They deserve it all.

Pride

Hi, another TW. Not as badly this time. Everyone has a different view on it, but this chapter could for somewhat more sensitive people be viewed as a chapter with emotional/verbal abuse in it. And also, though it isn't as much parental abuse as it is parental violence, so like violence from a parent towards the child, but not actually touching the child, if that makes sense.
Anywho, I hope you enjoy the chapter :).

13-04-18

"Dad ..." I have to run to keep up with his fast paced and angry walk to the throne room. He fakes a smile at the guards and opens the door for me, I stand there for a moment, staring at his hand which gestures to me walking in.

I don't want to ... I whisper to Willow. I really don't want to.

I know ... neither do I.

You're scared too ..?

I am. He's never been so ...

Do you think this could happen again.

Definitely.

I walk inside, faster than I should but he doesn't notice. Not when I flinch as the door slams shut and neither when he snaps out of his minute long stare at me and then breaks his desk with a mere powered punch. I see his hand, splinters in it quite a bit, but in an immediate moment they all levitate out of his hand and fall to the ground. The desk falls to the ground, everything on it breaks along it. The black glass quill holder he had made for him by one of his girlfriends is now broken, his ink has splashed all over the floor and I realize he wished it was blood when I look into his eyes. He scares me. That look scared me. Even Willow, right by my ear, holding my shoulders, gasped ever so softly with me.

"Dad ..."

"Don't 'dad' me. You ... you—"

His lip is quivering with anger ... no, with rage, actual rage ... like mine. For a moment, I see myself in him, hands balled up in fists, his shoulders raised and tense, his face reddening, his chest heaving up and down like a heavy machine, his breath so full and warm, filling the room with poisonous gas. And I back up, scared of him in that moment, scared of what I see. But then out of nowhere, he takes a breath and shoves the broken pieces of wood out of his way and sits down on his throne.

"I got a message today," he says, trying to keep his voice calm as he slumps down. "I heard you won the yearly Fair Star competition, you won the first few fights and I thought nothing of it, but then you won the semi finale and then the half finale and you worried me ... and now the finale. In all of our family, our lineage of those who sat on this exact throne, everyone has won at least one of the Fair Star competitions, and here you stand, with your fourth trophy given in honor, a trophy that's bigger than you are, an unnecessary trophy."

I don't know why he's saying this, but it can't be good, he's angry, I can see that, the way he grits his teeth and how he spits every word out as if he can't be- he can't be proud. So I keep my smile of victory away and I push it down real deep before just nodding.

"I did."

He smiles, but not a smile that says 'I' m proud of you,' or at least 'good job', nope, it says 'you better be joking,' and 'are you serious?'

"Did we not talk?" He says softly, too soft for my liking. "A few weeks before hand, we had a talk and I told you—"

"I'm sorry—"

"I told you that you couldn't win! I told you to let that—"

"I know! I—"

"—bastard win! You needed to let that damned boy win, it's all I asked of you, I asked one thing and you couldn't even do that!"