Rune sighed and stepped onto the platform beside her. “I cannot bear to watch this. You will tear a muscle if you do not loosen up properly.”
Alora sputtered in protest as he caught her leg and guided it upward, resting her booted foot onto his shoulder. The warmth of her skin through the thin fabric spread heat to his collarbone. Her balance faltered, and she grabbed his arm.
Rune held her gaze. “Steady.”
The word came out lower than he intended, a murmur shaped into a whisper. Her pulse beat visibly at her throat. He could feel her body’s unsteady rhythm, the wild cadence of a mortal heart that had once been silent.
“Is this necessary?” Alora gritted out, her face reddening.
Her irritation and bubbling embarrassment sparked in his chest.
“Entirely,” Rune rumbled, leaning in until they were nearly nose to nose. “Flexibility is essential, songbird. I need you loose andpliant.”
Her jaw tightened. He released her leg, and she didn’t protest when he lifted the other one onto his shoulder. Her chest rose in shallow, uneven breaths, her fingers digging into his arms. The air between them buzzed, thick with something neither dared name.
From the shadowed balcony above, Calla’s voice drifted down. “Careful, sire. Our queen may soon outmatch you.”
She leaned lazily against the balustrade, Hadeon and Deimos flanking her like carved gargoyles.
“I highly doubt that,” Rune said, his gaze never leaving Alora’s. “She can hardly lift a sword, let alone swing it.”
Anger flashed in her eyes, bright, beautiful, exactly what he wanted. He set her leg down and she immediately reached for her blade.
His shadows snatched it away before she could take it.
“This is your final test,” Rune said, the weapon spinning idly above his hand. “Defeat me, and the doors of your prison open. Lose, and they remain closed.Indefinitely.” His tone hardened with quiet mockery. “And I will keep my pretty little bird in a pretty cage.”
All hesitation melted from Alora’s face as her lip curled into a sneer he hadn’t seen before.“Agreed.”
He drew Noctharion and Alora hesitated, growing wary as shadows licked off the edge.
“No cheating,” she accused. “You will easily defeat me with that demonic thing.”
Chuckling, Rune set it aside as he planned. It was not made for sparring and would most certainly come for blood against any opponent. Hadeon tossed him a simple blade.
“A weapon is a weapon, whether born of the Abyss or carved from wood,” he said. “The blade does not decide the battle. Victory lies in the hand that wields it. Even the weakest opponent could defeat a powerful foe if they measure the instant their strike is made.”
Rune picked up her sword and offered it to her, hilt first. Their fingers brushed as she took the weapon, sending an electrical current down his arm.
“Terms?” she asked.
“Make me bleed.”
Something in the air shifted as Alora laughed. A quiet, unsettling sound that called to his blood.
She gave him a serene smile. “Thank you.”
He tilted his head, smirk faint at the corner of his mouth. “For what?”
The world narrowed, the atmosphere pulling toward her, the wind falling still.
And Alora’s voice floated to him in the quiet. “For the opportunity.”
Then she lunged.
The first strike came fast—faster than he’d thought possible. The blade cut toward his ribs, and Rune caught it on the flat of his own weapon with a sharp clang. Sparks scattered between them. He turned, parried, twisted. She followed, relentless, her movements elegant and precise, each one quicker than the last.
More than mortal capability.
