Three Futures Enslaved | Dream Team

Chapter Twenty-Two

Sapnap was cranky and tired by the time he finally returned to the camp.

Snow made everything worse. In some areas, it reached his knees, making each step take five times the effort it should've. 

Of course, he probably would've still been complaining if it was summer. There was lots to complain about: the heat, the sun, the distance, his feet. He could go on forever. 

"You're back!" Actaeon said cheerfully, ducking through the flap of Sapap's tent without invitation. "Good, good. I was beginning to wonder about you."

Sapnap scowled. "No thanks to you," he grumbled. "You made me walk around aimlessly for absolutely no reason."

Actaeon waved off his remark. "Aw, don't be like that, Sappy."

Sappy. That had been his father's nickname for him, one that had carried through his entire childhood. It was name that should've came out of the mouth of someone he trusted and loved, not an assassin he hated with all his being. 

 "Shut up," he said fiercely, though Actaeon didn't seem fazed at all. 

"We should start another round," the archer said, as if completely oblivious to Sapnap's fury. "The crowds are hungry, you know. They want entertainment."

Sapnap's brow furrowed. "'Crowds'?"

Actaeon met his eyes in surprise. "Hm? You didn't notice the crowds?"

"Gee, I guess I was too busy trying to stay alive," Sapnap said through gritted teeth.

"Was that sarcasm I detected in your voice, Sappy?"

He could hear the hint of warning in the man's voice. If Actaeon hadn't used that stupid nickname again, Sapnap might've backed down. He wasn't that stupid.

But when he was angry, then yes, he was that stupid.

"Of course it was sarcasm," he growled, taking a step forward and poking his finger hard at Actaeon's chest. "You make me fight in life or death matches, force me to kill --- which I won't, by the way --- and now you want me to act as your jester, fighting for entertainment? You're sick."

Actaeon's eyes flashed angrily. He grabbed the wrist of the hand Sapnap was poking at him, his fingernails digging into Sapnap's skin. "Perhaps," he said, his voice soft in contrast with the harsh light in his eyes. "But I told you already; it's knowledge of how twisted we are that allows us to accomplish the most incredible feats. You will learn. You will learn."

He let go, shoving Sapnap back. Sapnap glared at him. Actaeon simply stared back coolly, his expression perfectly controlled. It was so different from the boastful, selfish side of him that Sapnap was so used to that it took him by surprise. His anger faltered.

He could tell that Actaeon could see his drop in confidence, too. "Of course the little knight still wants to be noble," the archer said, turning away from him. "So pure. You've killed before, I'm sure of it. So why won't you do it for me now?"

"You're an assassin," Sapnap spat. "You're messed up in the head. I'm not going to take someone's life just so you can get a kick out of it."

Actaeon glanced back at him from over his shoulder. "Hm? That's unfortunate."

To Sapnap's relief, the man crouched down, exiting his tent. He wavered on the spot, staring at the flap that was the entrance, wondering whether he could nail a board onto the fabric so Actaeon would never bother him again. 

Then Actaeon, who apparently hadn't walked away, spoke up. "Oh, and Sapnap?"

Sapnap scowled, even though the man couldn't see it. "What?" he snapped, his voice laced with venom.