The Alpha King Marked Me. I Still Haven't Told Him I'm A Girl novel Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Eight

"Valka."

My eyes squint and I see the frazzled edge of Thane’s form at the edge of my vision. Groaning, I pull the thin cover over my head and drift back to sleep.

"Get up, you lackwit, or your pretty princeling will die!" he snaps.

I ignore him, weariness settling heavy in my bones. My thighs are stiff from crouching, ribs sore from being knocked into the dirt. The General had them blindfold us yesterday, ten men each to the pit with real blades. It turned dark quickly.

They said it was to teach us survival when all our senses were stripped.

But all it taught me was what death looked like.

We lost eight men. One of which had been in my group. He had soft brown eyes but by the tournament’s end, they were cold and lifeless, his skull cracked open, his blood on my sword and boots.

I couldn’t sleep. Because every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. And wondered if he died by my last pathetic strike to save my life. What feels like mere minutes ago, exhaustion had weighed down on me like a net and now, Thane is hellbent on ruining my night even further.

"Go away, Thane."

Maybe he does. I can’t tell, because the darkness calls to me once more, making me drool tiredly all over my pillows.

I snap awake to a roar.

It doesn’t echo in the hall outside. It doesn’t rattle the walls like it should. It detonates inside my head, sending me sprawling across the floor, gripping either sides of my head in a pained cry.

I stumble forward, a primal need propelling me out the door in a maddening dash. My body moves of its own volition screaming at me to hurry.

"Quickly," Thane rasps, voice tight with urgency.

The encampment is silent, a loud contrast to the pressure behind my eyes, the desperate thrashing of something behind my ribs that urges me to break into a run. I do not know where to go, where to find him, but my feet do, and I find myself sprinting across, towards the watchtower overlooking the training grounds.

It is a monstrously high stonework and a chill runs down my spine when I realize it is unmanned.

No torches flicker at its base. No echoing footsteps. No barked orders or the clink of armor.

Not one guard.

The topmost ledge where the great bronze bell hangs should be manned by two of the General’s elite, standing watch beside the ever-burning signal flame. Below, there are always a dozen more, stationed at ground level.

But the platform is empty. The flame is out.

And the ground is abandoned.

My breath catches.

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