To really stroke his ego, I appraise him right back. I measure up all the ways he’s different from Roman. They’re brothers, but the similarity in appearance is very vague. The inky black hair that’s pushed back from his face is the only matching trait I can pinpoint. And even that’s hard since Roman is shaved closely. The gaze eating me up right now isn’t alight with energy. It’s dark and haunting. Even his build is opposing to Roman’s tall lithe frame. The Prince stands just a few small inches taller than myself.
And that will make him an excellent opponent to duel this morning.
“Ready?” I ask with another haphazardly floppy cock wave of my weapon.
He smiles that amused little smirk once more at my attempt to play with men’s toys. “I won’t kill you, Cersia. I’ll be gentle with you.”
Goddess, he’s obnoxious.
This will be fun.
I smirk at him as I pull one leg back and position my weight to balance out the strike I’m already intending. The simple change in my stance puts a confused crease between his thick eyebrows.
It’s the most rewarding fucking look of concern.
My arm flexes as I truly take hold of the hilt of the sword and lower it until I’m ready. Until he’s ready. Fuck, he better be ready.
A rumbling murmur carries around the shadowed arena, but one voice calls out above all others. “Is everything alright here, my Prince?”
Zilo’s question doesn’t distract me, but I do take a quick moment to toss him aget the fuck outglare from over my shoulder.
Zilo’s serious attention slides from me to Ravar and then back again.
A slightwhat in the High Hell fuck are you doingsort of look arches in his brow.
If it helps, I’m not wearing panties like they told me to. Damn. Be appreciative. I followed your advice. And no one seems to care.
“It is more than alright, Zilo. I was just about to show Lady Cersia a move or two.” The way he licks his lips after that causes my gag reflex to wave at me from the back of my throat.
“Fuck,” I hear a familiar voice whispers like a threat.
I just hope Roman notices I took the panty advice. Hello. I’m fucking trying here.
“She wore the perfume,” Avian says sweetly.
Thank you!
Thank you, Avian! Goddess, would it kill the other two to notice the effort from time to time?
Anyway.
I toss my long blonde hair over my shoulder and roll my neck back and forth in a coy little way that draws the Prince’s attention back to me. Finally. Let’s get back to business.
The delicate, discreet muscles of my shoulder blades tense, my wrist poises, my entire body ever so subtly falls into place, mirroring all the training my father taught me so, so long ago. Some things you never forget. Seven years have passed since he cheered me on to take the fight with my blade rather than my teeth.
Never rely on your hidden beast to shift.
You can only count on yourself and your ability.
And my ability, it’s fucking flawless.
I never make a move. I don’t dare reveal my hand until he’s lunging forward with a light-hearted downward arch of his blade. It slams against mine in the softest touch of metal meeting metal.
But he clearly expected the meager weight of his attack to rattle my hold on my weapon. At least, that’s what the highbrowing shock on his face is telling me.
I smile.
He hesitates.
