Something twists in my chest at the thought. Satisfaction, maybe, though I tell myself that’s completelyridiculous.
“Hm.” My mouth curves slightly before I can stop it.
Her head snaps up. “Don’t get a big head,tavern boy. You were the last one dragged down here. Everyone else was already healed by the time I arrived.”
I lift a brow, ignoring her glare. “Or maybe…you waited until I was here. Just so you could heal me yourself, little shadow.”
All of a sudden, the healing isn’t painless anymore. Hot, searing pain shoots through me as the wound stitches itself.
I grit my teeth. “Gods.What the hells?”
“Stop being cocky, or I’ll make it worse. And donotcall me that,” she snaps.
Just like that, the pain vanishes again. My lips twitch, betraying the laugh I bite back.
She works in silence until the last of the wounds close. Her brow is damp with sweat by the end, her shoulders tense. She pulls her hands back with a sharp exhale.
“There. Since you hadsomany wounds, that’s the best I can do. Try not to tear them open again. If you do, I’ll have to stitch them closed by hand, and I’m not as gentle with a needle.”
“That was gentle?”
Her gaze flickers, unreadable. “More gentle than you deserve.”
I grin as she turns away, heading towards the door. Then she’s gone, leaving the room colder than it was before.
I let out a breath, staring at the empty space she left. My brows furrow. There’s no reason I should feel like I’ve known her hands before. Yet, some part of me swears I have.
Chapter 8
?---- Kallan (Flashback) ----?
The sparring ring in the palace’s training yard is quiet. Morning light spills across the ground, catching on blades and the sheen of sweat across our skin.
I roll my shoulders as I circle Serenya, a grin tugs at the corner of my mouth. “You're getting cocky, love.”
She twirls her blade and lifts her chin. “I’m getting better.”
“Oh, no doubt,” I say, dropping my eyes briefly to the elegant sway of her hips as she moves. “But don’t forget who taught you that move you love so much.”
She feints to the left, then strikes right. The edge of her blade catches the side of my ribs before I can dodge.
“That one?” she asks sweetly. “I think I improved it.”
I hiss a breath through my teeth and laugh. “You’re ruthless this morning.”
She is already coming at me again. Faster this time. I parry the first strike, dodge the second, but barely deflect the third.
She is dancing now. Light on her feet. Graceful. Deadly.
I decideto let her win. I could drawout the fight, but I don't. Because her eyes are sparkling, and the wind has caught strands of her hair, and her laughter is the kind of sound that makes me forget everything else.
She slams the pommel of her blade against my shoulder and sweeps my legs with the flat of it, sending me down onto the padded stone floor with a grunt.
She straddles me before I can move, blade resting against my throat—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to prove her point.
“Yield,” she says, chest rising and falling from exertion.
“Nah. I like it here,” I say, smirking up at her.
