"Now see, Bennett,thatwas fighting dirty.”
Eveera
I pocket the second star and switch it out for a dagger, my grip flexing around the hilt. The shape of it is foreign compared to my favored one.My favored one that’s still with fucking Ezra,I think bitterly.
Rorin cocks his brow at me, nodding down at the weapon in my palm, as if he were reading my exact thoughts.
I wouldn’t be surprised if hewasreading them.
He motions for me to step closer, his face calculating my every expression, my every move with a smugness to match mine.
"Wields or no?" I taunt, knowing he's unlikely to use his. My thought confirmed when I overhear Mousy groan, muttering something along the lines of, "he's used that enough these past few months".
Rorin doesn’t dignify the comment with a response, and jerks his dagger in my direction, blood now running down his ear from the nick I’d made. "No Wields." He barks, tossing the hilt between both hands and replacing the grin on his face.
Gods, I could fucking smack it off of him. I growl in my mind, I can feel Vada there, listening to me and I turn off the line to her as well. The remnant sounds of her protests die off in the recesses of my mind while I clear my head for the spar.
Fighting one-on-one is nothing I am unfamiliar with; there have been plenty of times that my men have gone full out, no Wields, and I've come out on top. And then there have been other times, ones where they've bested me. But today I am in no mood to lose. No mood to play nicely, and if I am going to do this without my magic, then I need absolutely no one inside of my head.
Mousy waves for us to start, and the two of us begin circling each other. Unsurprisingly, he gets impatient and lunges first. I dodge the swipe of his arm and duck underneath it until I’m facing his back. Rorin turns his head quickly, putting eyes on me before he whirls around on his toes. The second time that he lurches forward, I dip down, forward rolling on the ground. The point of my dagger grazes his calf, causing him to swear.
I smirk at the bead of blood and look up at him, "are you sure you want to do this, Wieldless?" I taunt again, his nostrils flaring at me.
Hopping up to my feet, I took the initiative to leap towards him, kicking out my foot towards his groin. His dagger-free hand flies out and grabs hold of my ankle. He yanks hard, pulling me off my standing leg and flips me around, slamming my chest down onto the sparring floor. All the air in my lungs rushes out, and stars dance across my sight. His weight presses down into my back, the sharp edge of his dagger kissing my throat.
"Fuck…I've not stolen your breath already, have I?" He murmurs in my ear.
Irritation flares in my stomach, and carefully I reach down to my thigh where I have a second dagger stashed. I grab hold of it, and with as much mobility as I can, I ram the pommel into his gut. He sucks in a sharp gasp before and lets off my back. As the air fills my chest again, I scramble up onto my feet.
With Rorin crunched down to my eye level, I hurl myself at him and barrel into his shoulders. We both hit the ground rolling from the momentum, the shocked gasps of those watching us ringing out. Rorin’s shoulders hit the stone hard, followed by mine, my head tucking in quickly to avoid any injury to my neck. We roll a third time, and I land on top, my legs straddling him. Our daggers are scattered around us, and my hand reaches out to get hold of one of them.
My fingers find purchase and wrap deftly around the cool metal. I poise it at the vein bulging in his neck, my hips rolling against his as I struggle to keep him pinned underneath me. Rorin grunts beneath my movement, his right hand gripping my thigh.
It's hard to tell whether or not his hold is to keep me where I am or to get me off of him, but based on the smirk forming on his lips, I could guess that it's the latter.
“You going to torture me?” He asks hoarsely, sweat dripping down both of us. I hesitate answering, and his hips buck, forcing me to push my weight down harder onto him. I do my best to ignore the growing inconvenience underneath me.
My legs feel fatigued, but I have to focus on keeping the upperhand. He’s pinned belowme.Regardless of whether or not that damn smile that is inching its way across his face tells me he'shappyto be held down.
I angle my blade tighter against his throat. “Maybe.” I
His brow cocks, and I feel him stroke the mental barrier between us. “Then torture me,wife." My breath hitches at the title, and he presses down on the crease of my hip, digging into the pressure point there until we’re nose to nose. "I beg you, make me bleed.”
ARGH!
Unable to handle the proximity any longer, I tear the dagger from his throat and shove off of him. He stands ungracefully to his full height, his smile unfaltering.
"Thank the gods. She's chosen to be rational.” Mousy’s grating voice echoes across the courtyard.
That’s what you think.My conscience snarks before the dagger, still clasped in my hand, flies out.
THWWUMP!
In that half second, before I was even able to fully register it, the hilt of my dagger seated itself fully into Rorin's shoulder. Millie's shrill and shocked squeal hits my ears as he roars in pain. “FUCKING. GODS." His eyes snap fiercely up to mine as his hand clenches around the hilt. "EVEERA!" He grits out.
“Donot, ‘Eveera'me, Princeling.” I say, my voice hard as I dig my heels into their spot.
Slowly, he straightens his spine, the hand dropping from the spot where his shoulder is impaled. His steps towards me are careful and measured, and with each one, my resolve falters. I jerk my chin forward, trying to glaze over the small kernel of remorse I’m feeling, as the pain twists in his face.
