Chapter 14
?---- Koen ? ----?
The courtyard is quiet, save for the sound of our blades meeting and the low rasp of our breaths. The cloudy sky makes for a darker training session this morning.
I adjust my grip on the sword with sweat already slicking my palm. Across from me, Serenya moves with a grace that makes it hard to look away. Even now, even after nearly two weeks of sparring together, she barely seems winded while training me.
“Again,” she says, circling me.
My jaw tightens, and I nod. The blade feels heavier today. Or maybe it's my nerves. There aretwo days until the next trial. I still don't feel ready.
We clash again, steel ringing out sharply. I try to anticipate and counter her moves, but fail.
She twists behind me, sweeping my legs out, and I hit the ground with a grunt, sword clattering away.
Her favorite move.
“You’re still letting your weight lead your swing,” shesays while standing over me with one brow raised.
“I’m not made of air like you,” I mutter, dragging myself to my feet. “Some of us carry actual muscle.”
“Then use it to your advantage,” she says flatly. “Instead of swinging it around like a sack of potatoes.”
“Charming as always.”
I glance at her and catch the briefest twitch on the corner of her lips, like she’s fighting the urge to smile, before she retrieves my sword and tosses it to me.
It’s ridiculous, dangerous even, the way I find myself watching her now. Not just because of how skilled she is. Not just because she’s beautiful...though I can’t deny that she is. Her white hair shimmers softly in the muted light, and there is something about the way she squints into the falling mist—slightly raising her chin—that makes my thoughts scatter, as if the world around us has disappeared and there is only her.
I can’t help but wonder if she ever allows herself to smile, truly smile, not the guarded expression she wears for the courts.
She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re staring again.”
I blink. “I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“Maybe I was just trying to figure out where that stick went that’s always up your—”
“Careful,” she warns.
I grin despite myself.
She steps forward again, lifting her blade. This time, the strike comes fast, but I’m faster. Our swords lock, pressing between us.
Too close.
Her breath hitches just slightly, but her expression doesn’t change this time.
I can feel it, though. That flicker of something that always shows up in these moments. Tension strung tight between us like a bow ready to snap.
“You know, little shadow, you don’t have to be so damn cold all the time,” I say softly.
“I’m not cold,” she says in a low voice. “I’m careful.”
Our swords slide apart, and we circle again, slower this time.
Two days.
