Free-falling.
I tried to sit up straight, but my shoulders slumped.
My back muscles burned with the phantom weight of retracted wings that I couldn’t get to work.
Even back in the Legionnaire Games, I’d never actually flown. I’d just tumbled toward the dirt and used my wings to slow us down before crashing into a pole.
At least I’m good at throwing myself off high heights. I should be a professional cliff diver.
Time warped.
“Your soulmates disgust you and you hate them?” Dr. Palmer spoke slowly and overenunciated “disgust” and “hate” like she was making a point. “That’s what you said last week. Correct?”
If she was hinting at something, I wasn’t getting it.
I nodded and tugged at the permanent scab on my lower lip.
“Stop picking,” Scorpius ordered harshly.
I jumped and pulled my hand away from my face.
A pen scribbled across paper.
Was she writing about me? Rude.
I rolled my eyes, brought my fingers back to my lip, and ripped off a juicy chunk of skin.
“I told you not to pick,” Scorpius said. “Orion, pull her hand away.”
Anyone else plagued by men? Just me? Nice.
“Touch me,” I said tiredly, “and I’ll kill you.” I left off the “I’ll kill us all” because of the doctor.
All I needed was to be diagnosed as a serial homicidal maniac.
Was I one? Maybe. Did I want to be heavily medicated and locked in a room for the rest of my life? Also, maybe. It depended if Sadie was there.
Orion stared down at me.
I stared at the wall.
I wasn’t the type of person to play favorites, especially not when it came to my enemies—but Orion was my favorite, and Malum was my least favorite. One hundred percent.
I was grateful the quiet man was a buffer between me and Scorpius and the two of them blocked my view of Malum.
The kings were seated in order of descending awfulness.
They had their arms draped over one another’s shoulders and whispered among themselves as Dr. Palmer talked.
The three of them fit together.
Then there was me.
Scorpius leaned forward to glare at me, and Orion’s muscular thigh pressed indecently against mine. We were both wearing sweatpants, but pain streaked down my back.
I exhaled harshly and managed not to whimper.
It was funny how pain felt sharper in certain situations. Sometimes adrenaline and depression masked the hurt, and other times they amplified the agony.
Nothing was masking it now.
I was raw.
Life’s a cruel bitch.
“Lean back.” Dr. Palmer glared at Scorpius until he settled back against the couch with a huff.
“I want to remind you all that these sessions are for your benefits.” She scowled at each of us. “I’m not the one the High Court forced into therapy—I’m not the one suffering from bond sickness with the people I have to lead a war with.” She scoffed, like if it were up to her, she would never have chosen us as leaders. “But you do.”
Her glare was cutting.
Why hadn’t we recruited her for the war effort? She’d make a good general.
As if she read my mind, Dr. Palmer narrowed her eyes.
I could so see her stabbing people.
Scorpius barked out a string of profanities.
E-x-h-a-u-s-t-i-o-n.
It pulled me apart.
“You should join the military,” I said, and at the same time, she asked, “Aran, how do you feel?”
She gave me a withering look. “Don’t speak unless spoken to.”
“Yes, General,” I whispered.
A rain droplet left a trail across the glass.
“So can I speak now to answer, or is there a time limit?” I asked as I debated how to tell her I felt like I’d been run over by a truck.
“Aran.” She said my name like a curse and took a deep breath. “Moving on, how do you feel when Scorpius tells you what to do?”
I dug my nail deeper into my lip.
“Do you not like when he orders you around?” She pointedly looked at the blood dripping down my chin.
I scoffed. “Obviously not.” I tried to wipe the copper taste off my tongue with the arm of my sweatshirt.
A beating heart throbbing against my tongue. Mother’s blood down my throat.
“The fact that he told you not to pick at your lip—” Dr. Palmer nodded like she was realizing something （she was delusional）。 “—is making you act out of spite. Spite is an intense psychological response to a negative valence such as disappointment or betrayal.”