The Lycan King's Defiant Surrogate

Time ticks by.

Caleb goes on date after date.

I try to avoid the hurt that swells inside of me every time he leaves me to spend time with some other woman.

It doesn't get easier.

To distract myself, I push my body with the warrior training. The Pitmaster is a demanding teacher. She does not punish us for our mistakes or failures. She simply makes us get up and try again and again. Even after we get it right, she pushes us to continue trying.

"I want you to have completed these moves so many times they are second nature to you," she says. "You shouldn't even need to think of them. Your hand will find your blade and move before your mind has a moment to consider anything." Eventually, it starts to feel like an accurate sentiment. The more I do the movements, the more natural they seem, until I can complete them without even looking anymore.

My problem, as ever, is that I lack strength. The Pitmaster makes me flex my arms for her then frowns at my thin arms.

"I doubt the King wants you to bulk up," she says. "So you will just have to depend on your speed."

"Does this mean I fail warrior training?" I ask.

"I wouldn't put you on the battlefield," the Pitmaster says. "But I don't think that was ever the intention with you. The King just wants to make you into a fighter capable of defending herself."All rights © NôvelDrama.Org.

I nod. "Have we done that?"

"Let's find out," the Pitmaster says and unsheathes the massive sword from her back.

We enter the sparring ring, with the other trainees surrounding us in interest.

The Pitmaster gives me a half-second to collect myself. Then, she lunges, dropping her sword down on me.

Quickly, I slip out of the way. The sword clanks into the ground instead.

While she works on freeing it, I twist to slice at her. I severely underestimated the time it would take her to pry her sword from the dirt. She easily lifts it and blocks me.

"Good, Harper. But you are holding yourself back. You don't want to hurt me, but I insist that you can't. Give me all you've got. Show me what you've learned."

With her encouragement, I try to stop holding myself back as I had. She was right. I truly didn't want to hurt her. But I have to trust, as she is the instructor, that she will be able to withstand whatever I might throw her way.

I slice at her a second time. Blocked.

A third. Blocked.

As I step back to think my next attack, she whirls the sword around her head and cuts in at me from the side.

llean backwards to dodge. But because the sword is lower than I initially anticipated, I lean back so far that I fall down onto

my ass.

A few of the trainees cheer for me to get up. As I hurry to do so, I'm too slow.

The Pitmaster drops her sword, stopping it a hair away from my neck. For her to wield such a big sword with such precision shows her the level of her strength and skill. She truly treats it as if it is an extension of herself. Watching her, you could think the blade weighed nothing at all.

Having held it, I could attest that it is indeed very heavy.

Smiling, the Pitmaster moves the blade away and returns it to the sheath on her back. Then she holds out her hand. Once I take it, she pulls me up to my feet.

""You did well," she says.

"I lost," I reply.

She laughs. "You didn't think you'd actually beat me, did you?"

No, I guess that's true.

"You're making progress," the Pitmaster says. Releasing my hand, she pats me roughly on the shoulder. "Keep training."

Then she moves along. From her, that is wonderful praise and I'm absolutely beaming.

"Good job, Harper," Ted says, along with a few others.

"Thanks, guys," I say as I stop to join them.

Despite everything, Ted and the trainees have been becoming my friends. Ted hasn't really changed all that much, though he makes certain to keep appropriate distance between us, and he never lets his gaze linger on me for too long. He still has his optimism and easy smile, though. I like being around him. He's like a fun little brother. The kind of sibling relationship that I wish I had.

Caleb sits at a table across from his date. His subordinates have rented out the entirety of this restaurant within the capital for Caleb and his date to spend a romantic evening alone, undisturbed by anyone other than the waiter. Yet Caleb can feel eyes all over him, like tiny spiders crawling across his skin.

Looking around, however, he catches no one around him. The curtains are down over the windows, giving them even more privacy.

No one is watching. Caleb knows that.

Yet the feeling remains.

"Do you like your salad, King Caleb?" asks the blonde sitting across from him. He's forgotten her name. Jessica? Jennifer? He's fairly certain it starts with a J.

It's hard to keep his thoughts straight when he's certain there's someone right behind him. He spins to check.

Again, no one is there.

"Are you well, Sir?" the date says. "You seem... uncertain."

"The salad is fine Caleb says gruffly.

He's looking at her now. She's not a natural blonde, but the color suits her well enough. Her eyes are kind, though there's a vague sort of smile on her face that could easily be hiding darker feelings. Could she be plotting against him?

11.59 Sun, Dec 8

No. They only just arrange this date yesterday, after all the others did not go very well. That would hardly leave enough time for her to organize a coup. It could be enough time to arrange for an assassin though Caleb checks behind him.

"Maybe we should bring out the main course." the date says. Clapping her hands, she calls, "Waiter!"

Hot fear flashes through Caleb.

One moment, he is sitting in his chair, then, after the clap, he has suddenly jumped over the table. His dates chair back is on the floor. She's still sitting on it, staring up at him with wide eyes. Caleb's holding a salad fork to her throat. The waiter brings out a silver plate with their meals on top of it. When he sees the sight, he drops the platter and curses. While he rushes into the kitchen again, Caleb tries to recollect what lead him to this moment.

The date is afraid, her eyes wide, her pulse pounding so loudly it's giving him a headache.

He looks at the fork in his hand. Did he mean to kill her with this?

Foolish.

He tosses aside the fork, and, righting himself, steps away from the woman.

Tristan immediately steps out from the kitchen.

"My King, we should leave. The guards can handle this," he says, already leading Caleb to the door. Only when Caleb is outside of the restaurant and sitting in his car does he realize the full severity of what he's done. "I could have killed that woman," he says.

"Yes," Tristan confirms. "I suspect you nearly did."

Caleb looks down at his hands. "I have no idea why I did that."

"Your mind has been uneasy," Tristan says. Softer, he says, "As it always does when you go days without seeing Harper."

Caleb frowns. Has he truly become so dependent on that consort?

"You should bring her next time," Tristan says.

"What?" Caleb asks, as if waking from a dream.

"On your next date, bring Harper as well," Tristan says. "Before you hurt someone."