He nodded.
“And after that,” Maeren continued, “you’re going to let me give you the full state of the kingdom. Court politics, border tensions, breach reports, everything you’ve been ignoring while you’ve been distracted.”
He didn’t rise to the jab. “You will have my full attention, I promise.”
Breakfast that morninghad been quick but grounding: kiln-baked stonebread brushed with smoked salt, seared riverfish, and a bowl of ember-root broth thick enough to heat the blood. It was fuel for a fight neither of them intended to hold back on.
They stepped into the courtyard just as the first light broke across the ground, the cold biting hard enough to tighten breath and thought alike. Frost clung to the training posts and the archways, glittering like shards of glass beneath the rising sun. The space was empty by Jakobav’s order, cleared of trainees and officers so he and Maeren could face each other without distraction, without an audience, without expectation beyond the metal they carried.
The castle was only beginning to wake, distant footsteps muted by cold stone. Jakobav welcomed the chill. It scraped away the noise in his head, clarifying everything that had gone unspoken the night before.
Jakobav’s blade cracked against Maeren’s, the hiss of steel on steel carried by the bite of morning air. Frost-hardened dirt shifted beneath their boots as they circled, each movement measured in the hush of the empty yard. There were no eager trainees, no curious officers, no prying eyes waiting to catch a slip, only their resolve and the relentless rhythm of battle.
He drove forward, muscles taut, and she met him head-on. Their swords sang, each one testing, demanding, never yielding.
“How’s Savina?” he asked between blows, his breath steady as his arm. “Back in form yet? Or is she still snarling at everyone for keeping her sidelined while she heals?”
Maeren closed in, her gaze slicing through every weakness. “Close enough. Training again, but not ready for First Guard.”
He inclined his head, measuring her. “Anything else?”
The pause was slight, but it was there, a hitch in her blade before she gave the answer. “Another breach, but it was small and contained quickly. Nothing for you to lose sleep over. You should stay focused.”
His sword faltered mid-strike. Breaches were happening too often, creeping toward a pattern he didn’t like, and Maeren’s hesitation ignited something angry beneath his ribs. He didn’t need protecting. He didn’t need to be handled. The kingdom was his to command, not something to be shielded from.
“Oh, do not look at me like that.” She caught his hesitation and snapped at it. “Your second-in-command doesn’t need to hold your hand to report a problem I already handled.”
His mouth curved, humorless. “Then stop acting like you want to cradle me.”
She moved aside, grin flashing like a knife. “I would. But you are not nearly pretty enough to make it worth the effort.”
A snort broke from him, and in the space it opened, she went low and fast, blade slicing near his ribs. He twisted, barely, muttering, “Relentless.”
“You’re distracted.” Her blade swept for his knees. “That girl is in your head, admit it.”
He slammed his shoulder into her, breaking the rhythm, voice iron. “You speak too much for someone whose lungs should already be pierced.”
“And you brood too much for a man with a Claiming in less than two weeks.”
The words landed and his grip faltered, the moment stretching long enough for her blade to kiss his side.
“Dead,” she said brightly, stepping back with her fox’s grin.
“Shit.” He lowered his weapon, the word half a growl. “Insufferable.”
“Predictable,” she shot back, tipping her head. “Still leading with your left. Still flinching. Forgive me for speaking freely to my commander, but you need to focus. The solstice is almost here.”
He almost told her she always spoke too freely, but bit down on the retort.
And he wasn’t thinking about Ella this morning—not here, at least.
Maybe yesterday, while bathing, when her scent had still clung to his skin.
And after that, she had stared at him with those wide blue eyes while he stood in nothing but a towel, daring him with that stunned look and parted mouth. He hadn’t dried fully, letting the towel sit lower on his hips than necessary, just to see what she’d do.
She rewarded him twice: first, she looked deliciously furious, and then her gaze slid over him, bold enough to eye-fuck him before shame caught up just a heartbeat later.
Gods, he loved seeing her flustered and angry.
