ELEVEN

Lark barely restrained himself from shouting with joy when he saw the new sound system, complete with subwoofer and at least half a dozen speakers already well-placed around the matted floor area of the gym. He had the space to himself for now but he wasn’t sure how long his alone-time would last, so he quickly plugged in his MP3 player and browsed his selection of songs.

Dex, Ivy, and Darius had taken Knox out of his makeshift cell-slash-guest suite which connected to the gym about an hour earlier. As far as he knew, they were still trying to coax the former chade to speak as well as trying to get him used to human contact once more. Dex and Darius were also attempting to hone Knox’s once-lost skills with his element – Air. And as far as Lark was aware, Ivy was playing babysitter in case Knox needed a spanking in the form of his head being removed from his shoulders.

Seeing one of his all-time favourite songs, he hit play to reacquaint himself with the music as he stripped off his shirt and shoes and began to stretch out his still-sore muscles. The music blared out in the large space, the acoustics perfect for what he had in mind. No doubt Ry would have researched the perfect places to hang the speakers in order to ensure the sound quality was perfect. He bent forward, placing his palms flat on the mats whilst keeping his legs straight. It still shocked him whenever someone went out of their way to do nice things for him. It wasn’t a comment about the people in his life – no, it was because his self-esteem could be a little sketchy at times.

Although he had dedicated his whole life to ensuring his father didn’t win, it had been more out of spite and stubbornness rather than strength. Or so he had always believed. But recalling his conversation with Max just minutes before, knowing he had a goddess who thought he was strong and capable and undamaged, was a definite boost to his ego. Feeling the beat of the loud music echoing in his body thanks to his Captain also helped. Ryker had already given him his garden and his library, not to mention somewhere to park his disgraced butt when he had nowhere else to go four years ago.

Technically, a paladin couldn’t complete the training and the trials to become a sworn paladin until they were thirty years old. With the ability to live longer and the maturation from child to adult a slower process, the age for being considered an adult was older than in the human society. But thanks to his father’s strict training regime, Lark had been well advanced both physically and intellectually compared to his peers. He had therefore undertaken the trials when he was just twenty-six years old.

And he had failed them miserably.

He laughed out loud in remembrance of his father’s face when his trainer had informed Isaac that his one and only son had failed the Paladin Trials. The shock and absolute horror had been worth every beating and cruel word. It hadn’t been his first act of defiance but it had been his most public – and the one with the greatest repercussions.

Sitting down now, he spread his legs and stretched them out to the sides, lowering his torso flush to the ground as he considered those consequences. The first one had been when his father and his father’s liege, Terran, had beaten him to within an inch of his life for daring to humiliate them in society. He had already been a disgrace in so many ways; he wasn’t tall enough, broad enough, or sadistic enough for his father. He looked and acted nothing like the Captain of the Order of Tor and as the only child his father had been able to produce in a thousand years, it was one of Lark’s greatest faults. But his father would have been able to forgive his auburn hair, his green eyes, and his smaller frame, if only Lark been born a potentate like him. But alas, he had failed to maintain the psychic bridge within his father’s Order when his father had pushed the issue, let alone create such a connection.

Lark smiled when he thought of the silence and stillness he was met with when he had attempted to lock onto the Order’s link when he had been a mere teenager. The silence had been pure music to his ears because there was no way he had wanted to be connected to the Tor Order in any capacity, let alone in such an intimate way. He had been terrified the cruel and violent tendencies of its members would somehow seep through the link and he would be contaminated. So he had prayed with everything within him for the bridge to remain closed and detached. It was the first time any of his prayers had been answered. The second time they had come to fruition? When he had failed the renowned Paladin Trials. He had failed them in a spectacular fashion too, he remembered. And he had made sure his father had been front and centre during every test.

The testing process for a paladin to become eligible to join an Order was just as extensive as the training. Usually, an aspiring knight would be posted to a variety of training lodges around the world for years before they were permitted to undergo final exams. He hadn’t been to any of the training facilities nor had the opportunity to learn from any paladins other than those in his father’s Order. So, when he had entered the training lodge to undertake the Trials, he had been completely overwhelmed. He had been kept so isolated as a child, that he hadn’t understood the easy comradery and banter going on around him. His clear discomfort and naiveté had added to the very big target already on his back because of his father’s reputation. Terran’s Order was not well liked. But they were very much feared.

So, he had decided to play the role of the too-young, too-skinny, too-short paladin and had no problem finding motivated contestants to beat him in every single test. Written and oral exams, shooting, archery, scythe-handling, hand-to-hand – he had placed last in every single one. Every time he was teased or berated, every black eye, every time he had been spit on, it had all been worth the resounding FAIL on his final report, for his father had disowned him the same day.

And he had finally been free.

That was until the head trainer who had been holding the trials had questioned his results. It seems the trainer was more than just a cantankerous meathead as Lark had assumed. The man had found him behind one of the makeshift residences after his father and Terran had left him for dead. He had been a mass of bruises and cuts, his face so swollen he could barely see through his puffy eyes. Even now, more than four years later, he could still feel the phantom pains twinging along his ribs and he sucked in a breath as he remembered the conversation that changed his life;

He was dying, he was sure of it, he silently moaned to himself. He couldn’t believe his luck. His plan had worked and his father had finally publicly washed his hands of him. He’d had about an hour of pure bliss to revel in his joy and new-found freedom, only to be brought back down to earth by Terran and dear old dad jumping him as he had walked the bushland bordering the training lodge. For years he would have welcomed death as a respite from his life but not now. Not when his liberty was within his grasp.

“Hey, kid.”

The deep voice and the hated moniker startled him enough to pry his eyes open and wheeze out a painful breath, “I’m not a kid,” he informed the tall stranger. He was unable to make out any features due to the blurriness of his vision.

A grunt met his ears, “You gonna die?”

Lark chuckled, despite the fire it caused to spread throughout his body, “Probably. It’d be just my kind of luck.”

Rustling followed and a large but gentle hand tilted his face up. Lark squinted, groaning once again when he finally recognised the large scar running down the left side of the man’s face; Ryker. The managing paladin and head trainer at the lodge. Just his luck, Lark repeated to himself. The huge guy was almost as much of an arsehole as his father was.

“I’m going to ask you a question,” Ryker said, releasing his chin, “and I want you to answer honestly.”

Lark was positively exhausted, so he merely flapped a hand with three broken fingers in the man’s direction, “Shoot.”

“Did you throw the trials?”

Now, that wasn’t the question he had been expecting. But given he literally had nothing to lose, he answered honestly, “I did.”

“Why?”

Failing in one’s duties as a knight was the height of shame in their society. And failing on purpose? Well, Lark figured it was a probably an offence punishable by death. But regardless of that and even though Ryker was a complete stranger and looked just as formidable and unrelenting as his father, he didn’t censor his answer;

“Because I hate my father and his Order with everything that I am. It was the best way to flip the piece of shit the bird.”

Ryker continued to stare at him, that horrendous scar on his face twitching in time with the clenching of his jaw and Lark prepared himself for another arse-kicking of epic proportions. He knew Ryker’s reputation. But the man only asked for clarification;

“You failed the most prestigious examination process in society, making yourself a shameful outcast for the rest of your long life, just so you can stick it to your father?”

“Damn straight,” Lark confirmed.

Ryker nodded, “Fair enough.” He stood up, dusting off his hands on the seat of his pants, “If you live, I have a spare room available at my house. It’s thirty minutes north of here, converted barn by the sea. You can’t miss it.”

Ryker had then left him there in mute shock. But he hadn’t been alone long. Two absolutely gorgeous female paladins had rushed to his side and administered the first kind words and gentle touches he had ever received in his quarter of a century of life. That had been the first time he had met Diana and Cali. A few hours after that, after struggling his way into the backseat of the duo’s car, he’d also had the privilege of meeting Darius and Beyden.

He knew the others had similar stories to tell surrounding how they had come to live in the beautiful log cabin by the ocean. Somehow, the surly, half-dead potentate with the scarred face and the hostile countenance had managed to collect one stray paladin from every domain. He was as bad as Max when it came to saving the underdogs and the downtrodden – not that he would ever admit it. But Lark knew Ry’s compassion was as deep as his grouchiness. He and Max really were the perfect match.

Standing up and shaking out his limbs, he picked up his device again, looking for the perfect song for his current mood. Seeing Hozier’s, Take Me To Church, he promptly hit play and let the beat roll over him before he made any attempt to move. Dancing was his secret joy. Whereas reading allowed him to escape his feelings; dance allowed him to express them. He didn’t know if the others knew he could move like a professional ballet dancer. Ryker and Max knew of course, and Axel had also stumbled upon him one day in the midst of a particularly graceful lyrical routine. He had feared the fire paladin would tease him but he had been wrong. Axel had been spellbound and had asked if he could play the piano for him one day as he danced. It was something they now did routinely as a part of their bromance.

With the music and the lyrics now soaking into his skin and his childhood firmly in the past where it belonged, he leapt into the air … and danced.