Page 44 of The Fox Heir

“You don’t need the light,” Tristan says through the blackness. “Fight like the scrappy fox I know you are.”

A thrill rushes through me as I kneel to feel for my fallen practice sword again. I tighten my grip on its hilt and grin.

I strike in Tristan’s direction, but the Wolf is faster. Even in the darkness, his blade deflects mine with ease. My frustration mounts as I press forward into the shadows, striking blindly again and again.

I feint right, then pivot, but I’m always too slow. Tristan appears from the shadows, his face suddenly a breath away from mine. Before I can react, he hooks a foot behind my ankle and wrenches me off balance. My back slams into the icy ground, the air rushing from my lungs.

Then he’s there, kneeling above me, his sword at my throat. Thick shadows swirl around the blade, waiting for his command.

I freeze. My pulse thrums against the blade’s cool edge. The shadows swirl lazily between us like tendrils of smoke. I can’t take my eyes off the rise and fall of the Wolf’s chest, or the pulse thrumming in his neck. It sends a shiver through me.

He watches me for a beat too long. Then, slowly, he lowers the blade, dragging the tip down until it rests lightly against my collarbone.

“Dead.”

I don’t know what possesses me, but I lift my chin in challenge, just enough to test the edge of the blade. The steel grazes my skin. His breath catches.

He stands, sheathing his sword. Regret floods through me, leaving a hollow ache at the loss of his body over mine. He offers me a hand. This time I take it. His palm is rough and warm against mine as he pulls me to my feet.

I don’t let go right away. Neither does he.

The tension thickens between us. Even the shadows seem to still, like they’re waiting to see which of us will break first. Tristan’s breath is heavy, and his eyes search mine in a way that can only be described as hungry. And, old gods forgive me, but I want him to devour me.

Tristan drops my hand and steps away. His movement is so sudden, it’s disorienting.

The shadows around us recoil, bending in on themselves in swirling clouds before disappearing entirely. The sunlight is momentarily blinding. We stand frozen in the middle of the training yard, but something is shifting between us. I know deep in my bones that he feels it too.

A door creaks open, and we both turn. Silently, a dark figure walks back into the depths of the castle. The voluminous black gown is unmistakable.

How long had the queen been watching us? Heat flushes my cheeks.

Another flicker of movement catches my eye. Nalina lingers in the shadows, her mouth set in a hard line. She turns without a word and follows her queen into the crumbling castle.

Chapter 15

Elisandra, the kitchen maid, sets a cup of ale in front of me at midday, when Tristan finally lets me take a break from training.

The great hall is dim, despite the beeswax candles melting on the long wooden tables. A draft moves through the air, making the flames gutter and bend. A handful of villagers sit scattered throughout the room as they eat. They give me a wide berth. Whenever I’m around, they whisper among themselves and shoot me nervous glances. I’ve been here for nearly three weeks now, but most people still eye me with distrust.

No matter. The watery ale may as well be the finest vintage of wine after the morning I just had.

I sigh and give Elisandra a smile of thanks. “Bless you.” My arms are so tired, I can barely lift the mug to my lips.

Elisandra curtseys, her cheeks growing pink. “You’re most welcome.”

At a nearby table, a grizzled man in a sheepskin vest snorts, glaring at me. To my surprise, Elisandra glares right back, looking all the more menacing for her one clouded eye. The man grumbles, picks up his mug, then limps to a different table. He sets his mug down with a clatter next to a group of old women. They push their heads together and whisper, no doubt about me.

“Ignore them,” Elisandra says. “Like most things in the north, they’re slow to thaw.”

Her unexpected kindness takes me by surprise. I glance at her sidelong, lowering my voice so no one can hear. “You don’t need to defend me if it’ll cause you trouble.”

She shakes her head and tucks a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, Fox Heir.”

Hearing my old title makes my skin prickle. “Is that what everyone’s calling me?”

She tilts her head questioningly. “Isn’t that who you are?”

I take another gulp and swallow slowly. “I suppose so. Kind of.” I shake my head. “Not anymore.”