Aiming Straight, Aiming True.

Chapter 41 - A deadly game

Her eyes, so dull, so devoid of all hope, thought Damon as he pictured her beautiful green eyes before he had to go, to escape from feeling Stephen's and Hunter wrath. He pictured Jack's dying form, one of the men who he had known since he joined John and we left him alone to die. John's second in command, dead. He rubbed his wrist where Hunter's arrow had scratched him when he was pinned.

Anger boiled inside him, hatred for Hunter and his cousin, Prince Stephen, he thought mockingly. Even though they were related to each other, changed nothing. He hated Stephen with every fibre in his body. He hated how he got everything he ever wanted. That he was wanted by his parents, the citizens and Arena. He despised how much Arena cared for Stephen and Hunter alike.

Why? He loved Arena, if she had agreed to join their side, he would have cherished every moment with her, taken care of her. Her dull eyes flash through his mind but he shook them away.

He sighed tiredly and looked up at the brown canvas of his tent. They had left the windmill quickly while Stephen and co were fussing over Arena. He understood why they had to leave Jack but it was possible to save him but John had said no.

The men were wandering around outside, talking, laughing, watching and waiting. Waiting for John to make his next move, Damon knew what was going to happen. War. John was angry that he hadn't been able to sway Arena to their side, that they had rescued her.

Damon hated the prince and Hunter but he was grateful that they had saved Arena when he couldn't. He hated seeing her like that and the torture, he shivered. The dynamics within the camp had changed. Everyone knew his heritage now, that he was royal blood, well half royal, half nobel but it made no difference.

He was still a freak though. Why would parents of high status and rich, abandoned him. Even if it was a scandal between the King's sister and Philip Earlene's brother. They still had power, they could have just found a large house and raised Damon there. Instead they left Damon with nothing but his first name in a small orphanage in a small town and disappeared.

No one knows what happened to the two, he remembered when he was little, learning to steal that it was the main gossip, a mystery. He sighed, blowing a piece of hair away from his eyes. The men treated him differently and he didn't like it, is this what his wretched cousin felt like.
It didn't matter, Stephen won't be a prince for very much longer even if he survives. Once they win, he will be king with Arena by his side and John behind, the puppeteer pulling the strings. He glanced at his simple bracelet, Damon in cursive writing.

He will find his parents when he could and he will ask why they abandoned him. He rolled onto his side, grumbling under his breath. He felt so conflicted, he wanted to help John and get rid of Hunter and his cousin Stephen but he wanted to run away from everything and apologize to Arena. He wanted everything to be how it was with Arena, when they first met.

Back then it was still complicated but less complicated then what it was now, he thought. He groaned in frustration, tugging at his small pouch that always hung around his neck. He never took it off, it was a reminder of who he was, who he grew into. The little pouch held two things, a clipping from a newspaper of his abandonment and an arrow tip, the first he shot when he joined John.

" Oh Arena, I wish you were with me, I would have protected you from John and his men from hurting you further, I would have cherished every moment with you ", whispered Damon.

He stared at his small chest before someone's voice rang out from the front of his tent.

" Oi your majesty", a man voice yelled mockingly.

" What is it", Damon yelled without moving. " And don't call me that, I'm not my cousin", yelled Damon angrily. Damon heard chuckling and then someone enter his tent.