"To what end? You want me to train only so I can make a spectacle of my talents?"
Maeve smiled, and the world went still. "I wish you to become who you were born to be. To become queen."
Rowan's POV:
As Rowan led Aelin Galathynius through the halls of Mistward, it took all of the self control he'd gathered over the last three centuries to stop himself from slamming her into a wall.
The princess had left the meeting with Maeve in a huff, storming from the room without so much as a goodbye. Rowan had been ready to drag her back kicking and screaming and force her to give his queen the respect she deserved, but Maeve had just nodded at him to let her pass.
His queen's attitude had done nothing to help Rowan's rage. If anything, her indifference had only made it worse. The princess had disrespected her more than a dozen times during that conversation, and Maeve hadn't only tolerated it— she'd been amused by it. Rowan would normally brush it off as nothing, but he still didn't know what his queen was planning for the girl. Despite her reputation, Maeve wasn't one to keep secrets. Whatever plans she had for Aelin Galathynius, they were nefarious enough she hadn't defined to share them with him.
No matter what she wanted with the girl, his queen had her reasons but it didn't change the infuriating truth that she'd given him, a warrior honed by three centuries of battle, one who had walked on and off killing fields, the task of babysitting a princess-turned-assassin with an attitude problem. Honestly, it would have been amusing if he wasn't so furious.
Rowan glanced over his shoulder. The girl was trailing a few steps behind him, her eyes trained on the ground in an obvious attempt to avoid his gaze. Even with a few feet of space between them he could sense the rage simmering beneath her skin. She was just as pissed as he was about this entire gods-damned situation, a fact that was equally comforting and infuriating. Now, the question was just which one of them would snap first.
Unsurprisingly, the princess started it.
Rowan had begun to think he would make it to his rooms without losing it, that he might be able to avoid starting a brawl on their first night of training when—
"You must be very important to Her Immortal Majesty if she put you on nurse duty."
As the words rolled of the girl's tongue they were accompanied by the same arrogant tone she'd used in Wendlyn, the combination making it an effort not to kick her ass then and there.
Rowan waited until he was positive he could open his mouth without growling to say, "Given your history, she didn't trust anyone but her best to keep you in line."
Honestly, Rowan had no idea why Maeve had chosen him of all people for this task. Fenrys had been more than happy to volunteer, and would likely have charmed the girl into his bed by now instead of fighting with her. Then again, Fenry's interest in the princess had been an attempt to escape Maeve's clutches more than anything.
"Playing warrior in the woods doesn't seem like the greatest indicator of talent."
Oh, she wanted this. The girl knew precisely what she was asking for by provoking him, she wanted him to retaliate, to push back.
Well, if a fight was what she wanted Rowan was more than willing to deliver.
"I fought on killing fields long before you, your parents, or your grand-uncle were even born," he said, a bolt of satisfaction running through him when he saw her jaw twitch ever so slightly. It was the only sign that her mask of bravado had cracked, but it was enough that he knew the dig at her family, at her pride, had struck a chord. Just like he'd known it would. Her arrogance, like any emotion when not properly controlled, made her an easy mark.
"Who's to fight here except birds and beasts?" The girl managed to drag enough nonchalance up from whatever reserves of confidence she kept to deliver the snide remark, but the words were clipped despite her efforts.
"The world is a far bigger and more dangerous place than you can imagine, girl. Consider yourself blessed to receive any training— to have the chance to prove yourself," Rowan shot back, hoping the comment would find her pride like the last one had.
"I've seen plenty of this big and dangerous world, princeling," she snarled, drawing a short, harsh laugh out of him.
"Just wait, Aelin," Rowan said, smirking as he watched his use of her real name hit her like a physical blow.
He'd seen the way she'd reacted when Maeve had said it, how she'd coiled into herself at the reminder of her past. It was no different this time, her gaze going hard as she said, "Don't call me that."
Rowan grinned. The look in her eyes, the tone of her voice... he should drop this. It was obviously affecting her, and it wouldn't take much more to push either of them over the edge right now. He should, but Rowan was not in the mood to be the bigger person tonight. Tonight, all he wanted was a release for his anger, and if this princess was willing to provide him with one he wasn't about to turn her down. "It's your name. I'm not going to call you anything different."
The moment the words passed his lips she was standing in front of him, blocking his access to the rest of the hallway. "No one here can know who I am. Do you understand?"
She was as close as she'd been when Rowan had stopped her from escaping Maeve only this time the raw, biting scent of her fear was replaced by a hollow, empty rage. There was no spark to her words, no flames flickering in her gaze. As if the deal she'd made with his queen had snuffed out the last remaining ember's of her fire.
That dead look in her eyes found the rage roiling beneath his skin and dug in like a knife. Rowan had seen the same expression on his own face a thousand times, knew what it felt like to be so empty and dead inside it was a relief to feel anything, anything at all. The sight of it was familiar enough to be painful, and when he said his next words Rowan made sure they were filled with as much disdain and loathing as he could muster. "My aunt has given me a harder task than she realizes, I think."
The girl's eyes narrowed, and there was nothing but pure, blinding hatred in her gaze as she snarled, "Fae like you make me understand the King of Adarlan's actions a bit more, I think."
Those word's, foul and hateful and cruel, snapped the already fraying restraints Rowan had placed on himself and before the girl could realize her mistake, his fist slammed into her face.
The force of the blow sent the girl stumbling backwards, the smell of her blood filling the air as her head slammed into the wall. Slowly, after a moment of heavy breathing and muffled groans, she stood and locked gazes with him. Her eyes didn't leave Rowan's as she brought a hand up to her freshly split lip, or when it came away coated with blood. Then, through the blood dripping down her face, she grinned at him.
Rowan brought his arm up for another strike, but stopped himself before his fist connected with her jaw and snarled, a sound low and vicious enough it would have lesser men shaking in their boots. The girl didn't even flinch, her mouth curving into a smirk as she purred, "Do it."
The words were a taunt, but also a plea. He knew exactly what the girl wanted, and it was for him to hit her until she felt something. If he gave in to his rage, he'd only be satisfying that wish. Even if the desire to beat her into unconsciousness was tempting, it wouldn't do anything to teach her discipline or respect.
So Rowan leashed his rage, smirking as he leaned in until they were face to face and said, "Why should I give you what you want?"
The girl glared at him, clearly irritated he hadn't risen to the bait. "You're just as useless as the rest of your brethren."
Rowan let out a soft, scathing laugh."If you're that desperate to eat stone, go ahead: I'll let you try to land the next punch."
The girl bristled at the invitation, her rage boiling over and into the air with it's now familiar notes of ash and dying embers. She swung at him, her arm moving through the air so slowly it was laughable. Rowan dodged the blow easily, and the girl's fist struck nothing but air. Before the princess could make another attempt to hit him, Rowan sent her crashing into the wall with a single strike to the back of her leg.
The girl was only on her feet for a moment, swearing and spitting blood into the stone, before she saw the smirk on his face and lunged at Rowan— and right into the brazier behind him.
The sound echoed in the silent hallway, and Rowan let out a low, wicked chuckle at the girl's obvious efforts to try and hold back her groans. "Like I said, you have a lot to learn. About everything," Rowan sneered.
The princess bared her teeth around her already swollen lip and growled, "Go to hell you insufferable bastard."
Rowan just turned his back on her said, "Next time you say anything like that I'll have you chopping wood for a month."
The girl's shame and rage sunk into the space between them as he led her down the rest of the hallway and into her room. Rowan had to admit, it was low standards even for Maeve. The room was small, with the stone walls doing nothing to preserve the heat. It would be freezing at night. Not that he cared. The girl was probably used to silk sheets and round the clock service, it would be amusing to watch her struggle to live like the rest of them. With that in mind, Rowan turned to her and said, "Give me your weapons."
The girl straightened, eyes wide. "Why? And no."
Rowan didn't bother answering her, grabbing a bucket of water and pouring it out into the hall before holding it out to the girl and repeating himself. "Give me your weapons."
"Tell me why," the girl demanded, crossing her arms and staring at him. As if that was going to do anything.
"I don't have to explain myself to you."
"Then we're going to have another brawl."
Rowan had to laugh at that. She called that a brawl? "Starting at dawn, you'll earn your keep by helping in the kitchen. Unless you plan to murder everyone in the fortress, there is no need for you to be armed. Or to be armed while we train. So I'll keep your daggers until you've earned them back."
The girl just stared at him. "The kitchen?"
Rowan grinned at her, wicked enough to make sure she understood what he thought of her. "Everyone pulls their weight here. Princesses included. No one's above some hard labor, least of all you."
"So my training includes being a scullery maid?"
"Part of it," Rowan said, still grinning. He was going to enjoy watching this princess get her hands dirty— and giving her hell while they trained until she *preferred* her work as a scullery maid.
"For an old bastard you certainly haven't bothered to learn manners at any point in your long existence," she snapped.
"Why should I waste flattery on a child who's already in love with herself?"
The girl's gaze hardened. "We're related, you know."
"We've as much blood in common as I do with the fortress pig-boy."
Her nostrils flared, but Rowan had lost both the desire and the energy required to fight her. He held out the bucket again, hiding his shock perfectly when the girl began stripping herself of her weapons instead of slamming the pail back into his face. He counted every knife and sword she threw inside, making sure they were all accounted for before turning his back on her and heading towards the door.
The only goodbye he gave before slamming it in her face was to tell her to be ready at dawn for training.
"Was it really necessary to hit her, Rowan?"
Five minutes after he'd stripped the girl of her weapons and left her in her room Rowan was kneeling in front of his queen as she smirked down at him. He'd been on his way to his own rooms when he'd felt the bond go taught, her summons reaching him across the fortress through stone walls and winding staircases. No matter how far he went, whether it was to this fortress or entire continents away, that oath would always be with him. There was no hope of escaping it, even if he wanted to. His brother was a living example of that undeniable truth.
"She deserved it," he said, keeping his head bowed. Maeve was dangerous when she was like this, all false pleasantries and hidden jabs.
"Oh, she certainly did, but I wouldn't want our new queen in training to have any excuses to justify her... performance. Send her some healing salve, tell her I wish her a quick recovery," Maeve said, her black eyes glinting with unconcealed malice.
Knowing his queen was about to end their conversation, Rowan tried once more to convince her she'd made the wrong choice in sending him here. Normally, he wouldn't have cared. Rowan didn't think, he followed orders, and had it been anyone else he would have trained them without question. But this girl... this girl was dangerous, and not because of the fire she wielded. Over the past three centuries, he'd never met someone with that familiar look in their eyes. It had put him on uneven footing, a sensation he didn't enjoy after centuries of ice and numbness.
"Are you sure I'm the best one to teach the girl? Fenrys would be better suited, or perhaps Gavriel—" Maeve waved her hand, and Rowan immediately stopped talking.
"I won't hear anymore complaints from you, Rowan. I have my reason for having you train Aelin Galathynius. You've never questioned me before, and I hope you're not about to start now," Maeve snapped, her immortal, unflinching gaze going hard with the words.
"My apologies, my Queen," Rowan said, bowing his head again.
Maeve stared at him for a long moment, deciding if his apology was sufficient enough to avoid further... persuasion.
"Well, if there's nothing else, I think I'll be going."
The word's, the tone, left no room for argument. Rowan knew better than to question Maeve, and yet he'd done it anyway. It was the second mistake that girl had caused him to make. He wouldn't allow there to be a third.
Rowan was so focused on keeping his mouth shut he almost missed Maeve's next words.
"I suppose it will be interesting," she crooned, glancing at him over her shoulder.
"What?" The question passed Rowan's lips before he could stop himself.
"To see which one of you tears the other apart first."
UPDATED: 2/5/19