I had braided my hair to one side today, the plait hanging over my left shoulder. My usual training attire consisted of black leather pants, heavy matching boots, and a lightweight white tunic. It was similar to what the men wore—well, the more dressed ones, at least. Most of them went shirtless with thin black shorts, but I didn’t think that would be appropriate attire for a princess. I laughed internally at the thought of what my parents would do if they saw me in shorts.
Vincent, the now-retired captain, waved to me from the center of a sparring ring. The early sunlight glinted off his gray hair, casting a halo around his wrinkled face. His sharp black eyes crinkled at the corners as he greeted me with a warm smile, gesturing for me to join him.
I had come down an hour earlier than usual, and just as I had hoped, the captain was nowhere in sight. I smiled smugly to myself as I approached Vincent.
“You are here early.” He sighed, shaking his head slightly in disapproval, though he looked amused.
“Do you have time to train me this morning? It seems my instructor is late,” I asked, giving him a devilish grin.
He chuckled, shaking his head again at me. “Always such trouble.”
“So that’s a yes?” I asked, hopefully.
He looked like he wanted to say no for a moment, but then sighed heavily and grinned. “Alright, but we are going back to the basics,” Vincent said, pointing a finger at me.
I grinned up at him and squared my shoulders, adopting a defensive stance in front of him.
“We'll start with footwork,” he added, and I nodded. He started to circle me, criticizing my form as he went and making adjustments where needed. “Remember, your stance is crucial,” Vincent remarked. “Knees slightly bent, and weight balanced.”
I adjusted my stance again, putting my left foot forward, while angling my right foot, ready to pivot or step. Both knees were slightly bent, my weight shifting more toward my back leg, but my body was light, ready for movement.
“That’s it,” Vincent approved with a nod. “Now, let’s work on your blocking.” He launched into a series of strikes, each one precise and swift. I raised my arms to block his attacks and did so easily. “Keep your guard up,” Vincent directed. “Try to anticipate my next move.”
My muscles tensed with each blow as we fell into our usual rhythm. Sweat poured down my face under the rising sun, casting a sweltering heat over us as we sparred. We continued like this for the better part of the hour and only stopped when a gruff voice interrupted us.
“Morning, Princess.” The captain's deep voice cut through the air from the edge of the mat, and Vincent and I both turned as he strode toward us with a predatory grace.
“Captain,” Vincent said with barely concealed disdain. He shot me an apologetic look before stepping away and heading toward two other men engaged in a heated sparring match on a different mat.
The captain’s gaze remained fixed on me as he came to a halt in front of where I stood—an unspoken challenge between us.
“You’re training earlier than usual,” he remarked, his tone neutral but edged with irritation.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand, letting my gaze drift over Jeremy with a calculated, lingering evaluation. He wore loose black shorts and a white shirt that clung to him, outlining his defined abs and the firm line of his shoulders. The fabric was thin and nearly translucent, not leaving much to the imagination. I forced my gaze back up to meet his, steeling my expression against my body's involuntary reaction to the sight of him.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant despite the rapid pounding of my heart. “Vincent was kind enough to help me get an early start.” I shrugged, my smile playful and defiant. “We were just finishing up. Looks like your help isn’t needed today. Captain.”
As I turned to leave, Jeremy’s hand shot out, seizing my arm with a firm grip. He twisted it behind my back, the pressure enough to make me wince. Before I could fully process what was happening, he pulled me back against him, his body pressing firmly against mine.
His other arm encircled me, trapping me against his chest with bruising force. I could feel the solid muscles of his body and the heat radiating from him. He leaned in close, his breath warm as it danced across the sensitive skin of my neck.
“Where do you think you’re going, Princess?” His voice rumbled like a low growl, thick with challenge and dark amusement. The grip around my arm tightened, and his hold remained unyielding despite my attempts to wriggle free.
“Get off me,” I snapped, frustration and anger lacing my tone. The situation reminded me all too well of another body I was pinned to similarly just last night.
He pushed me forward, releasing his hold, and I spun around to face him. Without missing a beat, he pulled his shirt off in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. The string of curses I had prepared faltered, my words dying on my lips as my eyes widened in surprise as they took in his bare chest.
Jeremy’s lips curved into a smirk at the sight of my stunned expression, which only irritated me further.
Why did men keep taking their shirts off in front of me?! “What are you doing?” I spat. My eyes had a mind of their own and trailed over his taut muscles.
“Training you,” Jeremy replied simply, and before I could react, he lunged, tackling me to the mat. His hold on me seemed impenetrable, his hands strategically positioned to restrict my movements. The weight of his body pressed down on me, creating a relentless pressure against my limbs. Every time I shifted, he countered, gaining more control.
“Get off me,” I demanded, my voice strained with effort.
“Make me,” he breathed, his breath warm against my ear, sending another shiver racing down my spine. His closeness was almost unbearable, and the energy between us was palpable.
Aiming for his face, I jerked my head back, but he effortlessly evaded the move, chuckling softly. I thrashed beneath him, each attempt to break free thwarted by his firm, practiced restraint.
