Thane inclines his head, eyes locked on mine. “Swords and magics. Ready?”
The protective enchantments are already in place. This isn’t just sparring—it’s a battle of wills.
Thane doesn’t give me the calculated distance Jarek did. He pushes.
The air crackles—tension thick, suffocating. Neither of us speaks, but it’s there, woven into every movement.
I don’t back down and neither does he.
Our swords clash, ringing through the training field. Sparks burst from the metal, but the fire rising between us has nothing to do with magics.
Thane moves with precise control, his blade striking hard, forcing me to meet him blow for blow. I parry and step into him, testing his footing, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he pushes forward, forcing me to pivot. I barely avoid the tip of his sword as it sweeps past my ribs. Magics hums in the air between us, the protective enchantments responding to the close hit.
He hurls fire—I slice through it with wind, twisting it back toward him. Thane sidesteps effortlessly, expression etched with focus. But I catch the flicker of approval in his eyes before hestrikes again.
We move in a brutal rhythm. The moment I lunge, he counters. The instant he advances, I weave through his defenses. Every move demands full focus. Every strike lands hard—with everything we haven’t said.
Fire meeting fire. Neither of us yields. Neither of us relents.
Then, in a flash, we’re too close, blades locked and breath mingling. Magics crackle in the narrow space between our bodies. I feel the warmth of him, his breath uneven against my cheek—and for a moment, neither of us moves.
His eyes search mine with that same intensity that night after the dinner with the nobles. I should shove him back. Should say something, anything, to cut through the silence—like I did that night.
But my pulse betrays me—thudding in time with the magics humming between us.
Thane’s lips tilt in a half-smile. “You’re holding back.” His voice curls like smoke—warm, dangerous, close.
I grit my teeth and press against him, forcing distance as I swing again.
“So are you.”
I spin away, seizing the moment to gather my magics. The earth rumbles beneath my feet, rising at my command. In one fluid motion, I thrust my hands outward. Stone erupts—jagged and fast—rising into a tight ring around Thane.
From within, I hear his amused chuckle. Then his voice, light with challenge. “Clever.”
A second later, fire erupts from inside the enclosure, blasting outward in a searing explosion. The stone shatters, pieces flying in every direction. I summon a shield of water to protect my face against the heat and shards of stone. Smoke curls from the wreckage.
Thane steps through the wreckage, fire still dancing in hispalm. His smirk is pure, infuriating confidence. “But not clever enough.”
Before I can react, he flicks his fingers—light and heat burst outward, searing into my vision. Instinctively, I raise an arm to shield my eyes, blinking rapidly against the sudden brightness.
Too late.
Thane rushes me, closing the distance in an instant. I barely register the shift in the air before he’s on me—blade slicing in a tight arc, forcing me to move or be caught.
Our swords clash, the brutal rhythm like war drums pounding through the training grounds. Dust rises around us, kicked up by sharp pivots and fast footwork. His blade comes at me like a force of nature, unyielding and lethal. I counter, but he’s already adjusting, pressing in, reading my movements with unnerving precision.
His blade cuts through the air in efficient arcs—ruthless, exact. There is no excess, no unnecessary flair—only the brutal necessity of combat. I meet him strike for strike, but he is relentless, pressing forward, giving me no space to recover.
I pivot low, blade slicing for his ribs. But he twists away—parrying with the barest flick of his wrist. His counterattack comes instantly—his sword angling for my throat. I barely duck in time, the rush of air against my skin sharp enough to sting.
I twist inside his guard, blade flashing upward—but he’s already there. He meets my strike, our hilts locking, our faces inches apart. His breath is steady, controlled, while mine is uneven, ragged.
He is testing me. And I refuse to break.
The world narrows—to steel clashing, breath catching, the raw instinct that keeps us moving. Countering. Surviving.
I shift, barely deflecting his next attack, and he takes advantage of the opening, stepping into my space.
