Huntress

by Susan Copperfield

“Please excuse me, Your Highness.”

  Meredith stepped outside of my office, and when the screaming started, I chuckled, shook my head, and gathered my things, stuffed them into my briefcase, and waited for the fireworks to end. Ten minutes until the interview was scheduled to begin, the argument hadn’t stopped. I meandered to the elevator and headed for the gym so I wouldn’t be late.

  Meredith could catch up once she was done eviscerating Christian over my health and threat to abdicate. Arguing wouldn’t change anything. She couldn’t change reality, and no matter how much I wanted to hide or deny it, a simple truth remained.

  I was tired.

  Trouble waited for me in the gym; the entirety of my family, uncles and great-uncles included, lined the gym’s walls to watch my beating. I supposed they could’ve been present to watch my father get a taste of just desserts, but I doubted it.

  I hadn’t broken the family curse yet, and too much hinged on me doing so.

  Eva waited on the mat wearing a martial arts uniform of some sort, stretching with far more grace than my pitiful efforts. “Well, at least one of you isn’t late. That’s fucking something.”

  “You can blame me if His Majesty is late. There’s an agent-on-agent debate going on upstairs, and he usually won’t wander off when there’s free entertainment to be had.”

  “Whatever. Tardiness results in a harder training session. As you were here on time, you’ll get a standard spar. Put that fancy leather purse down and get your ass on the mat. We don’t have all day, and I want to see what you’re capable of.”

  I tossed my briefcase to Grégoire. “Beat any overly caring royal idiots into unconsciousness if they interfere.”

  “You got it. Hey, lady? Please don’t kill my cousin. I don’t want to be the next king.”

  “He can’t pay me to beat him if he’s dead. Are you a moron?”

  “Yes, I am, ma’am.”

  Eva sighed and stared me in the eyes. “What would I have to do for a chance to beat that one, too?”

  “Not much. He could use the exercise.”

  “Not cool, Kel. Not cool.”

  I allowed myself a grim smile. “He’s a scaredy cat like my father.”

  “All right. Get your ass over here. To start with, I want to see how you move. Your job is to try to hit me. I don’t care how you do it, but try to hit me like you mean it. If you can. I can learn a lot about what you know by how you move.”

  I foresaw a great deal of pain in my future along with a close introduction to the mat. “What’s off limits?”

  “Nothing.”

  Every man in my family snickered, my mother scowled and sighed, and I expected to be screamed at for hours if I hit Eva anywhere inappropriate. I’d be aiming to hit whatever I could and expected to fail, but my mother would never learn that from me.

  Had any member of my family asked, I would’ve bluffed or just aimed right for the face like I had with my father. With Eva, she’d get the straight-up truth. “I basically have no idea what I’m doing, but okay.”

  “Do your best.”

  Had I not heard her talk, cuss worse than any sailor I’d ever met, and seen her background record, I might’ve believed her to be a compassionate woman ready to dish out the encouragement.

  I knew better.

  I doubted I’d be able to beat her using speed. Hell, I doubted I’d be able to touch her no matter what I did. With few options, I adopted my father’s tendency to stalk his prey, circling and keeping an eye on how she moved. Feathers on a breeze had nothing on her, and if I managed to brush her clothes with my fingertips, I’d consider it my win.

  “You’re never going to hit me if we spend all day dancing.”

  “I’m pretty sure you’re faster me, and I have no idea where to even try to hit you,” I confessed.

  She pointed at her breasts. “If you can hit my center of mass, you have a chance of unbalancing me with a little work and some tactics. For example, if you destabilize my leg and throw me off balance at the chest, you might be able to knock me over.”

  I’d seen tactics like that in the movies, but I’d always believed it was choreographed and wouldn’t work in reality. “You mean like in the movies when someone spins into a kick and whips his arm at his opponent’s chest?”

  “I hate those stupid, inaccurate movies. But yes, the idea is similar, but please don’t try that. You’d kill yourself and the whiners along the wall would get pissy.”

  “I’d try that and fall on my face. You might be able to pay me to try it, but it’d have to be a damned good bribe.” Laughing, I stepped forward and whipped my arm at her side. As expected, she whirled away without me touching her.

  If I wanted her to flatten me so hard I begged her to marry me in front of my entire family, I’d have to do a lot better. In an endurance fight, I’d lose. I’d lose in any sort of fight. After I recovered from my yearly illnesses, I’d have a decent chance of outrunning her, but I wasn’t going to hold my breath for that, either. She’d just wait until I tired, track me using her brand, and win anyway.

  I’d never enjoyed the thought of losing before.

  I lunged as I had before, waited for her to spin, and dove for her. In a perfect would, I would’ve touched her before she cracked her arm into my chest, flipped me onto my back, and drove the air out of my lungs.

  Three months in the wild and fear of death kept me mobile, and I rolled to escape any additional pummeling.

  Eva chuckled. “Catch your breath and try again. This time, I’ll stand still for you.”

  If she didn’t dodge, I’d have a better chance of hitting her and vastly better chances of being flattened so hard I’d humiliate myself with the world’s worst proposal. If I wanted to get a hit in on her before she flattened me, I’d have to do something unexpected. She likely believed I was a royal gentleman like the rest of my family; I rarely cussed, I did as most expected from those born with a silver spoon crammed up their asses, and I’d been taught my manners.

  Hitting a woman in the face simply wasn’t done.

  In the slim chance I landed a hit, I hoped she’d forgive me. I grunted, got to my feet, and shook myself off, waiting until I no longer gasped for air. “All right.”

  “This time, pick your target but try to watch how I move. Self-defense is all about reading your opponent and maximizing non-lethal pain to buy yourself time to escape. In your case, lethal pain is also acceptable, although we’ll keep all of our sparring to non-lethal tactics.”

  “This is going to hurt, isn’t it?”

  “You better fucking believe it, princess.”

  As she’d already invited me to hit her chest, I’d enjoy the view while I gathered the courage to walk into my next beating. I had two hands. I’d use my right to aim for her perfect breasts and my left to target her face. I’d try to avoid her nose and mouth; making her bleed wasn’t on my list of things to do.

  Black eyes healed better than a broken nose or a split lip.

  Expecting pain without reward, I dove into the fray.

  I woke on the mat to Eva batting my cheeks and holding fingers in front of my face. “Count ‘em, princess,” she ordered.

  Sometime after trying to grab her chest and hit her in the face, Eva had smacked me down so hard I remembered nothing.

  Meredith was right. One option stood before the rest, and a wise man didn’t allow such an opportunity to escape. “Please marry me.”

  “Please marry me is not a number.”

  I squinted at her blurred hand. “I’m going to need a few minutes on the number. I’m not sure I could give you my phone number right now.”

  “You’re not slurring, your eyes are mostly focusing as far as I can tell. You’re not going to die from that. Blink a few times, take a few minutes to catch your breath, and walk it off.”

  “That’s always good news.” I blinked a few times as ordered to discover Eva was flipping someone off, and I didn’t think it was me. “It’s one finger. Your middle one, and I think
you’re pointing it at some member of my family, so my initial statement still stands. Please marry me.”

  “You’re a nutter. Go to the wall and take a breather while I beat the idiot growling at me for knocking the sense out of you.”

  “I expect there are a lot of growling idiots in this room. Please feel free to beat as many of them as you’d like.”

  “That would take all night.”

  “Perhaps we could discuss future beatings over dinner?”

  “Deal. You need a better diet and a trip to the doctor, by the way. You’re at least ten pounds underweight. We’ll discuss what you should be eating over dinner along with an exercise regime to get you into tolerable shape. I can’t work you properly if knocking you over is going to knock you out.” Eva scowled, and her attention focused on someone other than me. “Which one of you assholes is responsible for this Your Highness’s general health? You’re at the front of the line, and you deserve every fucking bruise I give you.”

  I sat up and grimaced at the throb centered in the back of my head. “Those would be the royal physicians, and I think Meredith’s already out for their blood, but please feel free to share with her. Dad’s the one who hired them, so he should go first.”

  “Any other culprits?”

  “My mother would be second.”

  “Kelvin,” my mother snapped.

  “Go sit with your agent, Your Highness. I’ll take care of this mess.”

  As I was sometimes a wise man, I retreated to Meredith, sat at her feet, and hoped she wasn’t going to have a round with me, too.

  My agent crouched beside me and gave me a companionable pat on the back. “You hit her. She deflected your right hand. You booped her on the nose with your left.”

  “Booped? I did what?”

  “You tapped her just hard enough she knew you’d caught her flatfooted at her own game. Then she took you out like a lion after a three-legged gazelle. I figured you don’t remember any of that. You hit the mat hard. In good news, you weren’t out long.”

  “I don’t remember that.”

  “It’s not uncommon. Good use of humor with your marriage proposal. Your entire family heard you. Expect trouble.”

  “You were right about the rejection part.”

  “All she did was tell you ‘Please marry me is not a number.’ That’s not a rejection. And she agreed to have dinner with you tonight. That’s definitely not a rejection.”

  “That’s only so she can beat me more efficiently later.”

  “Take what you can get, Your Highness. It went much better than I thought it would, truth be told. I’m surprised.”

  “Why are you surprised?”

  “She just doesn’t seem like the type to leave such a proposal open. She’s crude, but she doesn’t toy with people. Not like that. Every time someone has come into her comfort zone, she’s been very aggressive about making it clear she’s not interested.”

  “She’s probably distracted and pissed my health is messing with her plans to evaluate how useless I am in a fight. I tried to tell her I know nothing.”

  “You’re probably right. Most royals have rudimentary training.”

  “I can hold a sword, barely. I missed the rest of the training.”

  “Please tell me you’ve done some RPS scenario training.”

  “There’s zero chance I’ll meet your standards on this. I’ve done the basics, but I’ve never had a stable or cohesive detail. It’s hard to do anything beyond the basics when the detail can’t hold together.”

  “It’s like they want you to be killed,” she muttered.

  “Why waste the effort? Everybody here knows what’ll happen in a few years, and it’s not like there aren’t plenty of other options in this room. And when I’m realistic about it, I’m not going to win any popularity contests. I’m private and known to be erratic. I’m unsurprised. Hell, I’m only the heir because I’m the only child with the right talent.”

  “Your brother doesn’t have it? I noticed he isn’t here.”

  I wanted to think better of my mother and father, but I had no doubt my little brother was at the castle or being shipped off to boarding school so he wouldn’t be exposed to Eva and her inevitable corruptions. “Don’t worry about it. It’s only to be expected.”

  White turkey, black sheep. In my family, it was one and the same. While I wanted to rest all my hopes on Eva, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d do Illinois more justice in surrendering to the inevitable rather than stirring royal trouble on a maybe.

  I’d think about it after dinner.

  Chapter Nine

  My great-grandpa broke Eva’s arm and flattened her with one hit, and my plans to think about my actions after dinner came to an abrupt halt. After spending his entire long life learning to control his strength, the truth stared me right in the face.

  He’d hurt Eva on purpose. Depending on how her arm healed, she might never be able to hold a bow again. I rose to my feet. Instead of the heat I expected, fury turned me to ice.

  If they wanted me dead, if they wanted the curse to take root and leave me stuck as an animal for the rest of my unnatural life, they were going about it the right way.

  It made my decision much easier to make.

  Illinois needed someone reliable, and I’d leave my human life with my pride intact.

  I lifted my chin, taking my time looking at each member of my family in the eyes before locking onto my father. He stared back, his expression neutral. Waiting.

  He’d been warned, and he was about to find out his son had more steel in his spine than he’d like.

  “Meredith, please accept my apologies, but your services are no longer required. I hereby abdicate to Grégoire, effective immediately.”

  Maybe another day, if I had more days in my life than I expected, I’d regret my choice. Then again, I wouldn’t. It’d be unlikely I lived long enough for it to matter.

  The silence hung heavy, and it fueled the fury freezing my blood in my veins.

  I’d always been taught silence was assent, and I saw no need to believe otherwise.

  “Agent Scarson, I would be appreciative if you could see Eva’s arm tended to properly. It seems your thoughts on certain matters are accurate. I’ll fill out the paperwork and submit them to the congress myself. I hereby invoke the self-disowning clause and cut all ties, also effective immediately.”

  It would take a miracle, an approved order from the congress, and my signature to undo my words, but I no longer cared.

  They could all rot in hell for all I cared.

  “I’ll see it taken care of, Mr. Averett.”

  If I ever saw Meredith again, I’d have to thank her. By stripping me of my titled, witnessed by Christian, she confirmed my edict and would fulfill her duties from the RPS side of things.

  Someone tried to say something to me, but my heartbeat throbbed in my ears and drowned out the words. If my luck held out, Meredith, Christian, and the other RPS agents stationed in the room would uphold the law.

  I had an hour to leave the building. It would take me less than that to change, print out the appropriate forms, and sign them. I’d leave them on my desk for someone else to deal with, a final jab at the royal family for having betrayed me one last time.

  I’d made it clear I’d drawn lines, and they’d crossed them without care.

  The congress would have to live without a personal delivery of their precious papers and deal with the fallout of my abdication on their own. Most would rejoice.

  I marched out of the gym, and once I stopped looking at my father, I refused to acknowledge any member of the royal family.

  In my office, I filled out the forms, signed them, and dug through the bottom drawer of my desk for the spare key to the car I had parked in the garage but rarely used. Tucked in the very back behind some files was a roll of twenties I kept around when I wanted delivery.

  The four hundred and twenty would take me as far as I needed to go, and once I’d gotten far enough,
I’d dump the vehicle for someone to find later.

  One change of clothes later and with fifty-two minutes left on my countdown, I left the building, shaking with rage.

  Unlike most of the royal family, my personal car was as common as dirt and a boring gray. Its tags marked it as a government vehicle. No one would look at it twice. It was one of many in Chicago, but once I left the city, it’d be a novelty.

  No one associated dirt cheap, common cars as property of a former member of the royal family. In a few days, my father could take my vehicle and shove it up his ass for all I cared. My great-grandpa wouldn’t have acted without my father’s encouragement—or my mother’s. Either way, my parents held the majority of the blame.

  My father had known I’d issued an ultimatum, and he’d given me his answer using my great-grandpa.

  As I expected someone would track my movements, I left the garage and headed in the direction of Congressional Hall, but instead of delivering the papers I hadn’t brought with me, I kept going.

  Driving helped cool my anger, but it didn’t change anything else. I could come up with a hundred different reasons why my great-grandpa would break Eva’s arm. None of them were for my sake. The betrayal cut deep, and I hoped they’d finally gotten what they wanted.

  Had my parents been behind the royal physicians discounting my yearly illnesses and the prolonged time it took for me to recover? I’d tried to tell them, but I’d given up.

  Had it been on my parents’ orders?

  Either my father hadn’t believed I’d abdicate or he’d taken advantage of the opportunity to be rid of me. It didn’t matter.

  Not anymore.

  My hope Eva could’ve been my one and only broke apart, a hope as fragile as her arm beneath a grizzly’s blow. The bone had snapped loud enough I’d heard it. I wanted to forget the sound of it breaking and the thump of her body striking the mat.

  Both haunted me.

  My own family had sabotaged my last hope for a future, and they’d done it in a way meant to hurt Eva the most. It would’ve been kinder to kill me off to get their way. But no. That would’ve ruined the royal family’s reputation. They could call Eva’s injury a training accident.