Not My Fairytale

Chapter 3.1

A Tedious Test

The cold, dawn air nipped at my nose as I neared the training grounds, tying my long hair up in a bun while the ice on the pathway crunched underfoot. My confident steps, however, faltered as I rounded the last bend and spied that it was my own father, not Franco's waiting for me on the frosty field. I debated turning on my heels right then and faking ill, but it was too late– his eyes had already landed on my approaching form. Resigned to my fate, I tilted my chin up, and allowed my feet to carry me the rest of the way until I stood before him.

I had to admit, my father was an intimidating sight, even to me. Standing well over six feet tall and built like an ox, his hulking form towered over the few guards milling about. His rich, olive toned skin gleamed in the early morning light with a thin layer of sweat; a sign that he had already warmed himself up. His arms were crossed over his broad chest as he watched me near, looking every inch the son of the champion of The Trials that had set my family up to rule our kingdom.

I swallowed, pushing all thoughts of my grandfather's bloody accomplishments from my mind. "Good morning, Father," I greeted, stopping a few feet from him, more than a little wary of the reason behind his surprise visit. "Where is Matteo?"

"I needed him elsewhere this morning." He replied evenly, arms still crossed over his broad chest. "I will be training you."

My eyebrows shot up in surprise, but I did not dare argue. As he took in my bewildered expression, amusement sparkled in his violet eyes. Never before in my twenty years, had he ever met me on the field for training. It was a job better suited for his beta, Matteo, who I had found dutifully waiting for me every morning for as long as I could remember.

He ordered me to warm up, the hints of amusement still dancing in his bright eyes, but showing no sign of intent to explain himself further. I knew better than to pry for information he was not ready to divulge, turning to jog my usual four laps around the field. Upon my return, he frowned, the amusement slipping from his expression, leaving the schooled mask of an alpha in its place. "Run four more."

Incredulous, I forgot myself for a moment, "Eight laps as my warm-up? That's a full two miles!"

My father smirked at me, a smirk that was so much like the one I loved to wear. When he spoke, his voice was even, challenging, "Would you like more?"

Grumbling a few choice words under my breath, I turned before he could suddenly decide that a quick 5k was a suitable warm up jog. When I returned to where he stood for the second time, with eight laps under my belt, and a million questions I didn't dare ask swirling through my mind, "Stretch," was all he said, returning to his brooding.

While I stretched, I studied him from the corner of my eye. Even for an alpha, he looked tense. He was an expert at hiding his emotions, having lived his entire life under scrutiny as I had, but everyone had tells if you knew how to look for them. Worry lines marked his forehead, and his usually warm eyes were cold, distant as if he were battling a silent war behind them. I wondered if his discomfort was in seeing me, now that the news of his impending second child hung unspoken in the air between us like a thick fog. Or, perhaps it had nothing to do with me at all. Maybe his mind was wherever Matteo had disappeared to this morning, far away on whatever secret mission I was not privy to the details of. The woman I had been only two days ago might have pressed him for answers to my questions. But, the new me– the one I hardly recognized, plagued by uncertainty for the first time in my life– held her tongue, too frightened of what the answers might be to give voice to the words.

I finished stretching and sprung up on my feet, ready for whatever order my father had for me next. I willed my uncertainty to morph into determination; determination to prove myself to my father in whatever way he saw fit to throw at me. He simply turned, unaware of my inner turmoil, and grabbed two foam pads, holding them up, "We're going to start with hand to hand, then, when I'm satisfied with that, we'll move on to weapons." When I nodded, he lifted his hands in the air, the thick pads strapped to his palms. "We'll begin with the basics. Punches, then kicks."