"I suppose it will be interesting," Maeve crooned, glancing at Rowan over her shoulder.

"What?"

"To see which one of you tears the other apart first."

Rowan's POV:

Maeve's final words followed Rowan all through the night and into the next day. His inability to shake them was infuriating, enough that he woke before dawn to see if a flight would clear his head.

It hadn't, and as Rowan made his way down to the kitchens his thoughts were once again occupied by a certain smart-mouthed assassin.

After their brawl last night, if you could even call it that, Rowan had been ready to leave the girl licks her wounds in peace. He'd told one of the demi-Fae to bring her bathing supplies and a change of clothes, had been ready to leave it at that but... Maeve was right. He didn't want to give the girl an excuse for what would undoubtedly be a poor performance today. Even though the princess had deserved every blow he'd dealt her. The comment she'd made, the implication that any of Adarlan's actions against the Fae had been justified... she'd deserved much more than a punch to the face for that insult alone. He'd said as much in the note he'd tied to the tin of healing salve he'd sent to her rooms.

Rowan made sure none of the rage roiling beneath the wall of ice he'd constructed to contain his rising temper showed as he entered the kitchens.

The room went still and silent the moment he crossed the threshold. Emrys and Luca stopped their work, the cook inclining his head in Rowan's direction while Luca studied with a familiar expression of fear and awe.

Rowan ignored them both.

He had to admit, he hadn't expected her to show up. He'd assumed the kitchens would be empty, had hoped it would give him and excuse to drag the princess from her bed and give her hell for shirking her responsibilities.

Rowan shoved down that faint echo of disappointment, turning his attention to where the princess stood by the hearth. Even after bathing and with a fresh set of clothes, she looked... haunted. The gaunt contours of her face were framed by her hair, damp and colorless even in the warm light of the fire. The salve he'd given her had brought down the swelling in her lip, but the color remained. Rowan didn't bother to hide his smirk, even if the sight of her, half-dead and hollowed out, had some long buried emotion stirring in his chest.

Rowan ignored that too. Outside of their training, there would be no reason to involve himself in the princesses personal life. Despite her current appearance, he doubted she'd faced much hardship throughout her pampered existence. The next few months would certainly make up for it.

Without so much as acknowledging her presence, Rowan turned to Emrys and said, "Your new scullery maid for the morning shift. After breakfast, I have her for the rest of the day."

Silence followed as Rowan waited for the girl to introduce herself. He remembered how she'd reacted to Maeve's use of her real name. She may be an insufferable brat, but Rowan understood the desire to remain anonymous. He'd decided to grant her that privilege, even if she hadn't earned it.

When the princess didn't speak, Rowan turned to her and cocked his head in answer. You wanted to remain unidentified, so go ahead, Princess. Introduce yourself however you want.

After a moment of consideration, the girl spoke in a choked whisper. As if the words themselves were painful to speak. "Elentiya. My name is Elentiya."

It was then Emrys chose to bow, Luca quickly following suit. Rowan fought the urge to order both of them to their feet. "So good of you to find us additional help, Prince," he said before addressing the girl. "Ever work in a kitchen?"

Aelin shook her head, and Rowan almost laughed. He doubted she'd ever seen the inside of a kitchen, let alone worked in one.

"Well, I hope you're a fast learner and quick on your feet."

"I'll do my best."

Good. Rowan had a feeling if she'd snapped at Emrys he would have found it difficult to not throw her into the crackling hearth.

With that irritation still roiling beneath his skin, Rowan turned and walked out the door.

Rowan entered the kitchen hours later to find the girl half-slumped over a table, picking at the plate of food in front of her. He resisted the urge to ask Emrys if she'd actually done anything all morning.

The kitchen went quiet as Emrys and Luca noticed his presence. The princess lifted her head, giving him a bored stare before returning her gaze to her plate.

"Let's go," was all Rowan said, refusing to look back and see if she followed as he stormed back out the door. A few seconds later, her footsteps sounded behind him.

Neither of them spoke as he led them up the stairs, pass the wards, and into the woods. Rowan was almost impressed by the princesses newfound ability to keep her mouth shut.

By the time they'd reached the ruins Rowan had scoped out during his early morning flight, the silence between them was a tangible thing. Rowan already regretted breaking it as he turned to her and said, "Do your worst."

The princess, soaked to the skin by the early morning mist and shivering from the cold, just smirked at him.

"Wipe that smarmy, lying smile off your face," Rowan growled, resisting the urge to punch her again.

The princesses smile, as expected, only grew at the ire Rowan knew was burning in his gaze. Her eyes glittered with satisfaction at the knowledge she had succeeded in getting under his skin as she said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Rowan stepped towards her, teeth bared, and snarled, "Here's your first lesson, girl: cut the horseshit. I don't feel like dealing with it, and I'm probably the only one who doesn't give a damn about how angry and vicious and awful you are underneath."

She didn't even flinch. "I don't think you particularly want to see how angry and vicious and awful I am underneath."

Rowan would have laughed at that, if the rage now writhing against his self control left any room for amusement. If this princess, this girl who was... what? Twenty? Not even? If she thought her darkness could even compare to his...

The wall of ice inside Rowan's chest shuttered.

"Go ahead and be as nasty as you want, Princess, because I've been ten times as nasty, for ten times longer than you've been alive."

The girl stopped smiling. Any of the lingering amusement in her expression vanished, replaced by a roaring tempest of fury and indignation.

She bared her teeth in an echo of a growl. Rowan buried his rage and said, "Better. Now shift."

"It's not something I can control."

"If I wanted excuses, I'd ask for them. Shift."

Some other emotion flickered in the girl's eyes, but it was gone before Rowan could recognize it. The princess crossed her arms and gave him a long, haughty once over. "I hope you brought snacks, because we're going to be here a long, long while if today's lesson is dependent upon my shifting."

"You're really going to make me enjoy training you," Rowan snarled, his rage once again pounding against that wall of ice with a vengeance.

The girl didn't even blink. "I've already participated in a dozen versions of the master-disciple training saga, so why don't we just cut that horseshit too?"

That was it. Roman had had enough of her horseshit. He forced the wild storm of rage still churning inside of him to cool, icing it over with his magic as he said, "Shut your smart-ass mouth and shift."

"No."

Aelin recognized Rowan's order for what it was a moment too late.

Surprisingly, she managed to dodge his first strike, sidestepping the fist he'd thrown at her face. Rowan lunged again, and Aelin twisted out of reach. But that was where her luck ran out.

All it took was a single blow to the back of her legs, the same maneuver he'd used to take her down in the hallway the night before, to have Aelin on the ground. She fell, already turning her body to catch herself, but not fast enough to avoid whacking her head against the rocks. The princess rolled onto her back a moment later, her eyes glazed with pain, and Rowan pounced. She didn't have the strength to fight him off as he straddled her, his thighs pressing into her ribs.

The girl didn't try and break his hold, didn't even move. She just laid there, gasping for breath, her expression empty as she met Rowan's hard gaze.

"Shift," he hissed, digging his knees into her ribs for emphasis.

The princess let out a cold, wretched laugh.

"Nice try," she panted, a line of blood dripping down her brow. Rowan let more of his weight fall on her, thinking it would provoke her, but she just let out another rasping laugh.

"You think you can trick me into shifting by pissing me off?"

Rowan let loose a snarl, his anger rising to the surface. This girl, this wretched excuse for a person, for a princess, was who Maeve expected him to turn into a warrior. Not just a warrior, but a weapon— a puppet for his queen to control.

Aelin either didn't notice his growing desire to kill her, or she chose to ignore it as she continued speaking. He suspected the latter. "Here's an idea," she drawled, arrogance lacing every syllable. "I'm rich as hell. How about we pretend to do this training for a week or so, and then you tell Maeve I'm good and ready to enter her territory, and I'll give you all the gods-damned gold you want."

A cracking sound echoed in Rowan's head as the barrier of ice he'd been struggling to keep intact crumbled, and he didn't bother checking his rage as he bared his teeth inches from the princesses neck.

"Here's an idea," he growled against her neck. He was an inch away from tearing out her throat. "I don't know what the hell you've been doing for ten years, other than flouncing around and calling yourself an assassin. But I think you're used to getting your way. I think you have no control over yourself. No control, and no discipline— not the kind that counts, deep down. You are a child, and a spoiled one at that. And—"

Rowan paused, considering what insult would hurt her the most. The arrogance, that pride... he knew where to strike.

"You are a coward."

Those four words, like the bribe she'd offered him, were what finally managed to crack any remaining control the princess had kept on herself. She began writhing beneath him, rage radiating off of her in waves as she tried and failed to dislodge him. Rowan somehow knew that if he hadn't had her pinned, she would have clawed his face off.

It was the exact reaction he'd wanted.

Rowan leered, sneering down at her. "Don't like that word? Coward. You're a coward who has run for ten years while innocent people were burned and butchered as you sat by and watched—"

Rowan stopped speaking.

Aelin had gone still beneath him. She had ceased her struggling, her violent attempts to break his hold. Now, she was still and silent, her expression void of emotion.

As if she'd stopped listening to him entirely.

It should have infuriated him even further, the blatant dismissal but... he'd seen that look in the eyes of his soldiers a thousand times. It was an expression he knew all too well, born of grief and loss and pain. He saw it every time he looked in the mirror. After Lyria—

Rowan didn't let that final thought form. Instead, he stood and said, "Get up."

She didn't.

"Get up."

When she ignored the snarled order, still and lifeless even without his weight pressing down on her, Rowan yanked the princess to her feet.

And it was that look, the familiar emptiness in her eyes that made him grab her face between his hands and snarl, "Pathetic. Spineless and pathetic."

The princess met Rowan's stare, and there was something like determination in her gaze as she closed her eyes. For a moment, he waited. Waited to see if she could drag up any remnants of her power.

When she opened her eyes, they were empty again— hopeless.

Fine. If she didn't have it in her, Rowan wasn't going to waste his time. Honestly, nothing would make him happier than to return to Doranelle, to his Queen's side, and never have to see this girl or her empty, lifeless eyes again. If she wanted an out, he'd give her an out. And since she didn't seem to think it worth her time to fight him... perhaps he could teach her a lesson on who the true monsters were.

UPDATED: 4/20/19