“I’m not the general,” she replied coolly.
“A formality. You held the title for so long, and clearly your people still listen to you.” He gestured towards the trees where the sentinels had been. She smiled. Gods, she was stunning. “Plus, you have that authoritative tone locked down. It’s impossible not to respond to.”
“Are you calling me demanding?”
“I wouldn’t dare,” Westley said with sincerity. “What can I do for you, General?”
“For starters, you should come up with another nickname,” she said, gracefully pushing away from the tree and moving past him, her scent filling his senses. She sauntered over to the closer targets he’d been shooting at, appraising each one.
Westley stood where he was, tracing her with his eyes.
“Not likely,” he muttered under his breath. She heard him anyway and threw him a withering glare. He smirked.
She twisted to face him full on, switching from playful to, well, the general.
“Despite the fact that you missed my head, you’re clearly skilled with the bow.”
He narrowed his eyes, unsure where this was going. He’d been instructing the witchlings and some of the guards during his stay, and knew she watched him.
“I want you to teach me.”
Westley’smouthdroppedopen.He was not expecting her to suggest they spend more time together.
Maybe last night really had meant something to her. Maybe she was beginning to trust him. He swallowed the lump that rose in his throat, but Solveig continued to speak, either not noticing or ignoring his reaction.
“That is, if you’re up for it,” she challenged.
“I’ve excelled at teaching your people, General. I think I can manage teaching you,” he said hotly. Solveig remained stoic.
“Excelling at teaching a group of people does not necessarily mean you can teach someone one-on-one. There are many skilled warriors who have neither the ability nor the patience to explain their craft to an individual,” she said. He had to admit she was right. Given what he knew about her, teaching her would not be easy. She was stubborn and hot-headed. But so was he.
“Fine. When do we start?” he asked. She smiled again, but it was not one of amusement—it was the smile of a hunter who’d just cornered her prey. He should probably get his head examined, because he did not mind being her prey for one second.
She went back to the tree she’d been leaning against and pulled a bow out from behind it. It was a beautiful weapon, sized to her perfectly—he assumed it had been made for her. She slung the accompanying arrows across her back. Her steps were light and soundless as she stalked towards him.
“May I?” he asked and held his hand out for her bow.
She hesitated before handing him her weapon. It was solid and intricately handcrafted but was not made merely to be ornamental—it was created to be used. Hopefully she’d had lessons from whoever crafted it for her. He raised an eyebrow.
“An Elven who lived in the palace made it for me. He was an advisor to the queens and was like a brother to me.” Her eyes were sad. Westley guessed he was no longer with them. “He died protecting me in the war,” she said softly.
“He didn’t teach you how to use it?” He hadn’t meant for the question to come out so harsh.
“We didn’t exactly have hundreds of years of lessons before the mortals attacked,” she snapped. He put his hands up.
“I’m sorry, Solveig.” She startled at the sound of her name. He loved seeing her react to him. “I just meant to ask how much you already know.”
“You may want to brush up on your Vanir if that’s what you think your question meant.”
“You’re probably right.”
“He gave me the basic lessons. How to string the bow, to replace my arrows, how to hold it and aim. I’m not a novice, but it’s a useful skill, and I’d like to improve.”
“Alright, then let’s see what you’ve got.” He unstrung the bow and handed it back to her.
“Seriously?”
“What? You said you could string it, and I want to see. It’s a practical teaching technique to assess what your student already knows.” Solveig bristled at his condescending tone, but she did as he asked. She strung the bow quickly, her capable fingers swift and sure, like she had executed the motion a thousand times. Maybe she had. She must have caught his admiring look because her smile turned cocky.
