“Good. And I won’t try to maul you again. Either of you.” I meet Jace’s eyes and suck in a breath. “Can we just agree to never speak of this again and move on?” I ask.
“Already forgotten.” Jace stands. “I’ll give you the morning to recover. We can train in the afternoon.”
“What?” I protest. “I just puked my guts up! Doesn’t that warrant a sick day?”
“Not on day three of training, it doesn’t.” He smiles, amused by my reaction. “I told you I’m not going to coddle you.”
“Whatever.”
Zadyn stands. “I’ll bring that brew up for you.” He touches my shoulder lightly and follows Jace from the room.
I close my eyes and snuggle into my pillow. I’m asleep before Zadyn returns with the hangover cure.
* Cue:Sour Patchby Ruby Waters
19
Two months pass by in the blink of an eye, and I rarely think of the world I left behind. I don’t have the time or the space in my mind to occupy anything but the present moment.
I train with Jace every day until I have muscles in places I never have before. Until I can run for miles without stopping. And until I can take down a fae using nothing but my own body. He’s tough on me, but he’s a damn good trainer, I’ll give him that.
I learn about Solterre and its inhabitants—the fae and other species. Monsters and dragons I thought only existed in the books I read. I learn the history and geography from Zadyn, as well as their customs and ways. But my magic remains dormant. Aside from mastering the art of lighting a small candle with my mind, I’m as good as human. And I still pass out sometimes when I do it.
Gnorr tries to track down a Blueblood contact, but the entire clan has relocated and centralized in secret. No oneknows where they all disappeared to. She searches for alternatives to unbind my magic in the meantime.
I barely see the king, but Jace relays his restlessness. Time is against us. The longer I spend here under this false identity of Lady Accostia, the bigger the risk of being found out. Of being hunted by the other kingdoms.
That fear looms over me like a sword above my head. Not to say that my treatment here upon arrival was exactly hospitable, but I don’t think the other kingdoms would hesitate to use whatever means necessary to bend the last Blackblood to their will. I’ve come to feel safe here. Comfortable even.
I try to avoid letting my mind skip too far into the future and what awaits me—the impossible and life-threatening task of bonding a living, fire-breathing dragon.
My afternoons and nights are spent as part of the princess’s regular entourage, partying and kicking up harmless mischief. I come to look forward to their intimate revelries of pure, unadulterated fun. We play like children, singing and dancing with abandon, celebrating for no reason other than being alive. It helps me escape the harsh reality of what I’m really doing here. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy being in the company of royalty. The gowns, the jewels, the decadent luxuries. But despite the material benefits of being Lady Accostia, it’s the actual company I enjoy most.?*
For the first time, it feels as though I have friends. Despite the worries hanging over my head, I find myself laughing and joking. Lighter of heart than when I arrived. In a way, it’s the most normal I’ve felt in a long time. They offer me a temporary reprieve from the weight that’s been thrust upon my shoulders. And for that, I’m grateful.
Jace, however, is not so quick to offer methe same reprieve.
I roll over my shoulder and land on one knee, my arm releasing the dagger into a smooth, straight line that slices the air. It was intended for Jace’s head, but instead, it skims past him, shoring a few stray hairs off the side. He gives a wicked smirk and advances fast as lighting, appearing behind me. I turn, throwing my weight behind a sloppy punch, which he easily evades. Palming my outstretched fist in his calloused hand, he twists my wrist behind my back, sending a shooting pain up my arm. I rear my head back with all my might, slamming it into his chin as he loses his balance and releases me. I take the opportunity to land a rare punch to his jaw before dipping low and sweeping his legs out from under him. Rivulets of sweat skate down the back of my neck as I straddle him. I pull my fist back for another blow, but he spins us in the blink of an eye.
My back meets with the hard dirt of the training ring, and I groan in pain, my back arching in response. Jace slams into me, pinning me beneath his strong hips. I wriggle beneath his weight as he cages me between his arms and angles a dagger above my breast. Heat rolls off his body as we stare into each other’s wide eyes, fighting for breath, and for that split second, his rough touch feels intimate. I bite my bottom lip to keep the traitorous smirk off my face. Jace’s eyes narrow on the slight movement before he snarls and pushes off me.
“That was total shit. You’re not focused.”
How can I be when you look like that?
Sisyphus’s karmic retribution was pushing a massive rock up a hill every day for all eternity.
Jace is my rock.
I watch his sweat-slicked body move across the ring, each step confident and assured. Even more torturous than the obstacles and drills he puts me through daily is being forced to bear witness to his perfectly lethal body in action. To spar withit. To be pinned helplessly beneath it. How can I not be distracted when his hands are constantly on me, correcting my posture, stretching my body out, putting me flat on my ass? It’s taking sexual frustration to a whole new level.
“You’re extra cranky this morning.” I lie star-fished on the ground, staring up at his stone face. “What’s eating you?”
He doesn’t answer.
“You know, it’s rude to ignore people when they’re talking to you. Were you raised by wolves or something?” I grumble mindlessly.
He turns to me, his face vicious.
