Chapter Two: Draven
790 Words
Draven watched Prince Chase leave, feeling no real joy at having successfully scared him off.
He had the same effect on the Prince as he had on most people, but he knew he'd be back. The comments Draven had made about his family were sure to make Chase come running back.
Draven had been taken by surprise—something that didn't happen often—when he'd seen the Prince of Akadia in the village, but he hadn't shown it. He was pleased; it was an excellent opportunity to do what he'd been planning for.
He'd soon have Chase doing exactly what Draven wanted. He'd run circles around him and Chase wouldn't even realize it.
He shifted his weight to his left leg. The other was throbbing in agony and Draven suspected it was close to giving out.
He'd broken it half a week ago during a scuffle with of the members of the azil—Ian Britland, a mad criminal convicted for murder and assault. Because Draven was the only one who dared to talk back to him, Britland was happy to beat him up any second of the day.
Draven hadn't shown his pain, though. He never did; here, people preyed on weakness like a shark smelling blood. He'd learnt that soon enough.
Draven took a steadying breath and started to walk along the hall. His room was up the stairs, which were t*****e on his leg. He gripped the railing tightly, limping upstairs, hoping that Britland wouldn't be there.
He wasn't, and Draven got to his room in peace. It wasn't really a room—more like a cell with the lock inside. The walls were whitewashed and bare; the bed was uncomfortable and narrow; and the furniture, a table, chair and closet, were small and rickety.
Draven lowered himself onto the bed, taking his weight off his leg. He knew walking with a broken leg was severely damaging, but he couldn't afford treatment or show weakness by lying in bed. He'd end up with much more than a broken leg if Britland found out.
But Draven trusted himself not to c***k. He could put up with agony with a straight face; look the most dangerous man in the country without flinching; bear touch without recoiling; take a beating with a broken leg and still come out on top. He had to.
"Stone!" a voice roared. Britland's—he was angry and drunk. Draven set his jaw and told Britland to go away in words too inappropriate to mention. "I'm not in the mood to beat you up right now!" he added. There were heavy footsteps and the door slammed open. Draven slowly rose, schooling his face into a cool and indifferent mask.
"You insolent bastard," Britland snarled. stoping into the room, huffing and puffing, his face flushed and eyes glazed over. "Let me teach you a lesson."
"That's the one hundred and thirty-seventh time you've said that and proceeded to give me what you call a beating. And yet, I can't help but think about how it hasn't affected my 'insolence' in the slightest."
Britland growled. "Is there no end to your impertinence, boy? Is there no one you respect?"
"First of all, if I deem anyone worthy of my respect, I do treat them with it, but as of yet, I have not. Second, I'm giving you two minutes to scram, otherwise, I'm going to get angry and no one will be able to save your sorry skin. Your time starts now."
Britland narrowed his eyes. "You think I'm afraid of you, Stone? You're just an upstanding punk who thinks he's more than he actually is."
"One and a half minute," Draven said, tone bored.
Britland growled and, shooting him a glare, stomped away. Draven rolled his eyes and limped to the door, closing it. Then he sank into his bed again.
He took a deep breath and stared at his bare hands, at the long, pale fingers. After a minute, he released a breath and reached under the pillow, hands closing around familiar leather. He took the gloves out and pulled them on, stretching his fingers inside them and feeling the leather tug. His shoulders relaxed minutely.
He pondered on what to do with the Prince. Somehow, he needed to get into the family...entwine himself with them. Once they trusted him enough and let their guard down, he would strike.
Within seconds, he had a plan. This was what his entire life had been building up to—he wouldn't back down, and he would see it to the end. He wasn't going to lose.
Piece by piece, Draven thought, setting his jaw. Piece by piece, I will annihilate you just as you annihilated me.
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