The booming cheers petered off. Murmurs raced across the training yard.
I stumbled in place, then shuffled backward to observe Rhun clearer and struck a blockade. My spine collided with a wall of muscle carved from granite, a masculine shadow spanning the grass behind me.
A familiar scent infused my senses. Aged leather and a gale of wind.
The weight I had detected earlier returned full force. So Rhun hadn’t been the one watching my display in the armory.
To my right, a broadsword speared past me. Like a warning, it grazed against Rhun’s dagger, ushering the smaller weapon aside as if the larger one might either sever the knife or decapitate its owner.
Then a deep voice cut through the silence like a blade cleaving stone. “Dismissed, soldier,” Aire murmured in a low, lethal baritone. “I’ll take it from here.”
6
Aspen
Bloody hell. That voice pierced through me like a knife. The shape of him against my body, a cliff of muscle and heat, threatened to disrupt my balance.
The troops had been crowding us. Now they shuffled back like a fleet of ants. Half out of intimidation, chiefly from new recruits. Half out of amused respect, mainly from the seasoned warriors. Autumn’s legion offered salutes, then disbanded to the opposite side of the fence, far enough to idle out of earshot, yet close enough to watch the scene unfold.
Only Rhun took his sweet time. Sauntering backward at his own pace, he flung a skeptical glance toward the figure stationed at my back, then strayed his gaze to me.
A feral noise grated from the First Knight’s throat. If the command “Fuck off” had a signature sound, that would be it. Though, it was hard to say whether the broadsword aimed at Rhun’s larynx or the undomesticated sound traveling over my shoulder drove the lower-ranking soldier off the field.
Still the protector. Ever the defender.
That had always been the good part of him. The problems arose from his tendency to overdo it.
Involuntary goosebumps ratcheted across my flesh. They traversed everywhere, stoked by unwanted external circumstances. From the edge of his weapon brushing the frayedseams of my cloak to the fatal hiss of his words, as if he spoke around a mouthful of rocks.
Irritation set my teeth on edge. Because I had buried that crush in a six-foot-deep casket, he shouldn’t affect me in this way. I blamed the physical reaction on exertion and the element of surprise. He’d caught me off guard, and in front of an audience.
Contrary to Rhys’s note, Aire wasn’t merely on his way. He’d gotten here earlier than the missive indicated.
A reunion should have been the appropriate time to make amends. However, the context of Aire’s intrusion snuffed out the apology I’d been planning for years, replacing it with umbrage. And combative curiosity.
How well did he fight these days? How well could he stand up against me?
My fingers tightened on the axe. I twisted my head to the side and spoke to my shoulder. “Apparently, you don’t know when to quit.”
“Evidently, you do not know how to pick your battles,” that voice bit out. “Not to the level of your skill.”
“Is that right? Because from my experience, Rhun was making all the right moves.”
The hard planes of his torso went rigid. “Only if you consider a novice up to your standards.” He leaned in, his aggravated timbre crackling like dynamite against the shell of my ear. “An experienced knight will make you sweat more.” The next string of words sizzled off his tongue. “He’ll know how to wear you out.”
My nostrils flared, the heat of competition searing a path up my thighs. “Thanks, but we’ve had this chat. I can take care of myself. Besides, maybe I have a thing for strapping novices. They’re good for practice.”
“Pity,” he observed. “I mistook you for someone I used to know. An independent girl who didn’t require a man’s help in any capacity.”
Fighting words. Oh, but he’d have to do better than that.
I mustered a snide chuckle—then struck. Pivoting in a half-circle, the curve of my axe slammed his broadsword sideways in one clean blast.
Steel clamored, vibrating across the lawn. The attack incited a chorus among the troops, a brushfire of avid whispers traveling through the field.
With the hatchet braced, my gaze collided with a pair of vivid irises. The rings flared like blue oracles, the shade darker than I remembered.
Torchlights threw Aire’s features into glaring relief. That face, hewn from metal. The rugged line of his jaw. The messy fall of his hair, each ashy blond layer sharply cut around his nape, longer than it used to be.
