Before I can move, he’s already there. His weight pins me effortlessly, his forearm pressing against my collarbone, his knee locking me down.
I bare my teeth, refusing to yield, muscles screaming from the effort.
I expect the usual flicker of amusement, the sharp twitch of his lips before he steps back. But instead, his eyes tighten, roaming over my face—just for a breath, just long enough for me to notice.
And like a candle flame snuffed out—it’s gone.
His lips twitch. “Faster.” His voice is low, rough, edged with amusement.
He stands, offering a hand. I slap it away.
Thane laughs—low, rough. He steps back, hands raised in mock surrender, smirk intact.
“Suit yourself. Just don’t take too long down there—I’ve got places to be.”
I glare up at him, still catching my breath. But if he thinks he’s getting the last word, he’s dead wrong.
Pushing up onto my elbows, I arch a brow, voice just sharp enough to cut, just smooth enough to tease. “Oh? And here I thought pinning me down was your priority today.”
Thane’s smirk falters—barely. But I catch it. The flicker of something behind his eyes—something charged. He quickly schools his expression.
Thane’s smirk returns, sharper this time. “You almost sound disappointed.”
I push myself up, twisting at my waist, shaking off the ache still burning in my muscles. Then smirk right back. “Mm, not yet. But the day’s still young.” I flick my braid over my shoulder—light tone, carefully measured.
His expression doesn’t change. But I catch it—the breath he holds, the flicker in his eyes, the subtle tightening of his grip on the knife.
Then—after a beat—his lips twitch. “That so?” His voice is low, edged with something like amusement.
I grin, stretching out the stiffness in my back. “Perhaps.”
He exhales sharply, shaking his head as if deciding not to respond, then steps away, grabbing his water jug.
I grab my water jug and head for the bench. Roll my wrists. Let the ache settle into my muscles.
The room hums with activity around us—the rhythmic clash of weapons, the low grunt of warriors lifting weights, the steady drum of footwork drills against the stone floor.
Thane follows, unhurried. The fight already fading, the way it always does with him—like nothing lingers. Like nothingtouches too deep. He drops onto the bench beside me.
I blow a breath out, tip my head back against the cool stone wall, and gulp down more water before wiping sweat from my brow. For a moment, we sit in silence.
Then, without preamble: “Lord Toren Hale and Lady Evelyne will arrive in a few days.”
I lower my water jug, blinking. That pulls me out of the fight haze fast. “Who?”
He exhales, leaning forward, forearms resting on his knees. “Lord Toren Hale rules Greythorne Keep—his lands sit along the Fire Clan’s border with the Forsaken Lands. His family’s held that position for generations.” A beat. “Lady Evelyne’s his younger sister.”
I don’t answer. My thoughts are already moving, gears turning behind the silence. Of course. The Fire Clan’s border. The Forsaken Lands. The attacks. No wonder the noble families are starting to pay attention.
I straighten slightly, wiping my palm against my thigh. “What do they want?”
His lips press together. Like he’s already tired of explaining. “Reassurances.”
I take a slow sip of water, letting it settle. Glance at him. Smirk. “Ah yes, the duties of the Warlord.” My tone lifts into mock reverence. “Meetings. Nobles. Bloodlines worth more than the rest of us.”
Thane huffs, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple.”
I snort. “It never is.”
