Page 47 of Stolen Magic of the Deep

I open my mouth to respond, but he glides toward me, his tail guiding him forward at a slow, methodical pace. The water stirs gently around us with each pass of his tail as he closes the space between us without breaking eye contact.

“You're also not anchored properly,” he murmurs, and then he’s there, close enough that I feel the shift in current before he touches me.

His hand lifts, and two of his fingers press lightly against the space just below my ribs, right at my core. It’s not a bold touch. Not possessive. But it anchors me in place. Warm. Foreign in a way that makes my breath catch.

“This is where your control lives,” he says. “Right here. If this isn't steady, the rest of you will collapse.”

I blink. “Your general said to coil tighter.”

I should move, but I don’t. Surprisingly, I don’t want him to move, either. He lingers only a second longer, pulling back as if nothing happened. As if he didn’t just reach inside my ribcage, igniting something into a low simmer.

“She doesn't have your body type,” he counters, tilting his head. “You are more compact. Your strength is different. Watch.”

He moves to the center of the ring and stills, drawing his weight inward. He slashes twice before transitioning into a horizontal strike and a precise stabbing motion, every movement flowing seamlessly into the next. His tail coils beneath him in perfect tension, steady and powerful, and his body doesn’t waver once.

“Now, you try,” he pushes.

I take a breath, starting again, doing my best to mimic him—his stance, his control, the sharp, fluid angles of his movements. Left and down. Right and down. Horizontal across the face, but halfway through, my focus slips.

My memory remembers the way his fingers felt against my skin mere moments ago. Not rough or commanding. Gentle. He knew exactly what he was doing, and exactly what it would do to me. My tail wavers beneath me, balance faltering, as my cheeks feel warm and my stomach flips over itself. Why am I getting butterflies?

“You alright there, Snapdragon?” Orion asks quietly. He dips down until his eyes are level with mine, leaving a small space between us.

I blink. He’s too close.

“I—I’m fine,” I say, stumbling over my words like I’ve never spoken English in my life. All my college education, every academic thought I’ve ever had, is gone. Scattered.

I shouldn’t be getting nervous around him. I shouldn’t be letting him distract me. Especially not now. I made a commitment to train and adapt. And I plan to do just that.

A slow smile builds on his face as he studies me. “You sure? Because something seems to be distracting you.”

“The only thing distracting me is your sizable body being in my bubble while I’m trying to mimic the exercises you just performed.”

His grin spreads further across his face now, his eyes reflecting a glint of mischief. “Oh. My apologies.” He drifts backward through the water, tail moving in smooth, lazy motions which gives me enough room to move, but not enough to breathe.

“How's everything feeling?” he asks.

“I’m sore. Everywhere,” I sigh, not stopping the movements. I continue slowly, matching his form as best I can, until the rhythm feels carved into my muscles.

“That's normal,” he says. “You'll adjust quickly. Just like you have done with everything else.”

He says it with certainty, like he doesn’t expect anything less from me. Like he already believes I will. And that somehow makes me want to try harder.

twenty

Orion

Iguide Sarah through several basic weapon drills, adjusting her lower stance to better align with her upper body movements, and she picks it up quicker than she should, given how new this is.

And yet—she handles it like she has done it before.

She was in shape the moment I met her. With the many hours she has occupied the ocean, of course, she would be strong. Strength is survival. I know that, but as we move through the corridor, I can see the exhaustion sinking into her bones. Her tail drags beneath her like dead weight, doing the bare minimum to keep her moving. Her head stays down, eyes fixed on the polished floor below us. Hours of repetition take their toll on even the best of my guards.

By the time we reach the end of the corridor, I know training has taken everything she had left to give. Her pace slows, her attention drifting toward the direction of our separate chambers, up the spiral way. I almost let her go. Rest is what she needs. Sleep is what she wants.

"Come with me," I say, instead. "There is something I want to show you first."

She hesitates only briefly, fatigue warring with curiosity. I shouldn't be surprised when curiosity wins. It always seems to find a way through, even though she has every reason to surrender to exhaustion. She follows without question.