Dark Tyrant

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Historical Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 22 (v.1) - Dummies

Submitted: October 03, 2013

Reads: 138

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 03, 2013



A/N: For those who've already read 'Chapter 22', you'll know it as Chapter 23 - technically speaking. Wish and Want was accidentally posted as 22. Whoops. Sorry. But anyway, enjoy the actual Chapter 22! 


Chapter: Dummies

King Brutus walked out into a courtyard wrapped in a sheltered area with seven arches each side leading out into the grassy patch, with a training dummy placed in the middle as a shelf full of weapons and several shields leaning against the tiny case. He was halfway to the shelf before he spun around and stared at me. “I can’t believe I let you order me around like that!”

Hurt ached inside. “I was providing other options…”

He snarled, unsheathing his blade while simultaneously spinning around and powerfully striking the dummy—it wobbled and spun. He kicked it in disgust and whirred around back to face me. I felt suddenly exposed and vulnerable as I realised my differences in armour and weapons. I kneeled in an attempt calm him, seeing no other option—his irate gaze was too heavy a burden for me to stand under.

It worked. He threw his sword into the ground, walking close and knelt down, lush, green eyes staring forgiveness at me. “You’re right. That man would’ve been dead if it weren't for you.” He smiled and laughed, adding, “I told you that crown looked good on you.”

I rolled my eyes, groaning. “I’m not becoming your consort until I get that kiss!”

An eyebrow rose, and his eye twinkled. “I never said that…”

“But do you want it?”

Brutus stood up, rolling his eyes as he pulled his sword up.

I rose. “Do you?”

He sheathed his sword, staring me down. “No comment.”

I threw my hands up.  “Please! In need an answer!”

He frowned at my beseeching. “You do not need an answer. You’re just impatient.”

“So are you!” I protested shrilly.

He bared his teeth angrily at me, “You dare back talk me?”

In a sudden blast of anger and frustration, I threw a roundhouse kick at him. He blocked with the back of his arm, protected by metal. My shin instantly ached, and the king swept me up into his arms, before placing me on the ground and threatening me with the sharp tip of his sword, only because he was purposely trying not to worsen my injuries. “You will leave. Now.”

I growled. “No.”

The tip pressed in deeper. “Then you have violated your oath and must die.”

My eyes widened and I scrambled away from the tip, my body aching like a groan. “No, my Lord! Please! You said you’d never hurt me!”

Brutus’ eyes were black—literally—as he towered over me. “Though I may have said that, do not force me to slit that throat of yours. I have little patience now, and you are therefore prohibited to see, talk or even be near me from now.”

I felt hurt and he knew it. “I forgot. But, please, think about what you’re saying…” I begged, backing up against one of the four stonewalls.

He sneered. “Why is it that you follow me around like some sappy lap-dog?”

I winced at the comparison. “You don’t mean that,” I said, verging on tears.

In two paces, Brutus’ blade was digging into my chest. “No, I don’t.”

I pressed myself up the wall, his elegant weapon following me. “A little mercy and forgiveness?” I begged, repeating his words, “For me?”

He relaxed slightly with a deep breath. I slowly raised my leg to his chest and nudged him back. I then moved out of harm’s way, knelt and left, walking briskly.


I didn’t remember falling into sleep, so I was surprised when I woke up on a bed similar to my own in the capital and still in my armour. There was a dull pain in my left wrist — a quick glance confirmed the faint memory of a dislocated then reattached wrist via surgery. A distant rumbling outside broke my mind out of the quicksand effect of tiredness, and I pulled myself up, making a mental note to let my left wrist suffer from the least amount of movement.

Pushing my door open, I trudged sleepily out into the corridor, looking both ways, before continuing towards the sound, which apparently, as memory served, was the door to the large yard between the north wall and the main building. Taking several strides, my foot nudged the door open and I instantly squinted at the shock of bright light. Blinking several times, my vision sharpened and I focused on a training scene —Soldiers in their own private battles, while others fired arrows, threw spears, played capture-the-flag and practiced with all manner of harmful things. And the disruptive rumbling turned out to be horse hooves as the animals raced around the chaos of battle, the officers acting like shepherds as they kept to sheep in.

A nagging tugged at the back of my mind, and I realised I was subconsciously looking for him. Surely Brutus wouldn’t pass up a session. Where are you…? If I was king, with serious mood swing problems and angelic beauty, where would I be? Where would — I was suddenly thrown out of my thoughts as I was shoved forward into the stone steps. Hands attempted to catch me, but to little avail. In a reflex reaction, my right hand extended, and I squeezed my eyes shut.  A dull, short pain spread around my wrist as it took impact. I groaned, rolling over, staring directly into the late morning sun, my sight turning splotchy. A figure towered over me, holding out a hand, shadows hiding their features. “Sorry there. It’s Angia, right?”

Their deep tone confirmed the person to be a man. A moan replied him, but my right hand loosely gripped his offered arm. He tugged me up, and I collapsed against his chest, panting from the simple task of standing up, even with the help of another. “Oh my. What happened to you?” He asked, noticing my injuries. “We usually expect the severe injuries after the battle.” A laugh escaped him.

“Long story,” I wheezed, my legs wobbly.

“Actually, come to think of it, I do recall an incident,” he told me, gazing with amusement into my eyes. “Well, well, you really…well…there’s not much I can say.”

“General,” A disgustingly familiar voice sounded. I turned my head to face Quill, her expression quickly changing into a snarl at the realisation of my presence. “Oh.”

The general smiled brightly at her. “Commander. I’m busy at the moment, and I see you’ve already had your training session with Angia.”

“Don’t say that dog’s name!” She blurted in a snarl, spitting at my feet.

Tears instantly streamed down my face, and it took all of my remaining energy to weakly wipe them away. “Leave me alone, Quill.”

I heard her sneer as I dug my head into the general’s chest, breathing in the smell of musty cotton from his purple shirt. “Sorry Angia. Would cleaning in armour make you feel better?”

“Quill, I really think you should leave,” the general told her, wrapping his arms around me so I wouldn’t collapse onto the gravel and dirt.

“Fine. Just tell me if wimpy Angia goes running off to her master, won’t you?”

I looked up to catch a terrifying death-glare from him, before Quill turned on her heels and walked off back into the training field.

A quiet sob escaped me. “It’s just so nice to have somebody else who can tell Quill to back off. I mean, general?” The word sounded like honey, and I smiled in appreciation.

He shrugged. “I’m like the head of the ‘secret police’, because no one goes through the king without saying hello to me first. And I know everything that’s going on between you two.”

I gulped. “Everything?”

An eyebrow rose. “Doubt me?”

I wagged my head. “No no no. I mean, your one man not to mess with. Abs and all…”

He grinned, and wrapped one arm around his neck, releasing his grip on me, and supporting me as we shuffled slowly towards the grounds. “Well, firstly, I know your feelings for him…”

“Oh, gods. Do you have to?”

“Yes. Got a good laugh at the way you described him. But the situation is quite different from his point…”

My heart instantly galloped as I jumped at the idea of finding out about how he felt about me. I nearly stumbled at the prospect. “How different?”

The general laughed, wagging a finger. “Good try. But you won’t tease information out of me that easily.”

I looked at him, pleading. “Please. I deserve that much after what’s happened to me.”

He looked at me in a hard, firm gaze. “No.”

My heart plummeted, and I looked down. “Oh. Okay. But it’s pretty obvious anyway…right?”

He cocked a caramel eyebrow, making me second thought myself.


We continued more quickly forward to a huge, lavish-looking, circular, lone tent, leaving me hanging in torturous silence. “Please. I need answers.”

“That nearly got you killed,” he replied flatly, sending me into near shock, thinking of my king’s sword digging alarmingly into my chest. We entered the tent, confirming my suspicions of a portable palace. The general guided me to a chair doused in white, fluffy wolf skin. I sat reluctantly down, feeling sorry for the innocent victim. He knelt down to my height, very serious. “Now, listen here, ensign. The king may favour you, but I’m not bought so easily, and I’m sorry to disappoint you, but that little moment before doesn’t count for anything. Brutus gave us all strict orders to keep off each other’s backs, but I don’t like you — no, trust is a better word. If you so much lift a thumb off this chair before I return, there’s going to be trouble…”

Defiance exploded inside of me. “You and whose army?”

He glared furiously at me. “You dare ask that question to a general, cheek?”

I felt like scoffing at the fact that he took the question literally, but answered in a safer option. “You dare push the king’s orders? His authority?”

The general’s sea-blue eyes sparkled, and he replied in a silky voice. “I wish to remind you that you’re prohibited to see the king.” My hopes of rescue where instantly crushed, and he knew it. “So, be a good ensign and stay.”

“Do I look like a dog?” I spat, as he drew out ‘stay’ like I was stupid.

“You’ve been called it at least twice, so I’m considering…”

I snarled, and stood up in defiance, hastily and urgently rushing towards the canvas entrance.  In an instant I was on the temporary, red carpet, screaming from an angry outburst of pain as he straddled on my hips. “Oh dear. What happened to orders?”

“I swore no oath to you!” I screamed out of thin air, surprising him.

“Oath? Oh…the oath. Really Angia? Really?”

Get. OFF. ME!” I screamed, my efforts at shaking him off failing and causing me only more unbearable pain. Suddenly, he was leaning over me, his lips at my ear, a finger brushing away my dark hair. “You honestly think that’s going to happen?” he asked in a threateningly soft voice.

I turned my head and spat right into his eyes, pure outrage exploding in them at the offence. “Yes, general. And I want you to do it right now.”

He leaned down and kissed my ear menacingly, making me burn and shake with absolutely ferocious anger. “Commander Quill was right: It is time you learned to respect your superiors.”

“Starting with orders from your king,” the most joyous voice sternly told him, as I looked up in disbelief at Brutus’ niece, grinning in relief. “Get off her, now. The kitchens could always use another cleaner…”

“That’s servant’s work — Angia would fit the job perfectly.”

I screamed as he purposely leaned on my left side, straining my wrist ever so slightly. Amaria hissed, and in two strides, kicked the man off me, before leaning down and gently pulling me up. “Get out of my sight,” she ordered, her face turning sour as she cradled me in her arms, walking out of the tent, but continuing at a slow run.

My eyes widened as we ran through battles and lines of fire towards a heated fight, several soldiers taking on the last word in swordplay. Brutus made it look ridiculously easy — parry, strike, kick, block, another strike, takedown, jump, kick again, block, disarm…it was as if fighting was second nature to him. It was also as this skill had developed a sixth sense — he seemed to know everything that was going on in his surroundings. Kingship seemed to be second nature also — his authority was so undoubted that one raised finger and the chaotic battle ceased. He looked at me — barely managing to hold myself in Amaria’s grip—and sighing, walked over. “What now?”

“Another assault. And I received a message from Judith. She barely escaped capture, and the Ethropians have continued their march. It will only be a matter of days, three at the very least. We must leave tomorrow if we are to meet them where you desire.”

Brutus looked in pity at me, sheathing his sword before offering his arms. “Give her to me.”

Amaria exchanged me, placing a black envelope on my stomach. “I will continue training and supervising. And it was Maximus.”

Though he was a master at keeping himself calm and composed, I could feel the shock followed by anger. I barely noticed that we had started walking as I stared at the little things: The muscle and veins sticking out of his arms at my weight, his eyes constantly looking up and then back down at me, the illustration on his silver breastplate, what colour shirt he was wearing underneath his chainmail and what colour his eyes were — for some strange reason I’d noticed that they actually changed to different tones of green. “What did I do?”

Brutus continued forward, holding me closer. “Yes, what did you do? I honestly won’t know where to put you if this continues…

“I thought I wasn’t allowed near you,” I reminded him with a smirk, attempting to trap him with his own words.

“There’s a difference between you not being allowed near me, and me not being allowed near you,” Brutus replied, looking down and grinning with shocking beauty.

Bad grammar, a Voice scolded knowingly.

I stopped breathing in awe. “I’m sorry, once again, my king. I’m such an idiot for…everything.”

An eyebrow soared. “Where’s all of this coming from? You know perfectly well it’s not necessary. I still care about you, no matter what.”

The confession made my heart jump for joy, and I smiled widely at the prospect of royal protection.

Don’t get carried away, the logical Voice reminded me, The war isn’t going away. Paradise with Mr-King-with-Angelic-Beauty isn’t here…yet.

A sigh escaped me, making Brutus look down and slit his eyelids at my dreamy expression. “What are you thinking?”

I snapped alert and ignored the question to save myself from embarrassment, biting my lip to try and kill the smile. “Am I going to be healed by tomorrow?”

His lips tightened into a thin line, and he looked away. “Angia…”

“Am I?”

An exasperated sigh. “It’s impossible. Not even a miracle could heal you considering your injuries. And I’m such a fool that I’ve actually made it worse!”

“You’re a brilliant, beautiful, compassionate, merciful, just king.” I insisted, “And I don’t care what everyone else thinks. I’ll say it, and I’ll say it now. I. Love — ”

“I hope you can walk from here.”

He placed me on the ground—I caught the note before it fell to the dirt—gently shoving me forward, towards some stone stairs rising two stories high up the side of the estate’s limestone walls. I stumbled in surprise and fell face-first into the gravel, wincing violently as my wrist jerked. Brutus was at my side immediately, gingerly tugging me up, and flipping me around to face him at a forty-five degree angle. Regret and apology was obvious in his expression and his eyes looked like they’d just seen him shoot his best friend. “I’m sorry Angia. But you really must—and I repeat: Must—stay indoors and heal if you want even the slightest chance of riding into battle.”

My heart plummeted at the thought of not seeing him, and I looked down, remembering the huge, stupid, three words I very, nearly said. “Of course, Your Majesty. And you were already forgiven. I will leave now…” I told him reluctantly, pulling my leg back to stabilise myself and turning. His strong, pale hand caught my shoulder. “And keep out of trouble, Angia. Go down the corridor, to the furthermost double doors. Sleep in my chambers tonight, that way I will know exactly where you are, and exactly what you are doing.”

I looked over my shoulder, smiling at the thought of a king-grade mattress and the highest-quality silken sheets. “Thank you. Could you sleep with me also?” I asked, passing him the envelope, to which he tucked inside his silver breastplate. Brutus turned stern, but couldn’t help grinning—something that made his face glorious, as if my very presence pleased him. “Don’t push your luck—besides, look what happened last time I slept in my own bed…”

I looked at my wrist with a sigh of annoyance, and curtsied before turning on my heels and continuing up the stairs, envisioning a night with my sovereign.

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