The Alpha King Marked Me. I Still Haven't Told Him I'm A Girl novel Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Seven

It started with one word.

"You."

The prince points a gloved finger in my direction. Around us, the training ground falls silent, the clatter of wooden swords, sharp grunts and barked instructions faltering.

I pull back from Bryn, the lanky comedian who belonged anywhere but on a battle field, just like me. He sucks worse than I do in the way of the sword. Or maybe I’ve grown better.

"To the pit," Prince Rafe adds, jerking his chin. "Gather around, soldiers."

Still in a piss poor mood, I’ve done my best to blend into the bodies circling the drills, hoping I’d escape his notice today. No such luck. But of course, the runt is to be made an example of yet again.

I bite back a retort and step forward, the earth crunching beneath my boots. The rest of the recruits part like I’m walking to my execution.

The prince joins me in the pit, not at all acknowledging me as he faces the thousands outside the circle. "You want to survive an Ebonheart beast twice your size?"

His voice cuts through the grounds, sharp and clipped. His gray eyes shift, seeming to sweep along the crowd, taking stock of each face. "Then you must first accept that you will never be better fighters than they are." To me, he says, "Come at me, runt."

And suddenly, I understand what today’s lesson is to be. That regardless of how better I’ve gotten with pulling punches or swinging swords, it’ll never make me a better fighter than he is. Just like how training for months won’t make beating those Ebonheart monsters any easier.

I just wish the lesson didn’t have to be learned through me.

Learning from my previous mistakes, I lunge, feinting up with my wrists. Predictably, the prince lifts his hands to block the blow.

But at the last second, I drop low, slamming into him with as much force as I can muster in the same moment I reach for his legs to tackle him into the ground.

And for a moment there, a thrill soars in my heart at the thought of having one big win in this place.

But crashable arms band underneath my ribcage and I am thrown off like a wasp, slamming into the dust. My teeth rattles upon impact and I groan as pain runs down my back.

I expe ct roars of laughter to begin rolling in, but the yard is dead silent. I square my shoulders in the dirt, blinking sweat from my lashes as I glance at the men lined in neat rows. Every one of them is bigger than me. Broader. Meaner-looking. Yet, they look at me with interest.

"A brilliant move," Prince Rafe comments. "But I do not recommend it for one your size."

It is the truth, but it feels heavily like an insult. And again, hatred churns in my gut. Perhaps if was built like Leander, the tackle would have been successful. Too little to make a difference. Too feminine to make a dent.

And so, it continues.

Again and again, I am tossed like a sack of grain.

The prince circles me with slow, deliberate steps, shirtless, muscles cut and glinting with sweat beneath the sun. "The enemy is in no manner average," he says, voice pitched for the others. "They’re faster. Bigger. Stronger. Meaner. They fight with rage and dark hunger. If you can’t outmatch them in strength..." He pauses, letting that hang in the air. "Then outmatch them in intellect and intent."

His gaze flicks to me. "Again."

My jaw clenches as I charge.

"Too high," he barks before I’m even close. "You’re giving up your center. Think, soldier."

He grabs my wrist mid-swing and flips me hard onto my back. The impact knocks the wind from my lungs.

My vision swims.

"Get up," he commands.

My hands curl into fists in the dirt. I force myself up. Breathe.

He speaks again, turning to address the others. "When they come for you, they won’t play fair. They’ll go for the throat. You’ll need to be quicker, smarter. Lower your center of gravity. Watch your opponent’s hips—"

He motions to me.

"—not their hands. That’s where the real movement begins."

I nod tightly. Try again.

He catches my momentum. "Not fast enough. And your left foot drags, makes you easy to read."

He tosses me again.

My vision blurs at the edges. Heat thrums through my skull. Not from pain. From fury. I know what I’m doing. I’ve been training deeper than anyone, waking earlier, sweating harder and yet, I still feel like shit.

His back hits the ground. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

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