I feign a cut to his left, hoping to draw his guard, then spin into a rapid thrust aimed at his chest. Prince Kiernan’s sword meets mine with a ringing clang, deflecting it wide with a flick of his wrist. He steps into me, his movements too fast for me to counter. In a swift, practiced motion, he spins, bringing his sword up and across, catching my blade with his own in a disarming twist. My sword thuds to the sand as he closes the distance further, and I feel the heat from his exertion radiating off him. One strong hand catches my wrist, twisting it gently but firmly, while his other arm sweeps around my waist. Before I can react, my feet are swept from beneath me, and my head spins.
I land with a soft thud in the sand on my back. Prince Kiernan is instantly above me, his body a warm, solid weight.My chest heaves from the exertion, my eyes wide as I look up into his. He’s holding his training sword in is hand—firm but not threatening—its tip resting gently against the hollow of my throat. Though dull, the tip has a nick, and it scrapes my skin. I feel a drop of blood tickling down my throat. His gaze—usually sharp and intense—now holds a hint of playful triumph.
Pinned beneath him, disarmed and breathless, I can feel the faint tremor in his arm, the controlled strength of his body. My cheeks, already flushed from the fight, flare with heat. He’s close enough that I feel his breath, feel the subtle thump of his heart, smell the clean, metallic scent of sweat and steel.
His eyes lock onto mine, and slowly, he lowers his head until his lips hover so close that even the smallest movement would close the distance between us. My breathing turns shallow and deliberate, matching his rhythm. The silence and his intent swells around us, thick and weighted, broken only by the faint, insistent whisper of our racing pulses.
“You cheated,” I breathe out in a rush, his closeness suffocating as a war of loathing and lust floods through me.
“I don’t cheat,” he replies, a flash of anger crossing his face.
“Like father, like son,” I say, then instantly regret it—a spiteful, instinctive response born from my conflicted feelings.
He hisses through clenched teeth, and I flinch as he rams the sword down into the sand beside my head.
“You—Know—Nothing.” He punctuates each word into my face, then quickly jumps to his feet. I gasp as the pressure of his body releases. I rise and dust myself off, and he steps away, his head raised to look at the sky.
Suddenly, he whirls back towards me and grabs my wrist, pulling me into his space.
“Do you really believe that?” His voice cracks on the question, raw and stripped bare. The words come out barely above a whisper, each syllable weighted with a pain so visceralit seems to hollow him out from the inside. His jaw works, muscles tensing as if he’s physically holding back something that threatens to break free.
“It’s you who told me that, if you remember. And why should I think any different? What have you said or done that’s made me doubt it? The cold indifference, the cruel words, the fact that you allowed your so-called friend to touch me like that and even seemed to enjoy it?”
“I’mnothinglike my father, Alaya.”
He dips his head. When he looks back up at me, his eyes burn from beneath his sweaty fringe.
“He’s a vicious, power-hungry animal.” The words come out rough, scraped raw. “Everything he touches turns to shit. Including those he feigns to love.”
His chest rises and falls, unsteady.
“You think I escaped that?” A bitter laugh catches in his throat. “I’m his life’s disappointment. The one thing he couldn’t control the outcome of. And he’s reminded of that every day—by my Gift’s weakness, by the fact I can’t even keep my future wife happy.”
His hands curl into fists at his sides.
“His apathy has moulded me into the Prince youthinkyou know and hate.”
My next words come out sharp, each one edged with barely contained fury. “He killed my father, turned my mother into a Thorn Guard right in front of my eyes, and gave me this scar to remind me of my place. Then I’m brought here, told to be dutiful and respectful, to remain almost invisible amongst the Fae who openly fear and despise me, and given to a Prince who—worse than ignoring me—treats me like an inconvenience.”
I let out a quick, sharp breath. I don’t think I’ve ever said that out loud.
He lets out a sigh of frustration and grabs my other wrist, stepping closer. His gaze pierces through me, stripping away every defence until I feel utterly exposed, as if he can see straight through to the raw, vulnerable part of myself I’ve spent years hiding.
“You were never an inconvenience.” His voice drops, rough with something like regret. “I thought—if I kept my distance, if I made you invisible to him, you’d be safer. From him. From me. From whatever twisted thing he’s turned me into.” Another bitter laugh escapes him, short and humourless. “Clearly, that worked brilliantly.”
I’m shocked by his admission, by the sincerity in his intense gaze.
His hand drops one of my wrists and comes up towards my face to brush my cheek. His stare softens, and his lips start to form a word, but he only huffs out a breath and pulls away, dropping my other hand. He picks up the two fallen swords and leaves.
I stand there, swirls of turmoil coursing through my body, and I let him walk away. As he reaches the rise of the hill, I feel an overwhelming need to say something—anything.
“What I said before? I don’t hate you,” I blurt out, the words tumbling free before I can stop them.
He turns and throws a small smirk over his shoulder. Then he carries on, disappearing over the rise.
Prince Kiernan
I am undone.
