“A couple weeks here and there of basic combat lessons isn’t enough to turn these women into soldiers. And if you really believe it is, I’m not sure whether that makes you a mindless moron, or simplyunconcerned because it doesn’t affect you whether they live or die.”
Someone gasps behind me.
Kalden isn’t just challenging our so-called instructor with his words. To question how things are done for the Hunt is to question Chancellor Bren. And, if you ask a purist, questioning the chancellor may as well be an act of rebellion.
Face nearly as red as blood, the guard’s right arm uncoils in an uppercut, but Kalden shifts, dipping low into his hips and evading the blow.
The guard’s nostrils flare as he swings his elbow downward, aiming for Kalden’s face. I wince, expecting to hear his nose crunching beneath the impact.
It doesn’t. Kalden crouches and rolls, pivoting back to his feet on the guard’s side.
Golden eyes flick to mine, as if to check whether I’m watching, and comprehension lifts my brows. This isn’t a spontaneous brawl. This fight was purposefully instigated. And what better way to begin our training session than with a demonstration?
The guard rushes forward. A second before he lunges, Kalden jumps over his hunched back.
Panting, the man braces his hands on his knees. As he’s catching his breath, Kalden fetches a towel from the basket and wipes away non-existent sweat from his temples.
“None of you are warriors, so evasion is your best bet at survival. Offensive attacks are useless in a one-on-one combat scenario with a more powerful opponent,” Kalden says to the group while tossing the rag at the panting guard, whose frown lines deepen as he realizes he played right into Kalden’s reckless training lesson. “Tonight, we’ll go over some basic dodging and blocking techniques. Tomorrow, I’ll check your running form. Sprinting for speed will help you get away,but once there’s enough distance between you and your opponent, you’ll need to adjust your technique for longevity.”
Our instructor mutters under his breath and stomps out of the room, locking the sliding door into place behind him.
Kalden strips off the too-small shirt, which had bunched halfway up his abdomen during his skirmish. He smooths a palm over his collarbone, brow furrowing, then searches through the discarded shirt until he pulls out his nightstone pendant and secures it around his neck.
Something coils low in my stomach. I tell myself it’s fear stirred by Kalden’s warnings.
Gem nudges her elbow into my rib cage. “You’re drooling.”
“Gem,”I chastise with a whisper, head whipping around to make sure no one heard her.
Thankfully, our comrades are busy swarming around Kalden, who’s rolling out gray mats halfway across the room. He reaches up to grab another folded mat from the top shelf, stretching a pink jagged line that spans across his right shoulder blade.
Whatever gave him those brutal scars, is that what made him so... rigid? Not inthatway, but in the sternness of his clenched jaw, taut brows, and near-permanent scowl.
“You’re doing it again,” Gem teases. “It’s not too late, you know. Maybe you can convince him to marry you before they give us the boot tomorrow.”
I roll my eyes. “Sure, let me push him down and seduce him into proposing right on the mats.”
I ignore the warmth flooding through my veins at the prospect, reminding myself that it’s a ridiculous notion. There’s a reason I stick to marks who are considerably older and less coveted. It takes a certain level of desperation for a man to desire the attention of a broken throwaway. Even if I were to throw myself at Kalden, I’mmore likely to believe he’d implement one of those ducking maneuvers than welcome my advances.
“I’ve already been selected, Gem,” I say while ambling towards the changing stalls. “There’s no way the chancellor would pardon me now. Him, maybe. But not me.”
Once we’re in our uniforms, we slip into the back and join the others in a series of stretches.
Reaching her fingertips to the mat, Gem asks, “So, you won’t even try?”
“There’s no point,” I whisper as we shift, rotating one arm to reach up as high as it can go while keeping the other hand on the floor. My boobs threaten to spill out of the provided top, which is a generous word to describe the sleeveless sliver of fabric that is both too tight to be comfortable and too loose to be supportive. “If you’re going, I’m going.”
Switching arms, Gem grunts. “You know, you used to be so amenable. Now you’re almost as stubborn as me.”
“You’re a bad influence,” I concur, and we both chuckle.
By the shadows, it feels good to laugh. After the stress of our failed getaway and the selection ceremony, we need this. Our giggles swiftly escalate into a full-blown laughing fit, like we’re no better than rambunctious children.
Through my tear-blurred vision, I spot booted feet approaching. Kalden, who’s now in the provided dark gray uniform that’s barely larger than the previous borrowed clothing, frowns while stalking towards us.
I double over.
The gold in Kalden’s irises flares. “What’s so amusing about your certain death?”
