“Keep your shoulders down,” he murmured, voice rougher now. “That’s it.” He was close enough that his breath stirred the hair at my temple. A flush crept up my neck. When he finally stepped away, the place where his hands had been felt cold. My stance felt steadier somehow, the sword no longer so heavy in my palms.
He walked in front of me, assessing me before nodding in approval. He continued walking down the rest of the line.
“Riven and Roman,” he called, voice rising just enough to carry, “you two have the strongest stances. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Roman stepped forward first, rolling his shoulders. His dark skin gleamed with a fine sheen of sweat despite the cold, and the muscles in his arms flexed as he gripped his sword. A thin, eager smile curved his lips, and therewas something unsettling in the way his eyes glittered, like he was hoping this would be more than a drill.
Riven sauntered to meet him, grey eyes bright with mischief. A lock of wavy brown hair fell across his forehead as he tilted his head, assessing Roman like he was trying to gauge his skill. He spun the blunted blade once in his palm, casually as if he were about to toss it aside.
“Try not to cry when you lose,” Riven said lightly, his grin sharp.
Roman only bared his teeth in a humourless smile and lunged. Their swords met with a metallic clash that rang in my ears, and I let my own sword drop to my side.
Roman drove forward, each strike heavy and precise, forcing Riven to retreat step by step across the packed snow. But Riven’s grin never wavered. He moved with an easy, fluid grace, letting each of Roman’s attacks glance off his blade as though he’d been born with a sword in his hand.
Roman grunted, pivoting into a downward strike meant to end it, but Riven twisted aside at the last instant. His blade flashed up. There was a blur of movement, Roman’s sword spun from his grip, clattering across the ground.
Riven ducked and swooped his leg under Roman’s, who landed flat on his back with a grunt.
Riven stood over him, not even breathless. He tapped Roman’s chest lightly with the tip of his sword, smirk curling his mouth.
Roman’s jaw clenched as he glared up at him, but Riven just offered a mocking bow before sauntering back to stand beside the others. As though he hadn’t just humiliated one of the strongest in the group.
“Clearly you both have experience with swords. Where have you trained?” Orin asked.
“I have been in the Southern Army since I was sixteen,”Roman answered with a slight Southern drawl, standing and straightening his uniform.
I raised my eyebrows. The Northern and Southern Kingdoms both had armies who fought between each other over food and land. Something my marriage was meant to fix. The one thing both Armies had in common was their resentment for the Iron Guard for never intervening in their squabbles. Never picking a side. No, the only thing the Iron Guard did was protect the Mortal Kingdom from the Fae.
Orin raised his eyebrows at Riven, expecting an answer.
“I’m just naturally talented at everything,” Riven almost purred, clearly trying to get under Orin’s skin.
“I’m sure you will still learn a thing or two,” Orin replied, tension on his face.
“Doubtful. I could probably teachyousome things,” Riven drawled.
Orin stepped closer to him, the toes of their boots almost touching. Riven looked down at him with a smirk.
“Laps. Now!” Orin yelled.
“Don’t get your panties in a knot,” Riven drawled. “My legs could use another stretch anyway.” He winked, then turned and broke into a run. With how quickly he moved through the trodden snow, it was obvious he had been holding back when he ran with me. I watched him disappear around the barracks, his pace effortlessly controlled. Too controlled. My thoughts slipped to the showers. To the silver mark I had seen nestled against his muscular torso. Not exactly the same as mine. But close enough to leave a hollow feeling in my chest that I could not explain. Apart from his absurd confidence and cockiness, he hadn’t once seemedunhinged. Unlike me. If we were anything alike, then it was clear he knew how to control it. How to keep it leashed.
Seven
Purpose
After what felt like an eternity, a break was called. Orin and Bohdi had run us through various drills with our swords. Repetitively. Until my limbs felt like jelly and my hair clung to my sweat-soaked face. Despite my fatigue, it felt good to hold the sword in my hands. I liked holding a weapon. The darkness inside me liked it even more. Steel drums littered what seemed to be a common area between the barracks and the training pits, alight with flames. My squad trudged towards one of the rusted steel drums as Bohdi handed us each a brown packet. I unwrapped it reluctantly, the paper crunching beneath my fingertips. Rations of stale bread and jerky stared back at me, dry and unappetising. Food was an issue in our Kingdom, one that was marginally better in the castle. It was impossible to grow anything in a frozen wasteland, but I was used to tender meats, root vegetables and rich sauces. But I didn’t want them to think me a spoilt princess, so I grabbed the jerky without hesitation and brought it to my mouth. I hid my grimace; it was as dry as I thought it was going to be.
No one spoke at first, everyone eating in uncomfortablesilence. Well, it felt uncomfortable to me. I was not used to being around so many people. Dreya lifted her chin, her voice sounding almost forced like she needed to break the silence for her own sanity. “Why’d you all Ascend?”
“For the glory, obviously. And the women. But mostly the glory.” Riven grinned, sending a wink in my direction that spread heat across my cheeks.
Orin gave him a look of withering disdain.
“My little sister used to look up to the Iron Guards. I wasn’t strong enough to save her then.” Bohdi looked into the flickering flames. “But now, maybe, I can save someone else.”
A silence fell. Orin’s hand clasped Bohdi’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.
