Pronoia hissed, shaking Harahel.
I tried once again to battle up, but my thighs shook, dropping me to my knees.
Pronoia dragged Harahel onto his tiptoes, before slamming him around to face the howling blocks. “If you were mine, I’d break the pride from you, feather by feather. Like a child Broken, bare bum, as the princess states, is the only way to discipline an Imperfect.”
“Don’t touch him, bitch,” I warned.
A sly smile swept across Pronoia’s pinched face. “Like this?”
Smack — Pronoia slapped her hand down on the pale center of Harahel’s right bum cheek, marking him with a scarlet handprint.
She nodded, satisfied, before pulling back her hand again.
Smack — Pronoia marked him on the other cheek.
Harahel panted, screwing closed his eyes. A pink flush crept down his neck.
Think, before you reveal yourself on the side of the poor and spanked.
The Glories are the pussies with the power. If you want allies, do you choose the cute red arse, or the one who smacks it?
The bitch disrespected me, J. She called me a mongrel.
Aren’t you one? Are you ashamed of the vampire inside?
What if the Glories don’t accept me as princess?
Tell me something, hooker, when did you even start to want to be their princess? When did the craving for power first sink in its fangs? Or was it too late, the first time you met Queen Miniel?
“I can see computers aren’t the only thing you bastards are behind with, if this is your Good Parenting Guide.” I shuffled closer on my knees. “So, here’s the deal: piss off now, and I won’t tell the Matriarch what you called her precious daughter.”
Pronoia cackled. “You would hide behind her? By my Wing, I should love to see you attempt such folly. The Matriarch would break you for lacking the strength to save yourself.” Good to know, but also: hell. “Should we curtsy before a monster like you…? When you need just such correction.”
Pronoia slammed Harahel’s forehead into the wall — bang — before finally dropping him in a heap at her feet.
Then she marched towards me.
I bottom shuffled away, before sprawling on my back, as my arms gave out. I stared up at Pronoia’s smug face before she flipped me onto my stomach and reached for the hem of my dress.
There was no way I was being stripped and spanked like a naughty kid from whatever era Pronoia was born.
How had I gone from ruling to…this?
A squawk. Gasp. Choking.
I flopped around onto my back again.
Suddenly, there were black braids weaving like snakes and the stink of leather.
Battle crushed Pronoia against the wall, throttling her stringy chicken neck. “I’m the lass’ Trainer now. No one beats her but me.” Battle pressed her thumbs deeper into the back of Pronoia’s neck. Pronoia juddered; her eyes rolled to white. Finally, Battle dropped Pronoia’s limp body with a thud. Then she wiped her hands down her ringed skirt with a snort of disgust. “Head case.”
“You’re my Trainer too?” I lounged with my arms behind my head, as if I was choosing to sprawl on the floor.
Battle stared down at me. “Not before time, madam. This is what you call training? Acting the princess? On the night we hold War Council too. And you…?” She twisted Harahel’s arm behind his back, and he groaned. She hauled him across the floor to lie stranded next to me like a second upended beetle. “Wee man, I should’ve known that you’d cause trouble. If you don’t stop misbehaving—”
“What, Hasmal? What more will you do?” There was a flurry of mauve-tipped curls and blazing eyes in a dark face, which was Amazonian in its fury. The new Glory scooped Harahel up, swinging him around and caressing his wings, as she checked him for injury. When she stroked over the two purpling handprints on his arse, she growled. “Will you not get it through your idiot self, you don’t touch my Wing.”
“Keep your head, Anpiel.” Battle waved her hand towards the crumpled Psycho Gran. “It wasn’t me. This time. In fact, I saved the daft brat. Our madam princess too.”
Anpiel paused in her frantic soothing of Harahel and stared at me. “What’s wrong with the lass?”
Harahel grinned like I’d just taken my first step, even if I had face planted. “She worked the Gateway on her first attempt. Manipulated it too like the legend she is. And…” He rubbed his forehead against Anpiel’s; the gesture was more tender than anything I’d seen between Glory and Wing. “…she protected me. Except, her legs are jellified. Remember when I first worked it? I couldn’t walk for a week.”
I didn’t miss the silent communication going on between the two, as they gazed at each other.
Anpiel nodded. “You were always a big Jessie. Bet you a kiss that the princess can stand right now.”
Harahel grinned. “You’re on. And hey, I’m all warrior. Even if…”
Anpiel raised Harahel’s stump gently to her lips and kissed it. “There, enough of that,” her voice was soft. “See, you already won the kiss.”
Why did their love make my guts burn?
“You’re giving me the boak,” Battle spat, wrenching me up by the arm. My head span, and I tipped forward; she caught me by the scruff of the neck, and I stayed up. “If we’re going to fight for this floozy, then the least she can do is stand and listen to the War Council.”
War Council, J? Why couldn’t it be Candy Council? Or Cute Puppy Council?
The war is ancient. The great schism.
Here’s the tea: it’s the break-up of Angel World all over the earth, throwing down the rebellious and casting them out.
Their sweet cakes Fell, becoming the Fallen.
Humans call them vampires.
And those Fanged dicks want your peachy ass, just as much as the angelic assholes.
So, I’m screwed whichever side I choose?
Oh, Violet-heart, you’ve been screwed from the day that you were born.
What you get to choose? Who does the screwing.
“I’m standing and listening.” I straightened my shaking shoulders. “Now don’t keep me hanging, or I’ll light up your wings like pretty fireworks.”
Battle barked with laughter. “The brass neck of you! A battle’s set for the morrow. The Fallen want you; I’d give you back, but the Matriarch would risk the world for you. You’ll be hidden behind the walls, whilst we, like the daft idiots we are, sacrifice our blood for you.”
I started.
Why did the vampires want me so desperately to attack for me, and the angels to risk their lives to keep me?
Royal blood wasn’t valuable enough to sacrifice others. Plus, my mum had threatened to kill me herself; she wasn’t the hovering maternal sort. More the let’s have an orgy together before I watch you bleed out type.
Why was it so important that I didn’t join the vampires?
Anpiel patted my shoulder, as if my startling had been fear. “Don’t worry, princess, you’ll be safe here with the Imperfects. Harahel, by-the-way, will personally see to it. I promise on your behalf my sword and wings will be at your service.”
I gazed into her sparking eyes.
No way anyone was fighting my battles.
The Matriarch, Drake, and all the others in Angel World wanted to discover what type of ruler I was…?
Then they’d see it in my blood, mixed right along with theirs on the battlefield tomorrow.
Flight hummed and shook on my back, as if trying to spin already into my hand.
I forced myself to sway on my own feet. “I’m the Monster Princess. I’ll kick arse right alongside you tomorrow.”
Silence.
Then slow clapping.
Battle pushed a single finger to my chest, and I toppled backwards, sprawling beetle-like again. “If my Glories die because of you, I’ll slash your head from your shoulders.”
I looked down but I nodded.
The bitch had a point.
It was only Day One of the dare and
my attempt to become a princess in Angel World, and tomorrow we battled the vampires because of me.
Only Day One, and I’d rekindled the civil war.
Only Day One, and I’d already seeped us in blood.
7
Violet butterfly wings trembled in the piercing full moon’s light on London Fields. Ranks of the war-winged waited for the enemy in the cold night’s quiet, in a park that had once been my human hunting ground.
But now it was the battlefield, where I was the prize.
As I shivered in the breeze, which whipped across the bleak open ground and wound around the London Plane trees, I ached.
So, this was homesickness?
More like being shanked in the back — and since Rebel had fallen into my world, I’d been blessed with that first as well — because I couldn’t lie even to myself.
I wasn’t human anymore.
And the last time I’d been here in London, I’d been clutching onto my human life like it was my Top Score ever, never to be repeated, got back, or won again.
By saving the humans, I’d slaughtered my own humanity.
I fiddled with the buckled straps of the gold leather armor, which Gwyn had tenderly helped do up for me earlier.
Gwyn had fussed around in mother hen mode, before dragging me into a hug. “Mind and look after yourself,” Gwyn had sniffled into my hair. “And no getting yourself killed. That’s an order, see.”
Pushy for a slave.
Another violent shiver shook me; Drake edged closer.
Rich frankincense blew warm kisses across my cheeks.
For a moment, it looked like Drake would slip his arm around me but then he crossed his arms instead.
I’d reckoned that leaving with Drake to another world, I’d discover what I was. That if I wasn’t human, then maybe I did belong with him.
Yet J had warned me, ever since I was three, that I wouldn’t be saved by angels. Why hadn’t I listened?
Except, now it was the angelic army saving me from the vampires and not the drop-you-to-your-knees with awe type: the kids.
I stared out at the line of teenage soldiers.
Glories and Wings, they shuffled, fluttered their small wings, and booted their heels agitatedly, like cadets the world over, until Battle or her sister barked at them to straighten their shoulders.
These weren’t cadets on maneuvers, however, they were angels about to get their arses kicked by a vampire army.
To protect me.
When I twisted to Drake, my hands were shaking but not because of the cold. “What the hell is up with sending out the munchkins? Call off this battle of newbies.”
Drake shot me a frosty look. “Enough. You are not the only one being tested in this battle. And you have no choice.” Drake hesitated, before adding, “Nor do I.”
I studied him. “I get you believe that because some bitch,” I held back saying my mum, but we both heard it, “has broken you. But even if both choices are bastard bad ones, there’s always a choice. Like, what if you parked your arse down and refused to fight? Or had a parlay with the vampires, instead of letting these kids die? Or—”
“Then not only would you dishonor yourself, you’d be killed for breaking orders. Are you considering such foolishness? Because if you are…” He yanked me closer by my elbow. “I shall render you unconscious. Otherwise, you’d live long enough to see these trainees executed by the Matriarch, before you died.”
I gaped at him. “That’s twisted.”
“No choice,” he repeated. “Was I right?”
“You’re a prick,” I pouted.
“But,” Drake gazed out over the teenage ranks, and I didn’t miss the way that he clenched his fists, “we have a choice over how we fight, do we not?” His eyes gleamed. “It’s hard to suffer alone, but now you’re here… Would you join me, princess, in some babysitting duties?”
My eyes widened.
The Ice Commander thawed enough over trainees to bend the Matriarch’s rules, looking out for kids in battles? Maybe the cold Commander was an act, and the soft angel who crawled into my nest seeking comfort was the truth?
Drake took my hesitation for rejection and paled. “I apologize for the suggestion. I request that you don’t tell the Matriarch until after the battle. Then I’ll take whatever—”
“No one’s ever trusted the Bitch of Utopia to babysit their darlings before.” I nodded towards the trainees. “If they’re sacrificing themselves for me, then I’m William Wallacing them.”
“What do you…?”
I marched in front of the nervous line; their heads bobbed up, until I was facing a sea of nervous, yet hopeful faces.
Like little Jades.
Hell, some of them weren’t even in their teens.
I shuddered with the need to shank the Matriarch and feel the blade’s tip sink through skin. And that urge hadn’t washed through me with such desperation for years.
The Matriarch was messing with me. All of a sudden, she was so close that my skin tightened.
Where was she?
I’m in your head, baby bird.
What…? Who the hell…?
Your queen. I’m using your eyes now to watch the battle. Make me proud.
The Matriarch was in my head…?
Her intimate possession wasn’t like J, familiar and comfortable.
It was a violation.
Get out. I don’t want you…inside me.
Too late. You’re mine.
I grimaced. It sounded too much like J.
Then I held myself motionless: where was J? Had the Matriarch discovered him? Hurt him? Wiped him from my brain? I shivered with fear and anguish at the thought.
Enough with the controlling mother act; I don’t need you.
Yet I need you.
How do you think I view my army? By truth, I normally use my Wing, but you’re the precious who demanded to fight.
You think that I’d cower behind kids? Like you, safe in your mountain?
The Fallen are here. Fly true, my daughter.
The night sky blotted, locust-style, as the Fallen descended on London Fields, putting out the moon. I was pushed back by the whirlwind gust of beating wings.
Was Ash amongst their ranks? What would I do if we were forced to fight?
Our soldiers grasped at each other’s shoulders, or cringed, as the vampires landed in a thudding quake.
This was these kid’s first battle. Their test: survive or die.
No way I was letting them die.
“Look at me,” I hollered over the beat of wings, pound of feet, and whining fear of our soldiers. The trainees settled. “You’re smaller than they are, nippy. So, you get in and out, going for the hands and head. The quick kill, you get me?” I licked my lips, pressing my nails into my palms. “Remember: I’m your Monster Princess. Every one of you who fights for me is fam. I’ve got your back.”
I caught sight of one girl Glory with short ash blonde hair that tumbled over her eyes. She was tinier than the rest, but had twice as much attitude, even though she was using her scowl to hide her trembling lip.
She could’ve been me at that age about to face down a shank on Utopia Estate. But she hadn’t even been given her own weapon.
When I crouched in front of her, the girl Glory meeped, before hiding behind her hair.
Anpiel tensed, and her eyes flamed in the dark. What did she reckon I was going to do? Incinerate the miniature Glory?
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Eah.” The Glory scuffed her suede boot back-and-forth in the grass, flattening a trench. At least the kid had boots, unlike the blokes — including Drake — who stood bare foot in the damp. “I-I mean, my name is Eah, if it pleases you, Princess Violet, by the Matriarch.”
“Screw that curtsy of a mouthful, girl, call me Feathers. We’re mates now, yeah?”
Sniggers.
Followed by Battle’s snapped, “Silence.”
Eah gawked at me like she’d discovered
a tooth fairy who gave out booze and dirty limericks. “Mates, Feathers.”
“And mates give each other gifts.” I don’t know why I did it. Except, these kid soldiers were being thrown into the fire because of me. And I only valued one thing I could give her that would help. “I expect you to hand it back after, so take care of my baby.”
I slipped Star out of the scabbard at my waist: the shank Rebel had given to me.
His dad’s.
Eah gasped, as her tiny hands reached around the hilt that was carved with a star. Piercing violet shot out in points.
When I pushed myself up, the ranks were standing to attention, no longer hunched but staring at me like I was their hero.
As if they believed that they’d live to be my fam.
Wasn’t that what I’d wanted? Even if it was a lie?
Anpiel gave me a short nod, swiping her hand across her cheeks like I could’ve missed the wetness there.
“Princess, I knew that you were a ball buster but I didn’t take you as a bad bastard to bring young ones to war.” Wings — Rebels’ brother and Commander of the Fallen armies — slunk forward from the bristling ranks of vampires.
Wings was tall, in faded black denim jacket and emerald shirt. His auburn buzz of bristles made me shudder with the sudden memory of Rebel.
And that yet again, I’d be fighting his family.
When I examined Wings’ ranks, my guts lurched because he hadn’t brought young ones. In fact, like Wings, most wore feather tattoos across their necks or faces. And I was beginning to reckon that meant the hardcore Fallen…against our newbie kids.
Yeah, Screwed City.
“I was dragged from here to Angel World, a bastard war trophy from the battlefield, when your dad lost his head.” I shrugged, stepping closer. “What makes you reckon that they’re my army?”
Wings stiffened.
Maybe mentioning Drake’s murder of his dad wasn’t the best military strategy.
Wings raised his pierced eyebrow. “So was my brother. Where is the git angel?”
It was my turn to stiffen.
Wings had kicked his own brother into the mud, when Rebel had asked for his forgiveness (although I still didn’t know what sin Rebel had committed). Then he’d coolly allowed his dad to hand over Rebel to Drake for punishment, even though Drake had offered him back in hostage exchange.
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