh corners. Everything seemed opened and relaxed and comical. An ever-present smirk seemed just on the verge of emerging on the left corner of his quirked lips. It was barely visible beneath the unkempt hair there. The sweet lingering smell of wine clung to both of them.

"About last night," Adrian began pointedly.

"What about it?" Rafe asked with just as much callousness. Annoyed, Adrian crossed his arms in a show of dominance.

"I came to-"

"Apologize?" Rafe asked with an air of incredulous indifference. Adrian narrowed his eyes even more. The one with brown hair coughed to cover up the low chuckled that had inadvertently escaped his lips. Rafe's glower shot to the man's face. This was not the time for acting like a fool.

"Perhaps things got a little heated." Adrian's eyes sparkled like diamonds. "After speaking with my sister," Rafe's gut clenched, "I realize that I may not have given you a fair chance."

"You've come here, to my kingdom," Rafe replied evenly, "and tried to lecture me on how I should be protecting it." Adrian's face fell almost imperceptibly. He had been expecting an easy victory in this conversation. "I respect that you care for your sister, but you know nothing of Verlic. If she cannot defend herself and be able to be left alone for periods of time, she won't last the month." His words were cruel and harsh. They were not words of comfort given out to a concerned brother. Rafe never was one for diplomacy. It was better this way. If the prince knew what to expect, he could prepare for it. He should prepare for the worst.

"I understand that," Adrian remarked dryly. His words were pinched. Rafe wondered if he were embarrassed.

"I really don't think you do," Rafe interjected pointedly. The bearded man's cheeks blazed, and he swallowed. Adrian's right eye seemed to twitch with annoyance. The air of entitlement clung to him, as much a part of him as his blonde hair or cold eyes. "Not yet," Rafe added, and Adrian's frown deepened.

"I came here to apologize," Adrian shot back, poking Rafe's chest with his index finger.

He means to provoke me for some reason. Gauge my reaction is times of discomfort. Perhaps it will be a relief to him when he finds my emotions quite guarded. He didn't know. Rafe was not good at reading people's faces; deciphering the games they played with their facial expressions and feelings.

"I don't need an apology." Really, the blowup argument from last night, stemming from Adrian's concern over his sister, was nothing to get excited or worked up about. There was no stabbing or shoving. No one had been injured. Spit had not been flung into anyone's face. Rafe had seen far worse arguments.

A thin laugh finally found its way out of the other man's lips, and Adrian whirled around dramatically and glared at him. "Hector," he seethed.

"I'm sorry." Hector put up his hands. "I think we should drop the issue then, since apparently, there is no issue." He glanced at Rafe. The Commander blinked.

"Like I told you last night, I will not be the one guarding your sister. The only thing I guard is the realm," Rafe told them with a calm voice. His words only seemed to irritate Adrian even more.

"There's really nothing more to say then," Hector mused, rubbing his hands together. Adrian spun on his heel and stalked off like some forlorn deer. Hector bowed awkwardly, clearly at a loss for how to solve the problem. Evidently, they had been banking on Rafe softening, melting like butter and molding into whatever Adrian wanted him to be.

Yet, all Adrian had looked like was a fool; a little boy throwing a tantrum because someone had turned out to braver than he was. Rafe hardly cared. Soon, Princess Halle would be far from his mind. He did not care who protected her or if she learned to protect herself.

Here, he felt like he had no control. Here, he would always be dwelling on his mistakes because there was nothing else to do. All he wanted was to leave this place. Be free of the confining walls and constricting orders from the king. He wanted open air, trees, forests, rocks, cliffs. He wanted to be out in Verlic, with his men, on patrol. He wanted to call the shots. He wanted to be the one in control of the situation, have his men waiting on orders from his own mouth.

He just had to survive the wedding.