Page 51 of Vicious Princess (The Trials of Death and Honor #1)

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

“ T ouch me again, and I’ll fucking kill you,” I say through clenched teeth.

Roman only rolls his eyes at me and completely ignores my warning. He quickly removes the pin that secures my long hair at the back of my head and, using his fingers, fluffs it out.

I glare at him.

“You heard the big boss, horny fae with hard cocks bet more money,” Roman says. “Remove the damn cloak. And that tunic.”

I untie the laces of my cloak and shove it at Roman’s chest. “I don’t have anything under but a see-through tank.”

Roman’s eyes lit up. “Perfect! Get those nipples out!”

When my fist connects with his jaw, Roman groans, “Not the same side as before!”

I shake my hand while he adjusts his jaw. “It wasn’t even that hard. Don’t be a fucking wuss. But I promise the next one will hurt.”

Glaring at Roman, I strip out of my tunic, then shove it at him. “Happy?”

Roman smirks as his gaze glides over my frame. “It doesn’t get me going, but, oh, it will make a lot of fae happy today.”

I roll my eyes and collect my bow and quiver with arrows from him.

“Your scars make you look badass, by the way. Hot and dangerous.”

For a heartbeat, I freeze.

The desire to cover up is hard to overcome. But I breathe through it, and eventually it fades.

I meet Roman’s gaze, which has no malice. “Thank you.”

His only response is a playful wink. Then his attention shifts to the cage behind me, and a wide smile blooms on his face. “The spirits of the gods must be in our favor today. You’re the only female.”

I turn.

Three fae are already behind the fence, bows in their hands. A crowd of spectators is gathering by the fence. Three Caligos are busy collecting bets.

“Good luck, princess.”

When I enter the cage through the open gate, the bouncer closes it and locks it behind me.

There’s no way out now.

A murmur goes through the crowd, and all three of my competitors turn to face me. From the sneers on their lips, it’s clear they’re not my biggest fans.

I roll my shoulders and take my place in the line. Behind me, the crowd cheers. I hear murmurs and laughs, plenty of mocking words coming my way.

Yrathi.

Gadgi. That’s one I’m not familiar with, but I’m sure it can’t mean anything good.

Bastards whistle at me and send me air kisses. Fuck them. All I want is Daegel’s presence next to me, wrapping me in his strong arms.

I block all the noise and focus only on the task at hand.

Four fae stand with their backs against the wall farther away from us. Their hands behind their backs are tied with a rope that dangles from the ceiling. Any moment now, they’ll be lifted into the sky and turned into living targets.

My stomach churns, and I have to breathe through the nausea.

I have killed before.

After all, that’s who I am. A natural-born soldier, fighter, killer . I possess the gift of the gods as a Decarios with this purpose—to be lethal.

I was sixteen when I had my first-ever kill, as part of my Decarios training in Wetra.

“A Decarios is not a weapon, despite what they may lead you to believe,” Dad said, on one knee in front of me while he patched up my bloody knuckles.

“Then what are we?” I asked. “You said we were gifted by the gods so we could fight.”

“We were born to end wars. Not feed them. We fight to protect. Not because we can.”

His steady presence helped me find my center. I was in shock.

“We don’t kill for sport. We don’t kill for show. We kill only when it stops the bleeding. That is our duty.”

I roll my shoulders and crack my neck to the sides. Duty. What an empty, pompous word. My only duty in this lifetime is to claim vengeance for my family’s deaths.

I steal a glance at the platform hanging above the cage. Even from here, I can’t see the faces of the shrouded figures. The third one has joined the other two, all three thrones now occupied.

While I can’t see their faces or their eyes, I can feel them watching.

A loud whistle pierces the air, and the bald fae shouts, “ Ani-ki-ga commence!”

Slowly, the ropes tense, and our targets rise into the air. All four fae thrash and scream. Nobody cares.

My hands tremble from the adrenaline that courses through my veins. I’m the last in the line, which may be a good thing. Or a very bad thing.

The first fae has a short haircut and no visible tattoos. Just a random criminal, and from the ragged clothing, he looks to be one looking for a quick way to fill his pockets.

He raises his bow, and the arrow whizzes through the air. It lands in the middle of the first target’s thigh. Slowly, blood seeps through the cloth pants they wear and pours down their leg.

I grip my bow harder and keep my mind empty of thoughts.

When the fae lands the second arrow in the forearm of the second target, then the third target’s thigh, I’m worried.

He’s damn good.

The fourth target gets an arrow into his arm, too. The crowd cheers.

The second participant, a round fae with rosy cheeks and to-die-for lashes is also damn good. He hits the first and second target right in their left shoulders.

He has a pattern.

I need to do something if I want to win and stand out in this crowd. Especially considering my damn bow might act out anytime.

Carefully, I open my senses and reach for the current archer.

His emotions are stark and bold, and he’s having the time of his life torturing these four poor fae. He’s not here for the money. He’s here for the screams and agony his arrows cause.

He lands the third arrow in the left shoulder of the third target. But before he can lift the bow for the last time, I manage to grasp a thin sliver of anger within him and pull on it until it’s brought to the surface. Right as he lets go of the arrow, the sudden surge in fury makes his hand shake.

He misses the last target by an inch.

The roar of frustration that tears through his chest sends a shiver down my back. Quickly, I close my senses and shut myself off from everything. The crowd cheers despite his failure, and I don’t miss a few mocking laughs and whistles.

Someone probably just lost a bet.

When the third archer steps forwards, I’m ready to open my senses and sink my claws into his emotions. To my surprise, I find an ocean of calm and peace within the fae with broad shoulders covered in Caligos tattoos.

He’s absolutely collected as he raises his bow and pulls on the string.

He’s just as calm and collected when he lets go of the arrow and it lands right in the middle of the first target’s stomach.

I throw myself into his emotions.

It’s like floating in cool water in the middle of a hot summer day. Desperately, I claw my way through his network, trying to find something that’s not perfectly under control.

Everyone has triggers. Some just hide them better than others.

His second arrow lands in the middle of the second target’s stomach, too. My pulse spikes. Not only am I running out of time, but my turn is quickly approaching.

Shit.

Just as I think I have something to hold onto, the tether slips away. This motherfucker must be meditating for hours on end every day to be this fucking Zen.

Just as he lands the third arrow in the stomach of the third target, I finally get ahold of an aching, cold pain he hides in the deepest corners of his being. Without mercy, I tug on that tether, bringing it forwards.

Just as he lifts his bow for the fourth and final time, he pauses with a sharp inhale. I let go of his emotions and close myself off. For a heartbeat, he stands frozen like a statue. His eyes shutter, and he swallows hard.

Nailed it.

Suddenly, his eyes snap open, and he lets go of the arrow. It lands right where he intends it, and the crowd cheers so loudly, all the hair at the back of my neck rises.

Gods damn him.

That’s the control over emotions I aspire to have—that I should have as a Decarios.

The fact that a random fae is a better master of his emotions than I, a trained soldier, am rubs me the wrong way.

Right before the fae faces the crowd to boast about the performance, his eyes meet mine for a brief moment. A corner of his mouth lifts, and he dips his chin as if he knows what I tried to do.

My face reveals nothing when I turn away from him and step forwards. My time has come. The seconds that pass feel like a lifetime as I flex my hands and lift my bow, as I pick the first arrow and set it in place, as I draw the string and get ready to strike.

The sight of Leti that night surges to the front of my mind.

The fae she competed against were good. The fae I compete against tonight are great. She won that night because she chose to land killing blows.

One by one.

I know that’s the only way I can win tonight.

The only way I can get the attention of the leaders who run this place.

The only way I can influence the end of this mission.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Let go.

The arrow hits true, right in the heart of the first target. My bow awakens, and a shiver runs down my back at the song it sings in my mind.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Let go.

The second arrow pierces the heart of the second target.

The warmth that spreads over my body, from the tips of my fingers on the arm that holds the bow all the way to my chest, makes me dizzy. I draw another arrow.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Let go.

The third arrow sinks into the third target’s heart.

My bow purrs in my mind as if it’s part of my core being. The sound drowns out any noise around me, the frantic shouts and cheers from the crowd.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Let go.

When the fourth arrow lands true in the target’s heart, I can physically feel their heart stopping, as if in my own body.

I’ve never experienced the euphoria that soars through me and makes me feel as if I’m walking on a cloud. I turn to face the crowd that cheers for me loudly enough to shatter glass.

I should feel shame. Or horror. Something close to grief.

My heart should break.

But all I feel is clarity. Power—cold and bright and endless.

The part of me that clung to honor, my inner compass, my father’s voice—it’s all gone.

I raise my arm with the bow above my head, and it strikes me like lightning.

The name.

Scorpio, the Whisperer of Havoc.

This is who I truly am.

The fire that turns the world to ash.