Page 6 of Twisted Souls (Twisted Souls #1)

Zara

As I stepped into the training grounds the following day, the cool, crisp morning greeted me, and the smell of earthy, damp soil filled my nose. After Cynthia had left, I finally managed to get some decent rest, though lingering exhaustion still weighed heavily on me.

I had braided my hair to one side today, the plait hanging over my left shoulder. My usual training attire consisted of black leather pants, heavy matching boots, and a lightweight white tunic. It was similar to what the men wore—well, the more dressed ones, at least. Most of them went shirtless with thin black shorts, but I didn’t think that would be appropriate attire for a princess. I laughed internally at the thought of what my parents would do if they saw me in shorts.

Vincent, the now-retired captain, waved to me from the center of a sparring ring. The early sunlight glinted off his gray hair, casting a halo around his wrinkled face. His sharp black eyes crinkled at the corners as he greeted me with a warm smile, gesturing for me to join him.

I had come down an hour earlier than usual, and just as I had hoped, the captain was nowhere in sight. I smiled smugly to myself as I approached Vincent.

“You are here early.” He sighed, shaking his head slightly in disapproval, though he looked amused.

“Do you have time to train me this morning? It seems my instructor is late,” I asked, giving him a devilish grin.

He chuckled, shaking his head again at me. “Always such trouble.”

“So that’s a yes?” I asked, hopefully.

He looked like he wanted to say no for a moment, but then sighed heavily and grinned. “Alright, but we are going back to the basics,” Vincent said, pointing a finger at me.

I grinned up at him and squared my shoulders, adopting a defensive stance in front of him.

“We'll start with footwork,” he added, and I nodded. He started to circle me, criticizing my form as he went and making adjustments where needed. “Remember, your stance is crucial,” Vincent remarked. “Knees slightly bent, and weight balanced.”

I adjusted my stance again, putting my left foot forward, while angling my right foot, ready to pivot or step. Both knees were slightly bent, my weight shifting more toward my back leg, but my body was light, ready for movement.

“That’s it,” Vincent approved with a nod. “Now, let’s work on your blocking.” He launched into a series of strikes, each one precise and swift. I raised my arms to block his attacks and did so easily. “Keep your guard up,” Vincent directed. “Try to anticipate my next move.”

My muscles tensed with each blow as we fell into our usual rhythm. Sweat poured down my face under the rising sun, casting a sweltering heat over us as we sparred. We continued like this for the better part of the hour and only stopped when a gruff voice interrupted us.

“Morning, Princess.” The captain's deep voice cut through the air from the edge of the mat, and Vincent and I both turned as he strode toward us with a predatory grace.

“Captain,” Vincent said with barely concealed disdain. He shot me an apologetic look before stepping away and heading toward two other men engaged in a heated sparring match on a different mat.

The captain’s gaze remained fixed on me as he came to a halt in front of where I stood—an unspoken challenge between us.

“You’re training earlier than usual,” he remarked, his tone neutral but edged with irritation.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand, letting my gaze drift over Jeremy with a calculated, lingering evaluation. He wore loose black shorts and a white shirt that clung to him, outlining his defined abs and the firm line of his shoulders. The fabric was thin and nearly translucent, not leaving much to the imagination. I forced my gaze back up to meet his, steeling my expression against my body's involuntary reaction to the sight of him.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant despite the rapid pounding of my heart. “Vincent was kind enough to help me get an early start.” I shrugged, my smile playful and defiant. “We were just finishing up. Looks like your help isn’t needed today. Captain.”

As I turned to leave, Jeremy’s hand shot out, seizing my arm with a firm grip. He twisted it behind my back, the pressure enough to make me wince. Before I could fully process what was happening, he pulled me back against him, his body pressing firmly against mine.

His other arm encircled me, trapping me against his chest with bruising force. I could feel the solid muscles of his body and the heat radiating from him. He leaned in close, his breath warm as it danced across the sensitive skin of my neck.

“Where do you think you’re going, Princess?” His voice rumbled like a low growl, thick with challenge and dark amusement. The grip around my arm tightened, and his hold remained unyielding despite my attempts to wriggle free.

“Get off me,” I snapped, frustration and anger lacing my tone. The situation reminded me all too well of another body I was pinned to similarly just last night.

He pushed me forward, releasing his hold, and I spun around to face him. Without missing a beat, he pulled his shirt off in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. The string of curses I had prepared faltered, my words dying on my lips as my eyes widened in surprise as they took in his bare chest.

Jeremy’s lips curved into a smirk at the sight of my stunned expression, which only irritated me further.

Why did men keep taking their shirts off in front of me?! “What are you doing?” I spat. My eyes had a mind of their own and trailed over his taut muscles.

“Training you,” Jeremy replied simply, and before I could react, he lunged, tackling me to the mat. His hold on me seemed impenetrable, his hands strategically positioned to restrict my movements. The weight of his body pressed down on me, creating a relentless pressure against my limbs. Every time I shifted, he countered, gaining more control.

“Get off me,” I demanded, my voice strained with effort.

“Make me,” he breathed, his breath warm against my ear, sending another shiver racing down my spine. His closeness was almost unbearable, and the energy between us was palpable.

Aiming for his face, I jerked my head back, but he effortlessly evaded the move, chuckling softly. I thrashed beneath him, each attempt to break free thwarted by his firm, practiced restraint.

“I didn't ask for a lesson, Captain,” I rasped.

“Get out of my hold, Zara,” he said, his voice dropping to a soft, commanding whisper. The way he said my name made my pulse quicken. “Focus. Look for weak spots and exploit them,” he said almost encouragingly, though the underlying challenge remained clear.

I thrashed again, frustrated at this brute of a man. I took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm my mind and think properly. His smugness made me want to punch him. I concentrated, searching for signs of weakness, and after a moment, I found one. Deliberately, I shifted my weight and swept out my arms as I threw myself forward. I rolled and used my momentum to throw him off me, finally breaking free of his hold.

Scrambling to my feet, I swung my arm back, aiming to land a punch. But Jeremy was already a step ahead. He had also gotten to his feet quickly and had anticipated my move. Before my fist could make contact with his stupid, smug face, he had me flat on my back again on the mat.

He stood over me, his imposing figure casting a shadow. His blonde hair fell over his face as he looked down at me, and his eyes glowed with satisfaction at his win. “Feisty,” Jeremy said, his eyes twinkling. “I’ll ensure I’m here early enough for you tomorrow, Princess.” He winked, his grin widening as he bent down to retrieve his shirt. I shot him an icy stare, but Jeremy only chuckled, clearly unfazed. He turned his back to me and walked off the mat, leaving the training grounds without a second glance.

I huffed in irritation. I really didn’t like that guy.

I gathered my things and stormed through the castle toward my room. Servants and guards blurred in my peripheral as I went, my steps fueled by anger. Who did he think he was?

The second I reached my door, I flung it open, the heavy wood slamming against the stone wall with a loud thud. Out of nowhere, someone let out a piercing shriek that sent my heart plummeting into my stomach. Without thinking, I shrieked in response, and our twin screams reverberated off the stone walls in a chaotic echo.

Standing frozen in the middle of my room was Cynthia, her hand pressed to her chest, the other clutching her forehead as she stared at me with wide, panicked eyes.

I had forgotten I told her to meet me here after training, and our gazes locked, our screams dying away as we stared at each other. My lips twitched, and we fell into a fit of laughter as we realized what had just happened.

The commotion had alerted nearby guards, who now charged down the corridor toward me, weapons drawn, ready for an attack.

It took me a moment to catch my breath and explain the situation, but even after that, the guards remained unconvinced. They swept their eyes over my room and down the hallway, determined to find a threat. Eventually, they retreated to their posts, their expressions filled with annoyance.

After I closed the door behind me, I looked around and saw Cynthia with her face in her hands, shaking as she tried to hold back her laughter.

“Well, that drastically changed my mood,” I said, a grin breaking through as I fought to keep from laughing.

“Why did you storm in here like that?” Cynthia asked, her voice still breathy from amusement. “Scared me half to death.”

“The new captain,” I said, crossing my arms tightly across my chest, the memory of his smug grin flashing in my mind.

Cynthia raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a wicked grin. “Is he everything the court ladies say he is?” she teased, clearly enjoying my frustration.

I huffed a laugh. In the chaos of explaining everything that had happened last night, I forgot to mention the interaction with my father and the captain at dinner. I quickly recapped the night before, then dove into this morning’s encounter.

“So… did you see him shirtless?” Cynthia asked eagerly, leaning in with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

I leaned down and swatted her playfully. “Cynthia!”

“What?!” she protested, barely containing her excitement. “Did you?”

“Yes, but that’s not the point.” I groaned, my cheeks flushing at the memory of his bare chest. “He’s arrogant, controlling, and cocky.”

“Mmm,” Cynthia said, her grin widening. “So… your type?”

I gave her another playful smack, but she just laughed. “Sounds to me like he’s doing his job, and you’re sexually frustrated.”

I shot her an incredulous look. “I am not sexually frustrated,” I said, heat rushing to my cheeks as I tried to brush off her accusation.

“Zara,” Cynthia said, her voice teasing. “I’m your best friend. I know exactly how long it’s been.” She gave me a pointed stare. “And now you’ve got not one, but two men taking their shirts off in front of you. If that’s not sexually frustrating, I don’t know what is.”

She grinned, and my lips twitched, fighting another smile. “Fine, maybe I am. But that doesn’t change the fact that he is a prick,” I said matter-of-factly.

“Fair enough.” Cynthia laughed, clearly satisfied with her victory. “But let’s be honest, most men are, anyway.”

I rolled my eyes. “I guess I’m not being completely fair,” I admitted reluctantly. “He is doing his job.”

Cynthia smiled at me. “Alright, alright, change of subject! Let’s see this surprise!”

I grinned, feeling a surge of excitement as I dashed to my closet. Moments later, I came back, holding a carefully wrapped parcel tied with a delicate white ribbon. I placed it on the small table between the two chairs near the hearth and looked at her expectantly. “Go on, open it!” I encouraged, unable to contain my smile, as Cynthia’s eyes lit up with curiosity. She eagerly tore into the parcel, peeling back the wrapping excitedly.

She gasped as the paper fell away, revealing the stunning red chiffon ball gown nestled inside.

The fabric shimmered in the light. It was delicate and flowy, with intricate embroidery along the neckline. Cynthia’s eyes widened as she traced her fingers across the material, her attention snapping back to mine.

She flung herself at me, enveloping me in a tight, crushing hug.

“Zara, this is way too much. I- I can’t accept this,” she said, her voice wavering as she glanced back at the gown with gratitude. “It’s beautiful, but… it’s too much.”

I laughed softly. “You deserve it. Consider it an early solstice or birthday gift, whichever you prefer.” I pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “You are going to look stunning in it for the ball.”

Cynthia looked at the dress again, her fingers brushing lightly against the fabric. “I don’t know what to say, Zara. This is just… it’s perfect. Thank you.” Cynthia squealed and hugged me again. “Let me see yours!”

When I pulled my gown from the closet, Cynthia gasped—the same reaction I had when the maid brought it in the other day.

The emerald dress flowed like liquid, its delicate sheen shimmering in the light. Intricate white lace, meticulously stitched into delicate leafy patterns, danced across the fabric. The bodice, crafted from a silk-like material, was corseted and layered gracefully with thin transparent fabric. It seamlessly blended into the sheer, weightless material of the skirt, which was layered with the same thin material.

I draped my dress over Cynthia’s on the chair, and we settled on the floor in front of the hearth and started in on the cheese and wine the maid had brought earlier.

Cynthia glanced up at me with a piece of cheese halfway to her mouth. “Have you thought about who you want to bring to the ball? I feel like your mother is leaving it to the last minute.”

I sighed. “At this point, she can choose for me. I’ll just suffer through whomever it is, as always. It’s only for one night anyway.”

I would’ve preferred to choose for myself, but with everything going on, my mind was already overloaded.

“Unless she forces you to marry them,” Cynthia said with one brow raised.

I snorted, shaking my head. “She wouldn’t force me to marry anyone,” I said, though I couldn’t fully convince myself. My mother might well insist on it when that time came, but I didn’t want to give it any thought now.

Cynthia must have read the worry in my expression, because she swiftly changed the subject. “Do you think you’ll tell her about what’s happening?” she asked, concern lacing her tone.

“No, not yet,” I replied, draining my wine glass. The rich, smooth liquid did little to calm the unease in my chest.

Cynthia’s brow furrowed.

“And what is it that is happening, dear?” Winnie's voice came from behind us, making us jump and spin around in surprise. How long had she been standing there?

No one spoke, and Winnie fixed them with a pointed stare before continuing, “I passed the maid in the hall and came to see your dress for the ball,” she said, her gaze flicking expectantly between us.

“Of course,” I replied nervously, standing and walking over to where I had laid my dress over the chair. I held it up with a practiced flourish for my mother to see.

Winnie’s eyes lit up as she took in the gown’s details. “Oh, this will look utterly stunning on you, dear,” she said warmly, turning her gaze to Cynthia. “Don’t you think, Cynthia?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Cynthia replied, avoiding the queen’s gaze. She stood stiffly next to me, her discomfort evident. I didn’t blame her. My mother had always disapproved of our friendship.

“How are you and your father doing? I trust everything is well?” Winnie asked, her voice holding a sharp undertone as she continued to stare at my friend.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Cynthia replied anxiously. “We’re doing very well, thank you for asking. I hope you’re doing well as well, Your Majesty.” She side-eyed me nervously, the tension palpable.

Winnie waved her hand dismissively, a hint of annoyance in her tone. “I’ll be better after this ball. I had forgotten how tedious it all is.” Winnie seemed to grumble, and the room fell into an awkward silence again, my stomach twisting with discomfort.

“Anyway,” Winnie finally said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “I need to speak with my daughter privately.” Her gaze shifted back to me, and her sharp yellow eyes, both cold and fiery, made it clear that this was not going to be a pleasant conversation.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Cynthia replied, trembling slightly. She hurried towards the door, casting one last anxious look in my direction before slipping out of the room. The door clicked shut behind her, and the echo of Cynthia’s footsteps faded down the corridor.

My mother stepped further into the room and sat on one of the winged chairs by the fire. She wore yet another pastel yellow gown, her red amulet stark against the pale skin around her neck.

“How did the tonic treat you?” she asked coolly. “Have any further nightmares?”

I paused, carefully concealing my reaction to her question. I hadn’t taken the tonic after everything that happened last night, but I wasn’t about to admit it.

“No nightmares,” I said, keeping my tone even. “Thank you for having him send them up for me.” I hesitated for a moment before settling into the chair across from her.

“You look better,” she said absently, brushing a speck of dust from her dress. “The color has returned to your cheeks.”

Absentmindedly, I touched my cheek, feeling self-conscious under her scrutiny. “I guess it has,” I said, offering a small smile. “I’m feeling better today, for sure.”

Winnie only stared at me, and I looked around nervously before speaking again. “Was there anything else you needed, Winnie?”

“Why? Are you trying to get rid of me?” Her eyes narrowed, a flash of something unreadable flickering in their depths.

Caught off guard, I stammered, “Err- no, it’s just that you usually don’t have time to visit during the week, and as you said, you are busy with the ball.” A blush spread across my cheeks.

Winnie’s gaze hardened slightly. “The maid has brought to my attention that you’ve had a gentleman in your bed.”

My eyes widened in shock. “What?! Why would she think that?” I blurted, my voice rising in panic.

Winnie reached behind her and pulled something out. My breath caught as she revealed a black silk button-down shirt. “She found this under your bed,” Winnie continued, her voice icy. “And judging by the look on your face, you recognize it.”

I was momentarily speechless, caught completely off guard. My mind raced, but no words came out.

“Normally, I wouldn’t have believed her,” Winnie said, her voice growing colder. “But with your sudden interest in training, those long hours you spend in the library, and your recent peculiar behavior… it made me reconsider.” There was a storm brewing behind her eyes.

“Is this,”—she jerked the limp shirt back and forth for emphasis—“the reason you’re avoiding choosing a partner for the ball? Is this man one of the guards you train with? Who is he?” she demanded.

“I don’t know whose that is,” I said, a panicked edge to my tone. I threw my hands up dramatically, as if that would help.

“Don't lie to me, Zara. It is highly inappropriate for you to have a man in your room, especially one without a shirt.” Winnie's eyes narrowed, spearing into mine.

“I swear! I don’t know whose shirt that is!” I protested, my voice breaking with frustration. It wasn’t a lie; I really didn't know who the man was who gave me his shirt.

“I expected better from you, Zara, and now you have gone so far as to lie to me on top of it all.” She scoffed. “I'm disappointed in you.” Winnie stood up. “I raised you better than to be tramping around with some nobody. Who else have you brought into your room? How many other men?”

“None!” I angrily replied, standing up also. Why was she doing this?

“If the maid found out so easily, then who knows who else might have found out? Do you want rumors to spread?”

I gaped at her, frozen from this conversation. “I have not had any men sleep in my bed, Mother!”

“You will marry whomever your father and I choose,” Winnie said, her tone icy and unyielding. “And it will not be some low-level guard you are slumming it with.”

Winnie threw the shirt at me, and I instinctively caught it against my chest. The familiar scent of cedar and citrus still clung to the fabric, and my fingers tightened around it as Winnie turned sharply. Her footsteps echoed off the stone floor as she stormed out of my room.