My palm connected with solid muscle, and his hand caught my wrist before I could pull back. He laughed—a full laugh that I’d never heard from him before. Erde be damned if that didn’t make my heart speed up. His thumb pressed against my racing pulse, and I knew he could feel it.
An answering grin spread across my face and he froze, laughter dying on his lips. His eyes burned into mine and we just looked at each other, until it was too much for me and I looked away.
That broke the spell.
He immediately released my wrist before surging to his feet and extending a hand down to me. Taking it, that familiar jolt went through me, but he didn’t just pull me up—he hauled me to my feet with enough momentum that I crashed into his chest. His arm came around my waist automatically to steady me. For one breath, we stood frozen chest to chest. His arm was a band around my waist, my hand was outstretched against the hard planes of his body.
We broke away at the same time. I ducked my head to hide my flush.
“I have to admit, Princess, you are good.” His voice was completely composed. As if the last few minutes hadn’t happened. “And you’ve been utilizing Kaia’s training. I recognized some of those moves.”
“Great. Maybe I’ll be able to protect myself next time I’m attacked.”
He froze. “What do you mean?”
I looked at him, confused. Surely he had heard. “Cillian escaped.”
Everything about him went deadly still. Even the air paused. When he spoke, his voice was so cold it could have frozen water. “Escaped?”
“Several days ago. I assumed someone would have told you?—”
“I was dealing with the fallout from holes in the Veil, chasing hufen around the kingdom, and they let that bastard escape?”
If he’d had more of his fire channel, he would have started smoking.
“I was only gone a week. How could everything get so fucked in a week?” he muttered.
“It’s been a busy week.”
He gave me a flat look that told me he did not appreciate that remark—or rather he appreciated it but he didn’t want to. His lips pressed into a line before he ran a hand roughly through his sandy waves. “So what now?” he asked me.
“I still want to hit something.” My voice was shakier than I had intended.
“Then pick up your sword.”
I extended a hand. I was shocked, and elated, when it flew into my hand with just a thought.
“Do your worst,” I said with more bravado than I felt.
“As you wish, Princess.”
And with a flash, he was on me, attacking me. I could barely keep up, dancing away on my toes to avoid the fight being over in the first few moments. Both of us were still charged from the conversation we were now ignoring, him from fury over Cillian, me from a week’s worth of worry and anger, and it showed in our fighting.
We went at each other with an intensity that bordered on vicious, all pretense of training forgotten. But gradually, through the clashing of swords and the circling of feet, the lingering anger and worry drained out of me. The familiar rhythm of the sword work, the simple pleasure of fighting someone talented—well, more talented than you—worked to ease the anxiety that had doubled every day he was gone.
He must have felt it, too, because when he paused to let me catch my breath, there was something almost like a smile playing on his lips. “Feeling better?” He wasn’t even winded.
“Getting there.” I attacked again, breathing heavily, but there was less rage behind my movements.
“Stop telegraphing your moves. I can read you like a book.” He parried my blow effortlessly, a clang ringing out through the yard.
“Fuck you.”
“Language,” he tutted. “Also, I’m a bit surprised. I’ve heard much more eloquent insults from you.”
“Did you want to just talk, Champion? Because that would be a first for you. Or did you want to dance?”
His grin was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. “I’ll dance with you anytime, anywhere, Princess. Try to keep up.”
