She didn’t answer, shoving him off, before coming at him again, this time manoeuvring to get behind him with a twist of his arm. He’d been so surprised by her speed he hadn’t bothered to resist.
Plus, he could feel the length of her body against his back as she leaned in and it was not unpleasurable.
“Just go with it, Prince. I’m trying to prove a point,” she whispered back. He broke free of her hold easily. They jabbed and dodged in a swift hand-to-hand combat style, the kind soldiers used in battle when their weapons had been knocked to the ground.
It was ruthless and wild.
More people gathered, cheering and placing bets. Westley had assumed Solveig was best with a sword—given that her race was smaller and less agile than the Fae, she’d need the benefit of a weapon to keep up with him. He was wrong.
Even on the receiving end of her fighting style, he was blown away by her strength and speed. She was beautifully savage, nothing short of incredible.
As they fought, a hush settled over the crowd. Their eyes were trained on Solveig, and realization dawned that she rarely fought in front of her people. She preferred to train privately, and when she was instructing, her movements were slow and controlled.
But as she’d said, she was trying to prove a point. She was strong. Strong enough to land blows and keep up with a Fae. And not just any Fae—the war prince of the Riddari,Aegir himself.
He was behind her now, holding her tight to him, and he tried not to think about each point where their bodies connected. Tried and failed.
“You’re holding back, Prince,” she whispered. Did he imagine the way she arched into him?
“Careful what you wish for, General.” He tightened his hold so it was less like an embrace and more like a painful trap.
She chuckled, the sound making him loosen his grip for a fraction of a second. One second was all she needed to get out of his grasp. She whirled around again and took him to the ground in a swift movement involving her legs.
The force of the fall stole his breath and then she was on top of him, knee on his throat.
His hands were still free, though, so he grabbed her by the thighs, her breath hitching as he spun her onto her back, holding her arms above her head with one hand and grabbing her throat with the other. His body pressed into her in the most interesting ways, pinning her to the ground with his weight.
“Not the way I imagined you on your back underneath me for the first time,” he whispered, his breath caressing the hollow of her neck. He watched in fascination as her skin pebbled, proving she was more affected by him than she let on. Her answering smirk made his heart leap.
“Been fantasizing about me, I see?” Once again, she made use of his pause to wrap her legs around his waist.
He was shocked by the manoeuvre, his dick doing the thinking for him—imagining a completely different scenario than the one they were in. Her eyes glittered like she knew exactly where his thoughts had gone, and he could’ve sworn she pressed into his hardening cock, before she forced him onto his stomach.
Using the momentum, she untangled her legs and brought herself onto his back. She twisted his arm to the point of pain and her knee dug into his neck, pushing his body and face into the ground.
This was an uncomfortable position no matter what, but the hardness in his pants made it all the more unpleasant to be pressed into the gravel. Try as he might, he couldn’t move without his body screaming in pain.
She’d won.
He wasn’t going to injure himself like he would in a real battle to the death. He’d have dislocated his shoulder to get out of the hold, but she’d pinned him, fair and square. She still didn’t let him up, her breathing heavy.
“Next time you interrupt my business, Your Highness, remember how easily I bested you,” she said loud enough for the spectators to hear.
She waited another beat before releasing him and standing up. Westley twisted onto his back, letting his breathing slow and the pain in his shoulders subside. He was pretty sure she’d torn something, and it was just as painful stitching itself together. Thick clouds gathered behind her, a swirl of grey and white, as she stood over top of him.
The wind blew her hair across her face, and gods, she was breathtaking.
Westley had been surrounded by beautiful Fae his entire life. And when beauty was a given, expected, it stopped being special. A female was a female, no matter what she looked like.
But the first time he’d seen Solveig, his heart had leapt out of his chest. He’d had no idea who she was and at first, he’d mistaken her for Fae. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. Her fierceness had stunned him into silence and, for the first time in a long time, he had recognized beauty in its truest form. In her, the most beautiful female he’d ever laid eyes on.
She stared him down, towering over him, with that same fierceness in her eye—a spark of excitement—reminding him of that night before the bloodshed began.
He shook the thoughts from his head and was about to get up when her hand appeared before him. It was scarred and calloused, faint bruises blooming on the knuckles, the pale skin weathered but outstretched gracefully towards him, strong and sure.
His eyes trailed from her hand up her arm and right into the beautiful face and eyes that haunted his dreams. Surprise, or maybe awe, must have been written all over his face because she rolled her eyes.
That small gesture snapped him out of his haze, and he grasped her hand, wincing as he stood. He was still not used to the shock that passed through them whenever they touched. His skin tingled from all the times they’d come into contact during the fight.
