Chapter 19 Rhea #2
Anger mixed with a bit of hurt lick down Rhea’s spine, but she doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
Instead, she cocks her head and sweetly coos, “You shouldn’t judge someone based on their sexual preferences, Finlay.
For example, somewhere out there in the Three Kingdoms someone has wanted to bed you, and though I find the idea of that entirely indigestible and abhorrent, I would never judge them for their shitty taste in men. So please, don’t judge mine, alright?”
“Sleep with whoever you want,” he counters with a shrug.
“I only judge when a well-raised woman lowers herself to sleep with commoners and lowborns.” He threads fingers through the side of his white hair that isn’t partially twisted back with small braids.
“Seeing as the entirety of my aggregate is composed only of nobility with reputable bloodlines, you have your choice of the lot without any judgment from me.”
Rhea picks at her nails. “I must not have put enough, I don’t actually give a fuck, behind my words. I’m always going to do as I want, whether you judge me for it or not.”
“So long as it is in alignment with my rules for Skyborne.”
Her eyes narrow. “I’ll do it even if you forbid it in blood or threaten to chop my toes off.”
Finlay stares at her, his jaw clenching. “It doesn’t work like that here, Rhea. I am captain over this aggregate, and as your superior, you are bound to do as I say.”
“You can take your ‘bound’ bullshit and fuck right off.” Rhea makes to stride past him, bumping her shoulder into his chest as she goes, but before she can make it two steps, Finlay reaches for her, wrapping his fingers around her wrist.
“Where are you going?”
Rhea whips her head around to glare at him, not hiding the curl in her lip. “None of your damn business.” She flicks her eyes down toward the hand still locked around her wrist. “And I suggest you remove that before I slice your fingers off to remove it myself.”
With a growl of frustration, he lets go.
Rhea smiles at him as smugly as she possibly can.
“Actually,” he counters, his voice brimming with ire and impatience, “it is my business, seeing as you and I are supposed to be training together in Skyborne’s arena in fifteen minutes.”
Rhea curses under her breath. “Of all the assholes in this place, why the hell did they assign me to you?”
He meets her stare with equal irritation.
“Trust me,” he grinds out. “I have already asked myself that question many times. But seeing as I am bound by my duties to this academy, I have no choice. Now go to your chambers, put on some proper clothes, and meet me in our arena. If you are late, I’ll make you do hanging sit ups from the highest balcony railing possible. ”
Rhea almost balks. Almost. But one doesn’t live with Tynan Dalmar for ten years and not learn how to mask their reactions. “Why is that the punishment you came up with?”
Finlay snorts like a smug bastard, folding his arms over his chest once more. “Please. Before I left for the academy, you don’t think I ever caught on to your fear of heights?”
Faster than a blink, Rhea reaches for the dagger tucked in her hair and lunges toward Finlay, pressing the tip of it against his throat. “Say one more word, and I’ll bleed you dry right here and now.”
With a cold smirk pressed to his lips and his eyes locked to Rhea’s, Finlay steps closer, pressing the tip of the small blade deeper into his neck. “No, you won’t.”
She moves forward, digging the cool metal deeper, pricking his skin and drawing a small pool of blood. “Wanna make a wager on it?”
Finlay’s arrogant smirk stays in place as his gaze drifts over her shoulder. A quick glance back tells her a door has opened. Her evening’s entertainment strides out, shirtless.
“Murder a Great House Heir in cold blood while a witness watches,” Finlay says, voice low, “and you’ll be signing your own death sentence.” He glances away, making no effort to remove the dagger pressed to his throat. “Not that I care—you’ll deserve whatever happens to you.”
Rhea’s blood ignites as if suddenly kissed by the sun itself. She drops the blade and takes another challenging step. “Just like my father deserved it, right? Like my sister deserved to be strung up before our eyes? Like Draven’s mother deserved to be branded?”
Finlay jerks his gaze back to her. For a fleeting moment, Rhea swears she glimpses a ripple in his eyes. A mixture of pain and regret and something else. Yet just as quickly as she thinks she sees it, it disappears, leaving nothing but the chill residing in his icy gaze.
Before he can say anything, Link approaches them, dipping his chin at Finlay first, whose simmering stare remains fixed on her. “Captain Fjolla.” He turns to face Rhea next, holding out her black laced brassiere for her to take. “You left this behind. I figured you’d want it back.”
With a sharp breath of frustration, Rhea rips her eyes from Finlay and forces a diplomatic smile to her lips, snatching the item. “Thank you.”
He glides a hand through his inky locks. “Not a problem. If your bed gets cold again, you know where to find me.” Without another word, Link spins around and strolls back to his room, stuffing a hand into the pocket of his loose, linen pants.
A simple creature, that one.
She feels a brush of skin against her, and she scowls when she realizes it’s Finlay pushing past her, his jaw firmly set and lips thin. He continues down the corridor in the direction he was going before she stopped him.
Wait.
He stopped her.
Fucking bastard.
She stares at his broad back as if her heated gaze could burn a hole through it.
As if sensing that, Finlay calls out over his shoulder in a rather unenthused tone, “The balconies are waiting for you if you’re late.”
Her scowl deepens.
Asshole.
Rhea waltzes into the large training room exclusive to the Skyborne members in precisely fifteen minutes.
It is filled with lavish swords, spears, daggers, bows—any weapon one could conjure in their mind—and Finlay’s aggregate has spared no expense in acquiring the best of them.
Skyborne banners hang proudly on every wall, the crisp blues and silvers screaming of self-imposed importance.
She finds His Pompous Royalty located at the far side of the sprawling room, shirtless and running through his own exercises, his wielder’s mark on full display to her.
Blue-ish-white, sharply-pointed snowflakes undulate across the entirety of his back like a wave, starting thin near his shoulders and growing wider as the mark twirls across the planes of his muscles, until all the snowflakes form a thin, uniform line once more near his hips, either ending there or disappearing behind the seams of his pants.
A bejeweled hilt rests comfortably in his palm, the blade of it black and adorned with white markings mirroring the first falls of snow.
He swings it forcefully, his toned body flexing as he moves through different positions.
All Rhea can imagine is the tip of it plunging through his chest while she straddles him, pushing the pommel deeper and deeper into his icy heart.
As if sensing her watching him, he stops, glancing over his shoulder at her before dropping his sword to his side. He pushes strands of white hair from his face and swipes the sweat from his brow. Then he strides straight for Rhea, sword still in hand. “What do you want to work on?”
Rhea snorts a laugh, bracing a hand on her exposed hip. “Please. Like there’s anything you can help me with. I’m already better than you in combat, Frosty.”
“No,” he says. “You’re not. I’ve already shown you my magic can overwhelm yours.” He cuts her a sharp glare. “Oh, and don’t call me Frosty.”
“Or what? You’ll try to kill me again?” She pouts her bottom lip and shrugs, lifting her hands as she does. “Been there, done that. Still unbothered.” A pause. “Frosty.”
“I didn’t try to kill you,” Finlay mutters, rubbing at his forehead.
“No?” Rhea taps a finger to her lips, mocking confusion. “What would you call plunging a thousand dagger-sharp ice shards at me, then? A marriage proposal?”
“Only in your dreams would I ever propose to you.” His bitter voice hisses between his clenched teeth.
She frowns. “Really? That’s the point you chose to focus on?”
“Fuck off, Rhea. Let’s just clock our training hours so we can go our separate ways, alright? I do not want to be here anymore than you do. Believe me, the last thing I’d choose in this world is spending any time with you.”
The words cause a dull ache to appear in her chest. Not because she cares whether or not he wants to spend time with her, but because, despite how much she wishes it didn’t, hearing them spoken aloud sends her spiraling through insecurities and past rejections, putting her even more on guard than she already was.
“You’re a real special kind of asshole, do you know that?”
“If there was anyone who loves reminding me of it, it certainly is you, Rhea Brooksley.”
Hearing her father’s surname—her surname—falling from his lips sends tendrils of fire lancing up her spine, licking and caressing her every nerve ending until they all burn with rage. “Don’t you dare say that name.”
Finlay blinks, seeming genuinely confused. “What—your name?”
“My father’s name,” she hisses. “The name he passed on to me. Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.”
Realization dawns on him, and his expression slackens for a moment as unintelligible emotion flickers in his eyes.
Yet the shift in his demeanor lasts only a few seconds before he rebuilds his ice wall and his lips curl into a sneer.
“I am so tired of being the scapegoat for your anger. I am not the one who made his decisions for him; he made his own choices and was forced to face the consequences of them. As did everyone else involved in what happened back then. There are sides to every story, Rhea. So stop pretending like you are even remotely aware of mine.”