“Oh, thanks, that’s helpful,” I mutter under my breath, wiping angrily at a bead of sweat on my forehead with the back of my hand. I’m usually a relatively cheerful person, but the heat and Fox’s…foxinessis making me grumpy. My skin is tight and itchy, and all my muscles feel like they’ve been wound too tight. “You know, if this were an actual fight I could stop you from dodging me with magic.”
Scowling, Fox lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe away the sweat beading on his face and neck. “The point is not to rely on magic.”
“I—” I break off, distracted, and stare at the hard ridges of his stomach, the deep cut of muscle forming that sharp V, the tantalizing line of dark blonde hair disappearing beneath his waistband. Heat floods my body, pooling low in my abdomen and making my fingertips tingle with the sudden, overwhelming urge to trace that path downward.
Oh Gods.
I blink rapidly, tearing my gaze away, and force myself to remember what we were even talking about. “I’m just saying that this isn’t how a real fight would go.”
He drops his shirt back into place and glares at me. “In a real fight you’d be dead.”
“That’s not very encouraging,” I reply lightly. “Have you ever tried being more positive in your training methods?”
Clearly thinking that was my way of saying I don’t want to practice, he lets out a frustrated breath and turns on his heel, walking pointedly back toward the barracks.
Damn. Now what am I supposed to do?
As I watch his retreating back, shoulders set in that familiar rigid line, an idea clicks in my brain. I raise my practice sword again in a two handed grip, and resist the urge to let out a battle cry as I charge after him, sword swinging wildly.
Fox reacts faster than I could have, spinning around in time to avoid my sword. Instead of jumping out of the way however, he reaches out and grabs both my wrists in one hand, just above where I’m holding the sword. The wooden hilt slips from my fingers with a thud. Then, before I know what’s happening, my stomach lurches as my feet leave the ground.
I shriek in mingled surprise and outrage, as Fox holds me out in front of him, his fingers digging into my wrists like iron bands, my body dangling, weightless and helpless. I kick out with both my legs, my skirt bunching around my thighs as I twist with all my strength. “Put. Me. Down.”
Fox’s eyes widen, like he only just realized that he’s holding me by the wrists. He swallows, but doesn’t put me down. “What the hell are you doing?”
“You told me to attack you,” I hiss.
“My back was turned.”
“You were the one who said fairness doesn’t matter,” I grumble, still kicking as hard as I can.
He stares at me for another long moment, still holding my wrists as if my weight means nothing. Then one corner of hismouth twitches upward, revealing a dimple I’ve never noticed before. “Good job.”
It’s the most benign form of praise ever—barely even a compliment, really—but for some reason my stomach turns over. I forget to breathe for a moment, my tongue suddenly stuck to the roof of my mouth. “Thanks,” I croak. “Can you put me down now, please?”
He blinks, looking startled, and he makes an apologetic sound in the back of his throat as he lowers me back to the ground.
Ever since Daemon and Alix turned the Ashwater manor into the official palace of Vernallis, their entire inner circle eats dinner together every night.
I know I’m always welcome to join them, but more often than not I eat alone in my tower, unwilling to tear myself away from whatever potion or spell I’ve been working on. Tonight, though, I decide to eat with the family.
I’m not exactly sure what time dinner usually begins, so I’m a few minutes late, and everyone is already seated when I walk into the dining room. Well, almost everyone.
Alix and Damon sit on either end of the long, ornately carved dining table, with six additional chairs between them. Odessa and Jett sit on one side of the table, and Beatrix and Kastian on the other. There are two empty chairs, and I lower myself into the nearest one beside Kastian, facing Fox’s empty chair.
Everyone seems perfectly happy to see me, and the conversation is light and cheerful as the servants bring out platters of roasted pheasant, sautéed green vegetables and honeyed carrots. I help myself to some of everything, but I’m notas hungry as I thought I’d be, and my fork scrapes against the plate as I push food around in circles.
“What’s wrong, Aurelia dear?” Beatrix finally asks.
I glance up quickly. “What?”
“You’ve been quiet all evening. Are you feeling alright?”
I chew on the inside of my lip. Of everyone here, Beatrix is by far the person I’m closest to. Being Fae, she looks hardly older than I do, with long dark hair and bright blue eyes, but as she raised me from a baby I’ve always viewed her as more of a mother than a friend. Daemon is Beatrix’s actual son, but as he spent so many years in prison, he and I never lived under the same roof until this year.
If I were going to share my feelings with anyone it would be Beatrix, but I don’t actually know what I’m feeling well enough to voice it, so I merely smile. “Of course,” I say airily. “I’m just tired. My arms are sore.”
“Even swinging a practice sword all day is bound to make you sore,” Jett comments. “I’d be tired too if I’d been training half as much as you have.”
