Page 202 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

So I let her in.

Her eyes lifted to mine and stayed there for one heartbeat. Then another.

She had a face made for the cold climate of Gelida. Eyes of winter seas, a scowl of sharpened steel, and two faint lines of unforgiving judgment between her eyebrows. Beautiful.

Her gaze deepened, the color of her eyes shifting to stormy ice as she pulled her magic back suddenly.

I made a hobby of noticing what people hoped everyone would miss. The flicker of confusion on her face hadn’t been annoyance. It was the unadorned shock of discovering something she hadn’t expected.

As quick as it came, it was replaced by the practiced, regal expression that I knew all too well from wearing it myself.

Most people would’ve taken every opportunity to study someone they had invited into their home—especially one whose arrival had apparently involved a misunderstanding, several guards, and at least one broken nose. But Anwen had given a clipped command, turned on her heel, and left before I could decide whether I was amused or offended.

I was, it seemed, an unfortunate necessity. Possibly a nuisance.

That was okay. Patience was something I possessed in abundance. Smile often enough, laugh easily enough, dance with enough neglected daughters of powerful men, and people began to confuse joy with stupidity. Patience with idleness.

A lot had happened since then. Now, the glare she leveled at me left no doubt about her unchanged feelings.

The training yard was cold and gray, ringed with her men. Perfect. Witnesses meant I could give her a credible fight. They also meant she couldn’t dismiss me again without engaging. It might be a technical engagement at best, but in my experience, technical was always the beginning of something.

And damn me, I wanted something.

Anwen came at me again, tight fighting leathers and swinging braid more than enough to obliterate my focus. I adjusted my weight, letting her find the angle she was looking for. Ice slicked one corner of the yard where the morning shadows were thickest. I nudged just enough fire through the packed earth beneath my boot to keep my footing. But not enough for anyone to see.

She was fast—faster than she should’ve been, faster than her size suggested—with footwork so clean it made my own look leisurely by comparison. Her strikes were powerful too, and I suspected they’d been honed over years to counter the assumption that she was weak.

I had reach, strength, and enough speed to make the outcome tip in my favor. I was not, however, currently using those assets.

Chivalry had nothing to do with it.

She swept low. I stepped back while she pressed the advantage, driving me toward the yard’s edge. The subtle tension in her men’s eyes told me they hoped for their princess’s victory but wouldn’t dare show it too openly.

I let her push me another step. Considered my angles. Then turned the momentum and found myself closer to her than either of us had intended. Her blade arm was extended to my neck, my hand locked around the narrow strength of her wrist.

Up close, she smelled of wildflowers and the sea. My heart did an undignified little leap, like a startled bird who’d just landed on thin ice, only to realize that it was already sinking.

Focus, Nisien.

My brother had laughed when he told me about Anwen. He’d said she was my type. Now, with her blade at my throat and fury bright in her eyes, I was forced to admit he had a point. She was competent, direct, and more than a little mean.

The combination was catastrophic for my concentration.

With my hand still on her wrist, her gaze snapped to mine. Her eyes contained zero warmth and approximately one thousand thoughts—most of which weren’t complimentary. To anyone watching, we were two combatants contemplating a reset.

“You’re patronizing me,” Anwen hissed. Her voice was a soft vibration directed solely at me.

Ordinary pride wouldn’t have elicited such an accusation from her. There was frustration beneath it. Confusion too, if I wasn’t flattering myself.

I wasn’t patronizing her at all. But this tiny, fierce woman wasn’t ready to hear that I wanted to pull her close. That I wanted to kiss every nasty thing she wanted to call me off those plump lips and find out exactly how long it took that scowl to reappear after she was done with me.

I cleared my throat and tuned my voice to the one that said I have nothing to hide while my mind sorted through four different next moves.

I whispered, “If I wanted to patronize you, I would’ve offered you an easy victory. But as you can see,” I let my eyes drift to the watching men, “I’m offering you a useful opponent instead.”

I smirked. Which, admittedly, didn’t help.

Her answering expression suggested she was itching to drive the pommel of her sword into my face.