"I-I see..." was all the princess could manage to say, the words nearly choking her. And what if I have no magic? she wanted to say, but fear kept the words locked in her heart.
There was so much to think about. So much to process among the cacophonous thoughts that pervaded her waking moments. She wasn't a gifted shadow mage like her grandfather, nor did she know runes as her grandmother. She hadn't been trained in the whip, nor did she feel any affinity with animals as her father did. Her magic felt so useless. Turning invisible? Manipulating textiles? Paltry tricks. It was no wonder she had taken to the blade and physical combat. She was useless in other regards.
It was hard to breathe, but at least her father hadn't noticed her struggling. Good. She could keep up the charade until they were finished. The cool, collected princess. The gem in her father's eye (if only that were true). At the very least, she was in control of herself.
Charlie forced a breath, forced herself to find something to center herself around. "So how do you plan on drawing this magic out of me?" she questioned, still avoiding her father's gaze. Absentmindedly she touched the scar on her cheek, feeling the inevitability of combat drawing nearer. What if I fail, she wanted to ask him, but again fear had glued her lips shut. He was a hard man to read, and harder still to draw praise from. The nagging doubts that caused her chest to tighten said that she was the reason he didn't love her. That she wasn't good enough. Wasn't worth caring about.
Gods, why had Vaerath done this to her? All she'd done was make a stupid offering in an attempt to please her father, just to hear him praise her. There was so much she wanted to say. So much Charlie waned to tell him, but she couldn't. There was too much at stake. Now not only did she have to please her father, but a god as well. It was enough to make the girl nauseous, and the waiting was going to kill her. That is, if her failure didn't kill her first.
And if a blade came at her for the killing blow Charlie wasn't sure if she'd even make an attempt to call out for help with her magic.
There was so much to think about. So much to process among the cacophonous thoughts that pervaded her waking moments. She wasn't a gifted shadow mage like her grandfather, nor did she know runes as her grandmother. She hadn't been trained in the whip, nor did she feel any affinity with animals as her father did. Her magic felt so useless. Turning invisible? Manipulating textiles? Paltry tricks. It was no wonder she had taken to the blade and physical combat. She was useless in other regards.
It was hard to breathe, but at least her father hadn't noticed her struggling. Good. She could keep up the charade until they were finished. The cool, collected princess. The gem in her father's eye (if only that were true). At the very least, she was in control of herself.
Charlie forced a breath, forced herself to find something to center herself around. "So how do you plan on drawing this magic out of me?" she questioned, still avoiding her father's gaze. Absentmindedly she touched the scar on her cheek, feeling the inevitability of combat drawing nearer. What if I fail, she wanted to ask him, but again fear had glued her lips shut. He was a hard man to read, and harder still to draw praise from. The nagging doubts that caused her chest to tighten said that she was the reason he didn't love her. That she wasn't good enough. Wasn't worth caring about.
Gods, why had Vaerath done this to her? All she'd done was make a stupid offering in an attempt to please her father, just to hear him praise her. There was so much she wanted to say. So much Charlie waned to tell him, but she couldn't. There was too much at stake. Now not only did she have to please her father, but a god as well. It was enough to make the girl nauseous, and the waiting was going to kill her. That is, if her failure didn't kill her first.
And if a blade came at her for the killing blow Charlie wasn't sure if she'd even make an attempt to call out for help with her magic.
