I looked at him then. “Thank you.” For always being so kind to me."
Garen shrugged. “Yer part o’ the crew.” Then his grin returned, broad and boyish. “Besides, ye’re a damn sight better company than half the men on this ship.”
Standing on the deck again felt like stepping into a memory I hadn’t earned—or one I’d tried too hard to forget.
I’d visited Garen a few times since the ship’s arrival in Ymirskald. Short visits. Careful ones. Alaric watched me with a restraint that made my chest ache. Like something in him was straining at a leash.
I leaned against the doorframe of the captain’s quarters, folding my arms. “You know,” I said lightly, “my combat skills have gotten a little rusty since being in Ymirskald.”
His head lifted, just slightly.
I tilted my chin, letting a smile tug at my lips. “Maybe you could help with that… unless you’re afraid you’ll lose.”
That earned me the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“Afraid?” he drawled. “The last time we sparred, you ended up flat on your back.”
I arched my brow. “And the time before that?”
He leaned back in his chair, smirking—wicked and slow. “You still ended up flat on your back. Though for very different reasons. I was hoping you’d remember it a little more fondly.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks before I could stop it.
I snatched the dagger off the map table and twirled it through my fingers. His brows arched, the smirk never wavering.
“Careful,” he murmured, circling now, the predator in him awake.
I lunged. He blocked with infuriating ease, catching my wrist and spinning me until my back hit his chest. The warmth of him brushed my ear—warm, taunting.
“Slow,” he whispered.
I twisted, shoving back with my elbow hard enough to break free. The dagger clattered to the floor. I spun to face him, chest tight, pulse hammering. “Lucky,” I shot back.
His grin widened—devilish—before he lunged this time. Our bodies collided, a mess of grappling hands and half-laughed insults. He caught my hip; I hooked my leg around his to throw him off balance. We slammed against the edge of the table, maps scattering.
He swept my leg out from under me. I yelped, twisting at the last second, and we crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs. He landed above me, one hand braced beside my head, the other pinning my wrist to the boards. His weight pressed me down—unyielding—but I didn’t flinch.
He held it longer than necessary.
I grinned at him, breathless. “You’re heavy.”
“You’re weak.”
I bucked hard, catching him off guard just enough to roll us. Suddenly I was on top, knees pinning his arms, hair falling into my face. His smirk didn’t falter—it deepened.
“Predictable,” he drawled, voice low, taunting.
He surged upward, nearly throwing me off, and we grappled again. Hands slipped, caught, wrestled. My shoulder slammedagainst the edge of the bed. His laugh rumbled low in his chest—dark, infuriatingly amused.
“Admit it,” he said, the warmth of him grazing my jaw. “You missed this.”
I shoved him with all the strength I had.
Stars help me—I was laughing, wild and unrestrained, even as my pulse skittered with something far more dangerous than play.
I lunged again, aiming for his shoulder, but he caught me mid-swing and spun me until my back slammed—gently—against the wall.
His fingers closed around my wrists. Not painfully, but with an absolute certainty that sent a jolt straight down my spine. “There it is,” he murmured, his voice a rough scrape in the quiet room. “That fire.”
