Queen Sector: Dystopian Reverse Harem Romance by Lucy Auburn & Zombie Year 2099

Author:Lucy Auburn & Zombie Year 2099 [Auburn, Lucy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-02-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

"At least that time you hit the target." Lucian sighs and takes a long swallow of what might be water and might be vodka; it's hard to tell with him. Shaking his head, he points to my stance as I prepare to throw another knife. "Your elbow is too low. And your shoulder is rotating out. You need to draw a straight line with your intentions."

Frustrated, I drop my arm entirely and frown at him. "Why don't you show me instead of tell me?"

"Gladly."

As he paces over towards the cart full of knives, I can smell quite clearly that it's been vodka this whole time. Opening my mouth, I start to tell him that he doesn't need to show me—after all, he's more likely to rearrange me into a dangerous position than the right one—when he walks away from the cart with two knives in his hands, and I realize that he's not going to reposition my stance. He's going to actually show me by throwing the knives.

Which seems dangerous, given his current level of inebriation. Then again, what do I know. I'm just the witch in training–he's Prince Lucian, capable of hitting an eye on a painting from dozens of feet away, with his back turned to the target. Maybe he'll shock us.

Given the sloppy way he places his feet, though, I have to wonder if even he's had too much to drink to hit the targets safely.

"Observe my elbow." He waggles it up and down, defeating the purpose. "See how relaxed my stance is. How I look at the target, and line my body up with it. When I release the knife, I won't think about where my feet are or when I let go. I just do a complete arc, concentrating on the target, and sending the knife in the same direction as my intentions. It's the thinking that's doing you in. Watch me not think at all."

Easy enough for him to not think, considering his current state of being. I watch him settle back, the knife held casually at his side, trying to study his movements. It doesn't look like he'll hit the target, much less anything close to the center.

But then he surprises me by swiftly, and accurately, hitting a bullseye.

Switching the second knife into his right hand, he tells me, "Now overhand. Same thoughts, different stance. Try not to hit the back of your head with the blade when you throw it."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Again he throws the knife loosely and casually, and again it hits the bullseye, at most half a centimeter away from the first knife. Staring at them, I walk over to the opposite wall and press a finger against the knife handle, wondering how he's capable of all this even after two heavy drinks.

When I turn around he's watching me, his ice blue eyes taking everything in. "You didn't come to breakfast this morning," he points out. "Up late last night wrestling with my brother Bain?"

His tone suggests he knows what we did, and I have to fight a blush.

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