Chapter 16
16
A ven needed something to do with herself. Immediately.
She stared down at her palms. Enough time had passed for her calluses to crack and begin the healing process. Any more days of inactivity, and she’d be soft. Too soft to protect herself when the time came.
She glanced across the breakfast table toward Cillian, his attention on a manuscript in front of him, only half paying attention to the food he brought to his lips by muscle memory. “I need to exercise,” she said into the silence of the small, sunny parlor. “Train.”
They’d had breakfast together for the last three days, as though Cillian needed to keep an eye on her to ensure she wouldn’t try to escape again.
He took his time looking over at her, finishing the bite of food he’d taken before swallowing. “Train for what?”
“I’m a fighter. It’s what I know how to do, what I’m used to. I can’t be anything other than what I am. All these days of staying still and the empty hours…” She trailed off and slapped a hand down on her knee when it bobbed uncontrollably. “I need activity. I’m going crazy. I need something to do with my body.”
Heat lit his eyes, a fire that might have ignited a candle from fifty paces, and Aven swallowed over the lump in the back of her throat. Roran would have no doubt come back immediately with a sexually charged comment. She waited for Cillian to do the same and gave in to the flicker of disappointment when he stayed quiet.
“I need the comfort of training, please,” she continued with a wince. “Even if it’s just a few hours of lifting weights.”
It pained her to tack on the extra please at the end, as though she had to beg for the ability to work her muscles. Without her normal schedule, her mind had gone crazy, driving her to sleepless nights.
“I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to equip you with weapons just yet,” Cillian replied. “You might sneak into my bedroom at night and slice one across my throat.”
She ignored the jesting tone because she’d had the exact thought. “I don’t need weapons; I only need the space to move. And I don’t plan on spending any time in your bedroom.”
Out of everywhere she’d gone in the palace, the royal chambers hadn’t been part of any tour. She had no idea where to actually find the princes when they rested their heads for the day, let alone the king. No doubt a calculated gesture on their part.
Cillian merely picked at the eggs and bacon still left on his plate. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
His expression told her he wasn’t convinced of her motives. Which was good. He shouldn’t be.
“If you’re so against it, then perhaps you’d like to take the time to train with me yourself. I noticed you weren’t too quick with your weapons.” She crossed her arms over her chest and waited for him to rise to the bait. “Perhaps you’re a little rusty from being the one planning the strategies rather than the one executing them.”
Cillian chuckled. “Taunt me all you want. I’m as adept with one sword as I am with the other.” He glanced over at her again, and when he spoke, his tone was chatty, light. “Fine, Aven. If you’d like the comfort of training, then I’ll provide you with weights and a designated space.” He held up a finger to stop her before she could say anything. “As well as the guards to watch you. You’re not going there alone.”
“You don’t trust me.”
“Not one bit,” he admitted with a grin. “You’ll shred your claws right through me if I give you half a chance, which is one of the things I like about you.” He dropped the manuscript and craned forward on his elbow. “Perhaps this will be fun for both of us.”
His rich blue eyes were bright, and Aven couldn’t look away from them. She rubbed the back of her bare neck when her skin began to tingle. They’d spent enough time together now for her to have a better handle on Cillian. The only problem was that she had even less of a grasp on herself after every moment in his company.
She also hadn’t seen a hint of Roran over the last few days.
Which wasn’t to say she missed him, only that his absence was marked, and she wondered why. Was he busy, or had he taken to avoiding her after their moment in the safe room? Cillian had stepped up to take up the majority of her attention.
He chuckled and drew her attention out of her mind. “Come on, then. I’ll get you set up. Since you’re obviously worried I’m not going to stick to my word.”
“I said nothing of the sort.”
“You don’t have to say it out loud. I read it on your face as clearly as these words.” He tapped the pages in front of him.
Aven’s mouth tightened, but she pushed out of her seat, waiting for Cillian to move to the front door. “What are you reading, anyway?” she asked curiously.
“Don’t become curious about my war efforts now.”
She blinked at him a few times. “You’re reading reports?”
“What did you think? I’m passing the time on romance novels?”
As good as it felt to tease him, having it thrown at her in return made her back rigid. Cillian watched every emotion fluttering across her face, but at least he had agreed to the training. And weapons… it remained to be seen what kind he would provide, but it was a start.
Had she really thought he’d say no?
He’d been quite flexible with her until this point, even after their tiff in the garden. She’d assumed her attempt at escape would open a rift between them, and although things were a little strained, she’d been mostly mistaken.
The space he designated was a small room on the first floor away from, in Cillian’s words, the exercise arena for the rest of the fae warriors. Even immortals needed to work to keep their bodies in peak physical condition, he assured her. He might be willing to accommodate her wishes, but he did not need her thrown in with the rest of his men.
Not a problem for Aven, as long as she had the ability to physically push herself. The three guards manning the open room were a necessary precaution.
It wasn’t as large as the sparring space she’d used at home, but it would have to do. The floors were covered in springy mats, and an assortment of wooden staffs rested on shelves against one of the walls. A second shelf of weights in an assortment of sizes was there for her whenever she needed. The first day, she’d spent a good thirty minutes warming up until sweat slicked her skin and every breath burned the back of her throat.
She’d traded the dress for a loose pair of linen pants and a shirt that tied around the waist, much to Nora’s dismay as the woman helped her change for the afternoon workout session. Nora had been less than pleased to realize what Aven planned to do with her time, although she never said as much.
Aven didn’t expect her lady’s maid to understand. Not the need to move, to work herself until her arms and legs trembled so uncontrollably she was barely able to make it back to her room.
The distraction of working herself to physical exhaustion.
The guards watched Aven move through her paces, one right after another, with their hackles barely constrained on her first day. The second day, when she forced her body into movement despite her protesting muscles, they were less inclined to make noise. They kept their under-the-breath remarks to themselves.
She jogged circles around the room when her arms refused to hold any of the weights.
The third day she felt more like her old self than she had since her arrival. Aven plucked a staff from the wall, its bulk awkward compared to the comforting weight of her sword. She turned the wood over in her palm while moving through the first steps of basic hand-to-hand combat moves that General Hunter had taught her.
She lost her grip when she tried to turn her wrists, the wood clattering against the mats and her fingers shaking.
Pathetic.
Her old tutor would knock her flat if he faced her now.
She’d deserved to be knocked flat.
Aven had let too much time pass before requesting access to this kind of space. She’d never been afraid to open her mouth before and demand what she wanted. Just as she hadn’t been afraid to make her escape when she saw the opportunity. Why had it been so hard for her to approach Cillian about it?
She bent her knees to grab the staff, and her lower back gave a twinge of pain as her muscles spasmed.
Pressing a hand there, she gripped the staff in the other, moving through her paces slowly, focusing on her breathing. To the left to the count of three, hold, strike. Back a step and twist, holding the staff as she would her sword.
“My god.” The voice sounded from behind her, and Aven frowned at the sound, the slight twist in her lower abdomen letting her know exactly who watched her now. As though his energy had announced his presence before she saw him in person. “I knew you were a bumbling oaf with a weapon, but I never thought you’d be this bad.”
She ignored Roran, which was surprisingly hard to do as she continued to move through her paces.
“Have you never had a proper trainer in your life? You’re holding the staff all wrong,” Roran continued.
Aven glanced over her shoulder at last and found the prince grim-faced and leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. The guards, she was shocked to see, were nowhere around.
Had he dismissed them?
“Would you like to come in here and show me? Since you apparently need to work off a little bit of frustration,” she retorted with ease. “There are two small lines between your eyebrows I’ve never seen before. What’s the matter, Roran? You stressed?”
She wasn’t the only one who needed to let off some steam.
Today he wore a tunic cut to leave most of his arms bare. Runes the same as hers flowed down from his shoulders over the muscles of his biceps, their darkness a contrast to the cool silver of his hair.
Her stomach muscles contracted the longer she looked at him.
A flash of something flickered over his face. She’d never seen it before. Their eyes connected across the room, and although it was the ghost of an expression, in her current state of mind, there was no ignoring it.
Her heart twisted.
“If you have enough time to offer invitations, then you aren’t doing it right. As I already said. Your form is abysmal,” he continued.
“You said I was bad with a weapon,” Aven corrected without slowing down. “You never commented on my form.”
Roran jerked his chin toward the wall of weapons. “You’re too loose in your core. Choose something a little lighter to start. You’re used to working with steel, but these are completely different.”
“Here I thought you were only here to mock me. Now you want to help me?”
“Merely pointing out the obvious,” he said in a slow, lazy way. “You’re out of shape. You shouldn’t push too hard unless you want to toss whatever you and Cillian ate for breakfast.”
“You sound jealous.” She finally stopped and set the staff between her legs, inclining on it while she caught her breath.
Roran hadn’t moved a muscle. He was all coiled strength, like a tightly wound spring ready to burst free, and the way he watched her—his eyes traveled down and followed the trail of a bead of sweat winding from her clavicle to between her breasts. The movement had her tongue twisting in knots and her mouth going dry.
“Maybe you just need someone to beat you into shape.”
“I am not out of shape. Only a little behind with these weeks of being pampered like a kitten.”
The comment had him baring his teeth at her in a feral smile. “Afraid your claws are getting dull?”
“If I’m weak, then I’ll be easy to break.”
“You’re already weak, because you’re mortal. And as for breaking you… it will be an enjoyable experience.”
Against all better judgment, she threw the staff at him, the piece winging through the air only to land at his feet rather than hitting home. “If you’re such a boastful brat, then show me rather than running your mouth.”
No one needed a smack across the face more than Roran. The smug prick always managed to dig under her skin. Their time in the safe room felt like another lifetime, the small glimpse of a different person he’d shown her nothing but a dream.
“There is something about you, Aven, like hot breath on the back of my neck. It’s annoying.” He bent to grab the staff and approached her, veering at the last minute to address the wall of weapons. He selected first a piece for her and threw it over his shoulder, forcing her to scramble to retrieve it before it smacked her. Finally, Roran grabbed a staff for himself before he turned, his face a frozen mask. “You want to work? To learn? Then I’ll be the brutal taskmaster to break you today,” he finished.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about the imagery he’d painted before or what it meant. Only knew she refused to crumple at his feet.
“You are welcome to try. If you feel comfortable taunting me, then you should feel comfortable in a spar. Although I’m happier to use my own hands against you. It will feel so much better when I wrap them around your neck,” she told him sweetly.
“I have a feeling you’re used to throwing your opponents off their game with your back talk. You’ll find I’m not easy to manipulate like your little mortal men. But if you want to mouth off, then by all means. I’m up to the challenge.”
They threw both staffs away at the same time as they circled one another.
Being around Roran felt suffocating. Every breath she took was hard won as they circled each other, both of them waiting for the other to make the first move. Her back talk had served her well. Sometimes it was the only weapon she had left, and she’d learned to use every small thing to her advantage.
Weapons, spells, runes, and words. They had their place.
She finally grew tired of waiting for Roran to strike and feinted to the left. He barely acknowledged the move, his stillness and grace something that angered her rather than something she wanted to emulate.
When he failed to move with her, Aven ducked low and swept her leg out, hoping to land a hit against his ankle. Roran leaped into the air to avoid her and brought both fists down with him, slamming them between her shoulder blades.
He knocked the air right out of her lungs and sent her flying onto her stomach, her cheek flat against the mat.
“This is what happens when you let temper ride you.”
“I suppose you have a much better idea about riding me?” she managed to gasp out.
“Look who’s making the inappropriate jokes now.” Roran snickered. “Are you finally ready to admit how badly you want to feel my weight between your thighs, little princess?”
She pushed off of the mat and lunged for him again. Her arms came around his midsection, the top of her head slamming into his hard stomach. Roran continued to laugh as he grabbed at her, swinging her around and breaking her hold easily. He swung her to the side, and she landed feet away, too late to catch herself.
“Looks like I’ve struck a nerve with you. You’re sensitive about your fighting style but even more so about intimacy.”
Roran’s voice sounded through a ringing in her ears. “Stop it.”
His chuckle grew at her low moan, but Aven pushed herself to her feet, however unsteadily.
“Stop what? It’s my observation. You’ve spent most of your time fighting, but your weapons and spells have become a crutch. Rather than working on your strength, you focus too much on what an external source can offer you. Too comfortable around the men you lead as well. None of them have ever taken you to bed, have they?”
“You’re awfully interested in my bedroom affairs.”
“It might be the only interesting thing about you.”
She charged him with a yell, her temper getting the better of her. This time, Roran met her punches, his hands out in front of him to absorb every hit.
Her fist slammed against his palm, and she struck out with her knee, as quickly as a snake. Her knee made contact with his hip, but Roran maintained his balance. She punched him again and again, only succeeding in ripping her insides to shreds in the process.
She hit him until she exhausted herself, refusing to look up at his smug face because she already knew what she would see. His comments hit home a little too closely for comfort.
She had experience, physically at least. But she’d never given her heart to anyone, too afraid to trust anyone else to open up in the way she needed. There were no romantic entanglements in her life to make things messy. No, her entire focus had been on the war.
Her lips tightened.
“Why do you care?” she grunted. “Why come here at all? Just keep your distance from me.”
“Oh, I’ve been keeping my distance. Things get a little boring when you have eternity to think about.” He said it so lightly she wondered if he meant it. “It’s much more fun to watch you react.”
That was what she did, too. She reacted, no matter how she tried to rein herself in and watch herself.
“Look at you, Aven. If you stopped to think instead of blindly fighting, you might be able to actually learn something,” Roran continued.
Time and again he knocked her to the ground. Time and again she rose and came at him again, with everything she had, her hands curling into claws.
“If I had my sword—” she growled out.
“You would what?” Roran arched an imperious brow up toward his silver hairline. “You’d kill me?”
She swallowed hard and let him fill in the answer.
“I know you want me dead, little Princess,” he cooed. Chucking his staff aside and staring at her, giving her an open invitation to hit him a final time. “That’s what makes this so interesting.” He licked his lips. “There is nothing like the threat of violence to add to the foreplay.”
With that, he left her, silent and gawking at him as he strode out of the room. Left her with the blood boiling in her veins and an uncomfortable sensation in her chest and between her legs.