11
Call It an Invitation
In the days after their visit to the village, Kael began to participate in Alina’s training. She found it hard to concentrate, her thoughts always wandering back to those magical hours that filled her with joy and warmth. There was a tiny pinprick of ice in her memories, though.
Saved by the rabble.
What had he meant by that? Why saved? She scolded herself for getting stuck on one sentence out of a whole wonderful day and even more wonderful evening—and yet, it was like a tiny splinter under her skin. Not really hurting, but irritating nonetheless, constantly pulling her awareness away from the task at hand. She hated being so insecure; maybe she should start doing something about it. But for now, she just pushed the thought aside and reveled in the memories of his touch.
That morning, her boots left shallow prints in the silvered crust of frost, and every breath cut clean and sharp down to her lungs. The world was blue and empty, save for herself, Kael, and thehaphazard row of straw dummies looming like idiots in the dawn mist.
Kael was already at the far end, wrapped in a threadbare cloak that looked older than the pair of them put together. He was drawing lines in the dirt with the tip of a wooden sword, his posture so casual that she almost missed the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands gripped the hilt as if it could turn to real steel at any moment. The captain of the rebels was back.
She picked up her own practice blade from the rack, the wood still sticky with yesterday’s sweat and polish. The handle was too big for her palm, the balance off, but that was part of the lesson. As Kael had said a week ago, “If you can master a clumsy thing, you’ll never be surprised by a sharp one.”
He didn’t look up until she was three paces away. “You’re late,” he said, though she could tell from the breathless condensation in the air that he’d only just arrived himself.
“I’m not and you know it,” she countered, circling him with the sword resting across her shoulders. “You’re early.” She looked at him, taking in his broad shoulders and muscled arms. The memory of how those shoulders and arms had felt under her hands made her feel bold and excited. Her mouth opened on its own and she heard herself say, unbidden, “Couldn’t wait to put your hands on me again?”
His head snapped up in surprise, and she almost clapped a hand over her mouth, having astonished herself more than him.
His whole posture changed in an instant. His golden eyes fixed on her, gleaming in the early morning light. A rare smile spread across his face as he cocked his head and Alina couldn’t help the pride that arose at achieving such a thing. It was not a nice smile,though, and not a friendly one either. It was wolfish and it made her feel all sorts of reckless and panicked at the same time.
He tossed his training sword to the ground and started to walk in her direction—no, correction: prowl in her direction, his entire focus on her. She started backing up, a nervous flutter in her stomach. After a few paces her back hit the wall, leaving no choice but to stand where she was and watch him approach. His smile widened. She definitely panicked. After what seemed an eternity, he reached her. Placing his hands to both sides of her head, he loomed above her, his glowing gaze still on her, that smile still on his lips. Alina’s breath hitched. The flutter escalated. Oh dear gods.
He leaned in—
“Hey Kael! What are you up to?” Finn sauntered into the training area.
Kael froze, eyes still boring into Alina’s. A second passed. “Training,” he ground out.
“Oh, ah, sorry! Good morning, Princess, I didn’t see you there for a minute.” Taking in the situation, a shameless grin bloomed on Finn’s face. He stood for a moment, ogling them, then seemed to realize he’d better get going. “Ah, I’m needed elsewhere…have a good time!” he called over while retreating backward to where he had come from.
Kael remained where he was for another heartbeat or two, then pushed himself off the wall.
“Well,” he said, “interesting start.” He moved to pick up his sword and raised it. “We start with the arc cut. Follow.”
Alina deflated and walked over, adopting a fighting stance. Was she relieved? Was she disappointed? Yes? No? Both? She briefly closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. She would deal with this later. For now, training.
She mimicked him—or tried to, at least. The blade kept dragging left, and her wrists burned from the effort of correcting. Kael watched her for a full minute, then set his own sword down and stepped behind her.
“Like this,” he said, gloved hands closing over her arms just above the elbow. His proximity was so sudden she nearly dropped the sword. His breath was warm against her ear, stirring the fine hairs on the nape of her neck. She giggled and squirmed, earning an exaggerated sigh of long suffering and a squeeze of her arms. “Stop twitching. Here, let me show you.”
He adjusted her stance, rolling her shoulders back and angling her hips with a firm but careful grip. Keeping her concentration was almost impossible. “You're fighting it,” he said, voice pitched low. “Let the weight do the work.”
She inhaled, trying not to shiver. “Easy for you to say. Your arms don't feel like they’re being pulled into another kingdom.”
“That's because I don't strangle my sword like it owes me money,” he muttered, shifting his hands lower, one sliding to cover her own on the hilt. “Relax. You're holding too tight. Here—”
He guided her through the motion, slow at first, then with a building speed that left her a little breathless. After five or six repetitions, he let go, stepping just far enough away that a chill rushed in to fill the space between them.
Alina tried again, and this time the sword moved like it wanted to please her, cutting a smooth, deliberate path through the air. The blade smacked into the dummy’s burlap midsection with a sound like a door being shut.
Kael’s lips twitched. “Not bad,” he said, and she caught the spark of pride, real and unguarded in his eyes. “Let’s see if you can do it with me fighting back.”
He picked up his own sword and saluted, the gesture more playful than formal. They circled, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Alina lunged, but Kael parried with a lazy flick, letting her momentum carry her past. He countered, the blade tapping her ribs, then her shoulder, then her wrist.
“Again,” he said.
