The Cursed Kingdom

TWENTY-TWO

~ FLIPPING OUT ~

Spring was making an abrupt appearance, taking everyone in the palace by surprise.

The first month of the year had barely ended and already the weather was warming and becoming more humid, the sun shining longer and brighter each passing day.

However, there was a chill to the air that refused to leave. Occasionally, there'd be a wind that sent goosebumps scattering across my arms which would cause me to pull my cardigan closer and tense my shoulders until it passed. I'd watch with envious eyes the unaffected Lycans pass by in their thin short sleeves, wishing I could have their impressive body heat.

The gardeners had gone to work faster and more vigorously, trying desperately to prepare the soil in time. Destry informed me, when I ran into him on one of my ambles through the gardens, that Henrik had ordered for more than double the usual amount of vegetation to be planted that year. There were more species as well and Destry suggested with a toothy grin that my arrival had something to do with it. I did not entirely disagree but laughed it off anyway with a wave of my hand.

The temperature wasn't the only factor that had begun changing. More birds were arriving in their triangular-shaped flocks day by day from the South, nestling in trees where they'd wait, prepare, and rest for their next migration. Every morning, they serenaded me awake with their twitters, shrieks, and caws, reaffirming and reminding me that just like them, spring was returning quickly.

And I was grateful for it.

I was grateful that spring had come early on a particularly beautiful, sunny midweek morning as my feet were swung out from under me for what felt like the hundredth time.

All that was left of the brutal winter were a few patches of white scattered within shaded areas.

But what I was truly grateful for, as my face headed straight towards the ground, was that this miracle of less snow meant that the ground wasn't nearly as unforgiving or stiff as it would've been two weeks ago. Although my hands were the first to slap against the ground, my shaky arms were too tired and weak to support my body weight. So I quickly collapsed, as I expected I would, and my nose was made an acquaintance with the dirt.

It was actually a lot softer than what I could've hoped for and I thanked the gods that nothing of mine was broken except for my pride which, unlike the ground, could never be thawed.

Laughter rang above me, deep and unnerving, and I gave a muffled growl, doing a push-up-like motion before I spat out the small clump of dirt that had slipped past my lips. At the taste and sight of it, I felt the eggs and pork I'd eaten that morning threaten to join it on the ground.

Shuddering and holding back a heave, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and stood up on shaky legs, who still ached from a similar torment a few days earlier.

"And this is why we don't ever trust our opponents," Evander sang, sounding proud of himself. I, personally, was proud of myself as well for not reaching over and strangling him. "You thought the fighting was over and let your guard down. That's a big no-no in any sort of combat."

I stood and turned to him with a glare, throwing a quick jab with stiffened fingers at his bare abdomen when I saw him grin at my dirt-covered face. It pissed me off how unaffected he was by it.

"You told me it was over," I reminded him with frustration and annoyance clear in my tone, words clipped short. I stomped over to my shirt I'd thrown on a grassy area and wiped it across the bottom half of my face, the part that'd made the most contact with the earth. "Asshole," I hissed when I noticed how much grime came off. I scrubbed at my face until it hurt. I didn't care about the shirt much. It was plain, polka dot patterned, and actually quite ugly, something that I'd kept stowed away in my drawers for ages until I finally found a reason to use it.