Chapter 28: Day Two
The next afternoon, I find myself pacing around Cain's room, irritation boiling beneath my skin. "It's bullshit," I snap. 'Why are we forced to spend a month here?" "Forcing you to train the nobles brat."
Cain, stretched out lazily on his bed, doesn't even look up. "Mmm."
I scowl at him. "That's all you've got? Mmm?"
He shifts slightly, resting his head on his arms, barely cracking an eye open. "What do you want me to say? Yeah, it sucks. I'm still not quite over Ashland going over my head, forcing my hand," "But at least it'll allow me to dedicate a full month to helping you find a way to control your trigger without my duties limiting us to a few hours a day, so it's not all bad."
I scoff. "Make the best of it? Not all bad? With Count Prickland smiling at us like he's the perfect host? Like he didn't just force me into some ridiculous pissing contest with his son?" I shake my head, pacing faster. "I hate guys like that. Acting all nice, talking like they're so damn reasonable. It's fake. It's always fake."
My fists clench as I think back to yesterday.
After Howard hit the ground and stayed there, the whole group had rushed to his side, their concern drowning out the stunned silence from the rest of the courtyard. When the medics checked him over, the damage was clear—cracked ribs, a fractured arm from where he landed. I had kicked him that hard. Oops.
Sergeant Blake had turned on me, fury darkening his face. "You scum," he spat. "You don't beat an opponent into the dirt like that in a sparring match! You were supposed to hold back!"
I cock my head, utterly unbothered. "If I wasn't holding back, he'd be dead."