Wicked Hunt

Chapter Fourteen, Part IV

Halle: Friends Or Allies 

The afternoon came and went, a sick rendering of violent thrusts, brutal slaps, and crude bites. By the time her husband was finished with her, it was late into the evening. The sun had already begun its slow descent, casting the keep in half shadows. Halle crept from Clive's room. He snored softly, chest rising and falling in soft heaps. He did not look like the vicious beast he had been hours before, taking his frayed excitement out on her. When he slept, he looked at peace. Twice, she rose above him, pillow in hand, ready to cover his face and smother him, but she relented at the last second, conceding he would easily be able to overpower her.

I did not come here to kill a king. I came to be a queen. And, as much as she hated to admit it, she did actually need her husband. These people were strange and cruel. She did not yet know the ways of appealing to them. They had only been shown unkindness. She was still an outsider and doubted she could govern Verlic without the vicious ways of her husband. Bide your time...

She went to her room, the door creaking open. She sighed with relief when she found it empty. Dot was not there. Her maid had ceased asking about the bruises and scratches littering her body. The woman's worried silences were worse though. Halle hated pity worse than pain, and seeing the sadness in Dot's eyes made Halle want to bury her head beneath the covers of her bed.

She bent and tugged the covered sword out from under her bed, removing the sheath it was in. She raised it so that it glimmered in front of her, mirroring a sorry hollowed face that was reminiscent of the girl she once was. She shoved the blade back into the sheath and stood, tying it onto her side.

She needed some purpose here, some distraction. Smoothing her skirts back down, Halle strode from her room and hurried down the steps, bowing her head and avoiding eye contact with anyone she ran into. Last week, she had discovered a shortcut out to the barracks at the back of the castle: a small and crumbling hallway held closed by a tattered piece of blanket. The way was known to only the older servants and used to get outside to take a break in the open air.

Halle ducked beneath the cloth and strode down the hall, sifting dirt and dust as she went. She winced several times if her ankle turned a certain way. Clive had grabbed her by the foot earlier and twisted it until she shrieked with terror. The sharp thwack of hard heel meeting his soft cheek was something she had taken immense pleasure in. She had had to turn her head away so he could not see her laugh.

Things had gotten much worse after, but she pushed the dark thoughts away. The dank passage opened up to a small, flat patch of grass. The tall building that housed the guards and the Watch when they returned loomed up, stoic and cold, before her. Two training dummies stood, forlornly swaying in the breeze. The hulking cross made of wood that the men used to smack with their swords, was in use by someone at the far end. Halle frowned at the back of a man's head, her hand reaching for the sword at her side instinctively. Then she stopped and squinted. She knew those broad arms and slender hips. She knew the shoulder-length black hair.

The man let out a loud grunt as he swung his blade expertly, bashing the wood and chipping it in the places it was still smooth. It was like he was in some manic trance that could not be interrupted. His skill was unmatched. She knew he could beat her easily.

She coughed, trying not to startle Bruce, but he did not respond. Pulling her brows together in determination, she marched closer. "I'm surprised you're not off in the woods," she called out loudly. The current swing halted.

"I knew you'd come for me, little dove," Bruce replied without turning around. He lowered the sword and stared intently at the cross.

"I came out here to use the training equipment," she countered. "You being out here was a mere coincidence." She waved her hand as if he could see her gestures. Slowly, he rotated, revealing the same gaunt appearance from earlier. His mismatched eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot, the skin beneath pink and raw. "Have you been crying?" she asked carefully.