Kingmakers, Year Two

23. Miles

23

MILES

T he final challenge is essentially one vast game of tug-o-war, with a net instead of a single rope. The net is strung with a line of flags down the center. The first team to pull those flags into their own end zone wins.

Because there are so many students on each team—nearly seventy in total—the tactics involve shifting manpower to different areas of the net. The teams alternate between abrupt bursts of aggressive power, and long, gritty struggles where the students sweat and strain, the net barely moving at all.

I fucking hate it.

I find the Quartum Bellum tedious and pointless, and I tend to exert the minimum effort required so my teammates don’t notice that I’m barely working at all. That’s hard to do when everybody is dripping in sweat in five minutes flat .

The rough rope burns our hands, scraping the skin off our palms. The sod beneath our feet is soon torn up by dug-in heels, and players are frequently jerked off their feet, dragged along with the net until they’re skinned up and covered in grass stains.

I hoped it would all be over soon, but it quickly becomes apparent that we’re in for the long haul. While the Sophomores and Juniors have bursts of triumph where they manage to drag the net several feet toward their end zone, this progress is immediately undermined by the opposing team hauling it back again.

Leo has the better strategy, as per usual. He uses unexpected shifts in force and direction to literally jerk us off our feet. He moves his players around, relieving those at the highest tension points as soon as they start to flag. Bit by bit, he’s pulling the net closer to his side.

Still, it will be an hour or two until my team realizes they’re beat.

I occupy myself by staring at Zoe.

She’s toiling away like a good little worker bee. Her black hair has come loose from its ponytail, sticking to her face. Her cheeks flushed pink in the sun. In fact, she looks quite similar to when she’s on top of me, riding my cock, which makes said cock wake up inside of my shorts. That thought is the only thing that could make me enjoy this fucking competition. I don’ t mind if it drags on, as long as I get to watch Zoe laughing and shouting, using that goddess-like body to its best advantage.

She catches my eye and grins at me, showing a flash of white teeth.

“You could try pushing instead of pulling,” she cries. “We’ll put you out of your misery.”

“You’ll never respect me if I let you win,” I shout back, giving a sharp jerk to the net that yanks her forward.

Zoe just laughs and plants her filthy sneakers in the churned-up dirt, pulling as hard as she can to go absolutely nowhere.

Dean Yenin stands a little to Zoe’s left. He gives an irritated toss of his head, annoyed at our exchange. He, of course, is treating the challenge like the fate of the world depends upon it. He snarls with annoyance whenever Leo shouts an order, but follows the strategy when the benefit is obvious.

Silas Gray isn’t listening as carefully. As Leo yells for them to pull left, he yanks the net in the opposite direction, putting unexpected force on the section held by Dean.

With a sickening jolt, Dean’s arm is ripped sideways. He gives a strangled yell, letting go of the net. His arm hangs at an upsetting angle, the shoulder dislocated from the joint.

“You fucking idiot!” Dean snarls, his face scarlet .

Silas stares at him, impassive and unrepentant.

Leo lets go of the net to come look. He grimaces at the dangling arm.

“You’d better go to the infirmary,” he says.

“You think?” Dean bellows, teeth gritted in pain.

“I can send someone with you—” Leo starts.

“Don’t fucking bother, he yanked my arm out, not my legs,” Dean spits, stalking off across the field with his good arm pinning the loose, swinging limb in place against his body.

“What a shame,” I say to Kasper Markaj. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”

Kasper snorts and takes a fresh grip on the net.

“Come on, you lazy shits!” Simon Fowler bellows to our team. “We’ve got ‘em right where we want ‘em, they’re dropping like flies!”

I sigh.

“He’s no William Wallace, but he’s trying his best.”