She went still, but it wasn’t in submission. It was the stillness before something moves. Then she leaned forward, something difficult considering I had her pinned, but she still managed it all the same. She also managed to close the distance until there was nothing between us but a few inches of cold morning air.
Take her mouth. Let her feel our hunger.
Her eyes met mine without flinching.
“Fuck you, Arthur.”
I held her there for a moment as everything within me screamed at me to grab her face and bury my tongue in her mouth. Instead, I released her wrist.
The morning had warmed slightly while we’d been at it, the frost burning off the fence posts, and somewhere across the yard a groom was leading a horse through a gate. The ordinary sounds of Camelot going about its morning business seemed to taunt me as I turned away from her and picked up the cloth I’d left draped over the practice post, pressing it against my jaw. She’d caught me once near the hinge with a feint I hadn’t seen coming. I wouldn’t make that particular mistake twice.
She waited and the look on her face was one of surprise and perhaps confusion. “Aren’t you going to say or do something?”
I looked at her. “About what?”
“About the fact that I just told you what I told you.”
I chuckled as I shook my head. “Your words don’t bother me, you stupid girl... it’s your lack thereof that does.”
Then that door closed behind her eyes once more. “You can keep asking who fucked me, and I will keep not responding.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed, and this whole conversation has grown rather dull.”
“Then you’re giving up?”
“For now, I suppose.”
She almost smiled. “Are you giving up on sparring with me too?”
“No,” I answered as I came at her once more, but she blocked me. “Lyonesse,” I said.
She said nothing.
“You know where that is?”
“Southeast,” she said. “Across the Narrow Sea.”
“You’ve studied geography.”
“I’ve studied many things.”
I turned back to face her. She’d reset her stance so that her feet were slightly apart and her weight was balanced. She was ready.
“Sir Tristan was born in Lyonesse,” I said. “A city called Varos, as I understand it. On the eastern coast.” I came for her, but she sidestepped me. “Did you encounter anyone from Lyonesse during your time in Annwyn?”
Her brows drew together. “No.”
“No traders? No emissaries? No soldiers?”
“Annwyn doesn’t receive many traders.” She said the words with a dryness that almost made me want to laugh. Almost. “It’s not exactly on the merchant road.”
“No.” I watched her face. “How well do you know Tristan?”
“Not well.”
“Were you introduced to him prior to your arriving in Camelot?”
“No.”
