“The general gave them to me,” I say, walking to the head of my bed, discreetly pulling the letter opener from my pillow and sheathing it in the leg of my pants before walking to the vanity.
“I’m fairly certain I’ve never known a member of the opposite sex to find the female form so distasteful,” I tease.
She tips her head thoughtfully. “I’ve always known Xeyvian to appreciate the beauty of the fairer sex.”
“He appears to have found his limit to that appreciation in me,” I laugh.
She looks me over from head to toe raising a brow. “I highly doubt that.”
I shrug. She will never know what it’s like to be anything less than what she is—feyn. Eternally young and painfully beautiful. Every pair of eyes privileged enough to take in the grace of her form no doubt desired or envied her. I can’t begrudge her lack of experience with the sharp stab of rejection, nor would I ever want that for her.
I braid my hair from the crown of my brow, over my ears, and into a thick length that falls heavily down my back, before following Awri into the eerie stillness of the palace in the early morning. Guards, weary from standing watch through the night, straighten their backs when we come into view as she leads me down a series of unfamiliar corridors. Archways leading to countless marbled halls pass in a hazy blur, until the golden veins beneath our feet lead us through a wide set of doors. The thick slab of stone spills out onto the eastern grounds of the palace in the form of an ornate grand staircase, abutting the untamed lawns.
I glimpse the stables before we descend. The sight quickly lost to me below the wild hedge that lines the winding path beneath our feet. A familiar sound sends a jittering jolt of anticipation through my body and my hands begin to sweat. I already know what I will find when we round the last of the tall shrubs bordering the stable.
Riesh takes a jab at the general’s side and the male sidesteps the blowwith graceful ease. They’ve been at it for quite some time. Sweat slicks the well-defined muscles ribbing their abdomens and wrapping their arms. Both males are the epitome of the feyn of old and much like I imagined them on the fields of war.
For the first time, my eyes view the banded oaths of the fea, clinging to their sides and arms. Most are a simple line of black, following the line of their ribs from their spine. A batch of crimson bands wrap the general’s forearm, Riesh’s forearm bearing two in the same shade, and I find myself wondering what each of them means. Throughout my life the bargains of the feyn piqued my curiosity, though what little I know about them is hardly useful.
A small patch of fine sand clings to Riesh, just above his shoulder. He’s already been taken to the ground. A clear mark in favor of the general. This time, it is the general who decides to strike, throwing his weight into a low kick. I cringe just as I see Riesh come to terms with his mistake.
His eyes fall to the ground, tracking the sweep of the general’s leg. The general seizes the moment, striking high with a fist before the male can bring his eyes back to the threat before him. The blow lands with a solid thump, and Riesh staggers back. He pulled the punch, but not enough to keep a small drop of blood from forming on the feyn’s freshly split lip. Riesh throws his hands up in the air in a clear concession of defeat.
“Is there a reason you felt you had to make my brother bleed this morning?” Awri asks dryly.
With the back of his wrist, the general wipes the sweat from his brow and runs his fingers through his thick mane of black. Ignoring her question, he nods in my direction, pointing to a pair of leather boots outside the ring and says, “Those are for you.”
Awri raises her brows at the male, clearly shocked. She doesn’t say a word but disappears into the stables. I’m sure I’ve misunderstood him, but when he sees me eyeing them hesitantly, he picks them up and hands them to me. I thank him, and he grunts a reply.
Kicking off my slippers, I lace the boots snugly around my calves, trying not to let on just how much I love the feeling of the leather and the familiar security it brings. Riesh elbows the general, looking over my newoutfit with a wide grin, he whispers, “She really does look like she could take you on now.”
I wish he would stop ribbing his friend about the black eye. He’s been a little too impressed with the fact that I’d given it to his friend. The mark has all but faded and I’d prefer if the memory of that evening faded along with it.
“She caught me off guard. It could happen to anyone,” the general says.
I obviously fail to keep a straight face when I bristle at the male’s arrogance and Riesh taps the general on the shoulder. Pointing in my direction, he says, “That’s the same look she gave you last time you said that. I really think she might like to take another stab at it and prove you wrong.”
I shake my head, smoothing the lines of irritation from my face before the general has a chance to see for himself exactly what his friend is talking about.
“I’m sure he’s right.” The words burn like acid on my tongue. “I just caught him off guard.”
I do want to prove him wrong, but there is strength in appearing weaker than your opponent and as long as he continues to underestimate me, I have the upper hand if I need it. I’m hoping to be long gone before he realizes I’ve killed his king, but I would be a fool not to prepare for every possible outcome.
“Please tell me the moment you change your mind and decide to humble my friend,” Riesh says with a jesting smile. “I’ll never forgive you if I miss it, and I have no doubt that momentwillcome.”
The general scoffs, pulling his tunic over his head and picks up the bow and quiver leaning against the wooden fence of the arena. Riesh follows suit and in their dark leathers and black tunics they look very much the deadly, sinister feyn of La’tari children’s stories.
Awri saunters out of the stables, donning leather pants of her own and the same knotted panels of dark silk below her hip. Her brother eyes her curiously.
“If she can wear them, so can I,” she says, determination written clearly upon her face.
“Shedoesn’t have any other appropriate attire,” the general retorts.
I lean toward my friend and whisper, “What did I tell you? He would bundle me up in a bed sheet and call it adequate attire if it meant he didn’t have to look at my bare flesh.”
I’m sure the general overhears me when his head snaps up in my direction and his brow pinches. He doesn’t argue, as if I need the scalding confirmation of his distaste.
“Let’s go, before we lose the advantage of the morning,” Riesh says as he walks toward the edge of the woodlands abutting the estate.
