“Is that right?” My words were deadly calm. I’d never once in my life aimed to be threatening. Well, maybeonce. Back when I fought a kid for Noam’s sake. Maybe also when I slapped Tasia in the carriage. Maybe a few other times. Regardless, there was something hot and angry that always seemed to linger beneath the surface when it came to Rorik. I didn’t need him, and yet I wanted him to think I could do this. I wanted to be a threat, whatever that meant, to him. To the blight infecting his grandmother and my brothers. I wanted to be strong enough to take it all on.
“Not in the slightest.” His grin was wicked. Again, I longed to slap it right off his face.
So I tried.
I moved fast, pulling my hand back and swinging it wildly through the air with the hope of meeting his cheek in a resounding crack. But as quick as I thought I was, Rorik was faster. Worse yet, he was smooth about it. He barely leaned back, just enough to avoid the arc of my swing, and the momentum of my wayward hand knocked my entire body off-balance. I went toppling into his broad chest with an undignified grunt.
And then he started laughing.
The deep rumble barreling from his chest shook my entire body. With my erratic breathing and my nose buried in his shirt, I expected to smell something. But nothing filled my nostrils, not even a hint of salt or musk to indicate he’d been baking beneath the sun. Fucking Evers having to be perfect. I pushed away from him hard—so hard—and yet he still didn’t falter. Instead, he keeled over, hands on his knees, and laughed at the very earth.
“All right, enough of that,” I seethed. Ywena was shocking me endlessly, but her consistent jolts did nothing to distract me from the burn ravaging my cheeks.
When Rorik finally righted himself, he swiped at one of his eyes as if chasing away a stray tear. “Next session, we’re moving on to strength training. That was pathetic.”
“Asshole,” I hissed.
He lifted a shoulder, a smirk still toying with his lips. “Happy to be one.”
“You won’t be laughing when I actually do punch that grin so hard you lose teeth.”
“I would love to see you try,” he murmured, voice gravelly and dark. For a long moment, neither of us spoke. Neither of us moved. He simply stared at me with an intensity that made myskin flame and my pulse race. Electrical currents rolled down my limbs in waves, courtesy of Ywena, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t seem to escape Rorik’s gaze. I was being scrutinized from head to toe, and yet . . .
“Run, Edira. Three laps.” He laughed as he folded his arms over his chest. “Don’t make me chase you—unless, of course, you prefer that kind of play.”
I spit at his feet before taking off, trying in vain to ignore the heated blush that had crawled over my cheeks.
In the days leading up to the fete, I got only one chance to swing at him again. We’d warm up with running—rather, I’d warm up with running, and Rorik would watch me from his place beneath the tree—and then he’d push me to every limit imaginable for hours on end until my body gave out, and I’d return to the manor to research. My muscles screamed and buckled with the new exercises as he made me carry stones while doing simple things like balancing. He also made me punch the air endlessly until my shoulders burned and my arms shook. Anything to better my chances of success, he’d said through a laugh. And of course, I was expected to breathe evenly throughout it all, which I failed to do every time.
“Who can manage this bullshit?” I grumbled once after falling to the ground in a heap, my hair an unkempt mess and my blouse plastered to my skin with sweat.
“I can,” he mused with a raised brow. “Now do it all again.”
I’d cursed loud enough for a set of nearby attendants to balk as they set up some outdoor furnishings for the upcoming fete.
Throughout it all, Rorik insisted we continue our training. It was somewhat of a relief, spending my days outdoors away from the chaos within the manor, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if Rorik felt the same. With each passing day, the perma-glarecarved into his expression grew sharper and deeper, and he rarely spoke save to bark out orders or correct my form. Beyond those curt directions during our sessions, he opted for silence at meals and then disappeared altogether. He was a brooding harbinger of malcontent, and I had no idea why.
That is, until the day before the fete when I finally managed to make it through a round of weighted lunges without my breath faltering.
Rorik studied me intently as I came to a halt before him, sweat pouring down my brow and my skin flushed with heat, but the rise and fall of my chest was steady. Even. My lungs screamed with every raw, burning breath, but I didn’t cave.
And Rorik actually smiled. It was still devilish in the most dangerous way, and yet there was also a sliver of pride to his expression. “Good. You’ve earned your chance.”
“My chance?” I asked, allowing my shoulders to roll forward.
“Hit me,” he purred, voice tantalizingly dark.
“Are you a masochist or a sadist? It’s impossible to tell.” I rolled my neck from side to side. Yet I couldn’t deny the trill of excitement that spurred through my limbs. Maybe I was a little bit of the latter.
His eyes flashed with heat. “Both.”
“What a horrid combination.” I’d gone still as I stared at his flawless face. I pictured it with ease. The way I’d cock back my arm, the tightness of my muscles, the sting of skin on skin as my hand connected with his cheek. I moved instantly, rearing back with the hopes of becoming the threat he wanted me to be... and met nothing but air.
At least this time, I didn’t fall into him. Glaring at his haughty smirk, I regained my balance quickly and fisted my hand by my side. Just like before, he’d easily leaned out of my trajectory. Now, though, he dipped his chin low so that he was no more than a breath away.
“Everything you do is painfully obvious.”
“And everything you do is painfully annoying.”
