I’d faced sea beasts, escaped the Veil, touched a relic that made the air taste like lightning. I’d spent days teaching myself how to walk across slick planks and uneven stairs, willing strength into muscles that hadn’t known gravity the way Alaric’s crew did.
A weapon in my hand still felt foreign—like asking the tide to hold a flame.
And now I was being bested by cold steel and my own damn pride.
Weeks aboard the ship helped. I could brace when the deck pitched, climb rigging, and dodging barrels. A blade demanded something else entirely.
“Loosen your grip,” Alaric said, circling me like a predator sizing up wounded prey. “You’re not strangling the blade. You’re guiding it. It’s not about force. It’s about control.”
“I’ve got control,” I muttered.
He arched his brow. “The floor might disagree.”
I gritted my teeth and repositioned my stance. My feet slipped on the damp wood, but I planted them again—shoulders square, eyes fixed on his. If he expected me to fold, he didn’t know me as well as he thought.
“Better,” he said.
For a moment, I thought I saw something flicker behind his eyes—approval. Or amusement.
The next strike came without warning.
I barely blocked it. Steel kissed steel, the impact jolting up my arms like lightning. My wrists screamed, my balance faltered—but I didn’t fall.
Not this time.
For a split second, something shimmered beneath my skin—a faint glow along my collarbone, gone so quickly I wondered if it was just sweat catching the light. I shook it off, tightening my grip.
When I looked up, Alaric was watching me—not guarded, not alarmed. Thoughtful.
Like he’d noticed something he wasn’t ready to name. He was too close.
The scent of him hit me all at once—salt and smoke and something darker beneath it, like burned sugar and bloodied steel. His breath ghosted across my cheek, and I hated that my heart responded faster than my blade ever could.
I didn’t flinch. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. His eyes lingered on mine a beat too long.
Then two.
For a moment, I forgot the ache in my arms, the sting of embarrassment, the steady roll of the sea beneath us.
“Are you studying my form,” I said, tilting my head with a smirk, “or just trying to get me on my back again?”
His grin was slow. Infuriating.
“Would it make you try harder if I said both?” he murmured, gaze flicking from my eyes to my lips and back again. “Because I’ve got all night. And I happen to enjoy the view.”
I rolled my eyes, but my pulse betrayed me. I should have moved. I didn’t—because I was watching him.
His presence muddled my instincts.
Then, with a sudden sweep of his boot, he knocked my legs out from under me.
I hit the deck with a hard grunt, the blade skidding from my hand.
Before I could react, the tip of his blade was at my throat. Not pressing—just there.
A warning. A lesson.
His shadow loomed over me, and for a breathless second, neither of us moved. The ship rocked beneath us, wind tugging loose strands of my hair.
