We drill hand to hand combat techniques for what feels like hours, sweat pouring off us as we move across the mat. Kian’s voice is a constant stream of guidance, pushing me to refine my skills.
Finally, he signals a break, and I collapse onto a nearby bench, gasping for air. Tristan’s grizzly face breaks into a rare smile. “You’re getting there, princess. Remember, it’s not about how hard you hit; it’s about how well you can control the fight.”
“Do you have to call me that?” I pant.
I don’t needbothof them calling me princess.
“Of course not. I could call you consort.”
Kian shoves a bottle of water in my face, and I gratefully take it, glaring at Tristan. “Do not call me that.”
“Princess it is.”
Does he always have to be such a pain in the ass?
Tristan’s violet eyes sparkle, reflecting the light as he gently brushes a few strands of his dark hair away from his face. His beard is neatly trimmed, and it is evident that he had a restful night’s sleep, as the once-present dark circles under his eyes have completely vanished.
“Ready for actual swords today?” Kian asks.
I jolt, sitting up straight. “Really?”
“I need to see if you can handle the weight and keep your balance.”
Tristan snickers, the sound infectious, light-hearted. I turned to give him the stink eye, but am unable to stop my smile. It’s good to see him relaxed for a change.
“What's so funny?” I question.
“Nothing,” he replies, leaning back against the stand and crossing his arms. “This is just going to be fun to watch. And we won’t have to worry about you going anywhere for the next couple of days, because I doubt you’ll be able to move.”
I huff in annoyance, and Nix chuckles. “You’ll be fine. Zaria has a special tonic for your bath.”
“Don’t ruin my fun, fairy,” Tristan adds.
Nix pokes her tongue out at him, and I shake my head, standing on weak legs.
Kian grins as he looks down at my legs. “You good?”
“Totally.”
Kian looks like he doesn’t believe me, but I just need to get moving again. Passing me a sword, he moves away and waits forme to follow. My hands instinctively adjust their grip, adapting to the weight they now bear. It was much different from the wooden swords we had been using.
“Ready?” he asks.
I give a nod, expecting him to ease me in, but he doesn't. Kian rushes me immediately. Alarmed, I instinctively recoil as his sword swings toward me, the sharp sound of metal cutting through the air. I barely manage to evade the first attack when he swings again, and I react just in time to block his attack.
Kian shakes his head, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “Faster.”
Determination fills my veins, and I narrow my eyes, taking a deep breath. We both step forward simultaneously, swords clashing. The force of the impact jars my arms, and I try not to wince. We both pivot away and immediately lunge at the same time coming face to face, this time our swords lock together.
“Good. Again.” Kian steps away.
The sun bears down on us, casting long shadows that dance with every movement. Beads of sweat trickle down my forehead, stinging my eyes, but I can’t afford to blink. Kian isn’t letting me catch my breath.
With a swift parry, I deflect his strike; the vibrations coursing through my arms. My muscles scream in protest as we circle each other.
I am hell-bent on getting stronger; I know I need to. It seems no matter how hard I try, I can't shake the image from yesterday’s vision from my mind, and it's making me feel sick to my stomach. I know, deep down, a darkness lies on the horizon, and it’s coming for me. For all of us.
“Concentrate!” Tristan barks.
