Something unfamiliar but not unpleasant leapt in my stomach.
“You’ll have a better view if you come closer.”
I jumped at the sound of his voice, embarrassment hitting swiftly as I left the safety of the tree and walked forward. There was no point in pretending I wasn’t there. He finished pulling his daggers free and made his way back, the dark whiskers along his jaw shifting as he smirked.
“I’m not here for a view,” I defended, hoping the sky was still dark enough to hide the color of my cheeks. I didn’t even know how he’d heard me approach. I hadn’t made a single noise.
A brow lifted. “So you hide behind trees for fun?”
Paces away now, it took a shameful amount of effort to keep my gaze from dropping to his chest.
He’s only a man, Etarla.
Sure—a verywell-builtman.
“I heard the daggers landing, and I came to see what the noise was. I didn’t want to interrupt,” I explained in what I hoped was a bored voice.
“And you chose to just stare instead.” Laughter danced in his eyes.
“I was observing your form.”
“I don’t blame you. Many enjoy observing myform,” he replied, that low timbre teeming with arrogance.
My cheeks flamed when I heard the innuendo, realizing how my words had sounded. “I meant yourthrowingform,” I rushed to correct, even though I was absolutely observing his other form.
His grin only widened. “Right. And what did you learn about mythrowingform through your observations?”
My mind raced for something somewhat intelligent to say. It failed. “It’s, uh, very good.”
Kill me now.
“What’s very good about it?” he pressed, enjoying my discomfort far too much. Annoyance zapped through me as I fought to gain control of this humiliating conversation.
“You’re fast and precise.” Floundering for a change of topic, I latched onto the first thought I had. “I should be training while we travel, not waiting to return to Callen.”
The look he gave me said he knew I was trying to distract him. By some act of mercy, he went along with it. “I can train you while we travel. I didn’t offer it because I thought you’d be tired and sore from riding.”
I didn’t want Harthon to train me. He was far too intimidating when it came to fighting, and I would feel like even more of a fool with him than I did with Callen. But I’d needed a new topic, and I wasn’t going to backtrack on my words. So I stubbornly replied, “I’m not too tired to train.”
That part, at least, was genuine. I was used to long days of labor, and I wasn’t afraid of waking early to work. Considering Harthon’s lack of a cloak yesterday morning, it was safe to assume he always trained before dawn.
Harthon slid his daggers into the strap around his thigh and crossed his arms. “Show me the strikes Callen taught you. Do each one three times. Let’s see your form,” he said, the sudden request sounding like a dare.
“Fine,” I instantly replied, because I was in too deep and there was no other option.
Damn.I was doing this. I was training with Harthon.
I was about to get my ass handed to me.
You don’t know how to fight, but you’re good at hard labor. This is justhard labor.
Exactly.
With the best laborer probably in existence.
With a fortifying breath, I shifted into a split stance, my hands bunched into fists just in front of my chin. Well aware of Harthon’s analytical observation, I struck with a right jab, using my legs and torso for power like Callen had said. Then I did it twice more before moving to my left side and then proceeding with my kicks.
“Not terrible, but definitely awkward,” Harthon commented when I finished.
