Chapter Thirty-Five
I collapse onto the grass, my chest heaving, my body drenched in more sweat than I’ve ever produced in my life.
I spent the rest of the morning training with Gray—revisiting form, mechanics, and combat techniques, expanding on what he had already taught me in Foreigner’s Valley.
After that, I was granted a single hour of rest before my next session with Marcella, which focused on how to use those techniques to my advantage as a woman, regardless of an opponent’s size.
The sun had started its slow descent by the time we finished, the sky shifting into a deep portrait of reds and golds.
And I think Marcella may have enjoyed herself a little too much using Griff as our play toy , as she called him, when putting the techniques into application.
Actually…
I squint an eye open and catch Griff sitting on the slope of a hill, Marcella a few feet below him, still grumbling about how unnecessary it was for her to flip him so hard over her shoulder.
I catch the end of her reply. “—you signed up for it.”
“To watch,” Griff corrects her. “I signed up to watch . Not to be tossed around like unwanted food on a plate.”
I laugh quietly, shaking my head, right as a shadow shades my vision. Gray plops down next to me, tucking his knees into his chest. “How are you doing?”
I drape an arm over my eyes and groan. “I didn’t know it was possible for muscles to hurt this much.”
He chuckles softly. “That’ll pass.” A pause. “Eventually.”
I groan even louder.
I peek up at Gray from beneath my arm. “You know,” I start, “we still haven’t discussed your essence flower.”
Gray plucks a lone white wildflower and twirls the stem between his fingers. “What is there to discuss?”
“Oh, you know…nothing major or anything. Just that you now have a claim to the throne of your bloodline’s originating kingdom.”
Gray clicks his tongue and dismisses the thought with a wave of his hand. “I have no desire for that.”
I huff a laugh. “Any person a King’s Reflection blooms for has a legitimate claim to the throne. Has the right to challenge the presiding king by Tani Law—something that’s only ever happened twice since the signing of the Accord of Three Kings. You can invoke Raun.”
“I know what it implies.”
His terse tone has me arching a brow.
Gray glances down at me. “Why don’t we instead discuss how you have an essence flower nobody knows anything about—a first in Bathara’s history, or at least in its modern history.”
When I look back up at him, I find his stare to be both pointed and triumphant. He knows he’s made his point.
And I can concede that he has.
“Fair enough.”
Another set of footsteps approaches, and this time, the shadow lingers over me.
I don’t even need to move my arm to know who it is.
“Whatever it is,” I say, my elbow still draped over my eyes, “I politely decline.”
As expected, when I finally pry my sticky arm from my face, Draven stands at my feet.
He mocks a frown. “Now, where’s the fun in that?”
I sit up. “I believe you and I have two very different definitions of fun. ”
He hums, amused. “Be that as it may, you need to stand up for your final training session of the day.”
“Which would be?”
His smirk sharpens. “Sparring with me, of course.”
From the corner of my eye, I catch Gray’s brows rising to his hairline. An action I mirror. “You’re joking, right?”
Draven curves a dark brow. “Do I strike you as someone who jokes a lot?”
“No,” I grumble. “No, you do not.”
He extends his hand. “It’s important to apply what you’ve learned in a realistic simulation. It helps cement the movements into your muscles and increases your knowledge on how to effectively use them.”
I reluctantly place my hand in his, exhaling a long, loud sigh. Draven pulls me up and escorts me to the fighting circle, where he struts over to the far side, turning to face me with a sly smirk on his face.
And I can’t help but notice that, unlike when he sparred with Kiran, he leaves his shirt on.
As if summoned by my thoughts, Kiran appears, stretching his arms far above his head. His lips part as a yawn breaks through. “What’d I miss?” he asks, dropping his arms back down to his sides.
I brace a hand on my hip. “And where have you been all day?”
The corner of his lip tugs up, mischief holding the string. “I found a delightful pool of water to freshen up in, and it was such a beautiful day, I decided to take a nice nap. I feel quite rested, in case you were concerned.”
While every muscle in my body screams with exhaustion.
“I’m so happy for you,” I mutter with no small amount of sarcasm.
Kiran scans the scene, his eyes lingering on Draven and me in the sparring circle, and then rove to Gray, Marcella, and Griff, who have already gathered around to watch. He cocks his head. “Is this what I think it is?”
“Yup,” Griff confirms, jubilant.
Kiran’s brows kick up. “Interesting,” he murmurs. He studies Draven and me a moment longer before chuckling. “ Well, don’t stop on my account.” He slides his sapphire eyes to me and winks. “Put him on his back for me, would you? I’d love to be avenged by a brave heroine.”
Marcella chuckles darkly, and I hear her coo, “Oh, I’m sure Lyra would love to put him on his back.”
Heat floods my cheeks, and I shoot her a look that could stop even the god of death in his cold, ruthless tracks. She bites down on her grin and shrugs her shoulders, silently saying, What? It’s true.
Oh, she is definitely getting a laxative in her food later.
When my eyes return forward, I find Draven watching me with a slight curve in his brow, his arms folded over his distractingly defined chest.
And by the gods, I am going to kill Marcella.
I shake out my hands and adjust my stance. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”
Draven’s mouth tugs up at the corner. “The faster you beat me, the sooner this will be over.”
“I thought you never lose?”
He flashes me a quick, cocky grin. “I don’t.”
“Funny,” I reply, setting my feet. “Because neither do—”
Before I can even finish the sentence, Draven advances. I immediately pivot, more reflex than skill. We move in a slow circle, closely watching the other. “No more talking,” he says with a bit of challenge spiking his tone. “I want to see you move.”
I make a show of pouting. “Shame. I do so thoroughly enjoy our conversations.”
His lip curves, and then he takes one small step. But before he can strike, I attempt to make my move quicker.
I go on the offensive and try to get him off-balance, keeping my moves sharp and quick, just like Gray and Marcella taught me. Yet Draven simply side steps, dodging me effortlessly, acting as though I am a field mouse attempting to defeat a wolf.
I grit my teeth, frustrated.
“Try again,” he encourages in a low, melodic coo. Though, I’m not sure I would call the tone he used “encouraging” .
I feint left—pivot right. And then I attempt to strike again. This time, he at least pretends he has to engage me, catching my wrist before I can land the strike.
He tugs me forward, my body helpless to the sheer strength of his. Suddenly, everything Marcella taught me to balance the scale of strength goes out the window as my chest slams into his. “Not fast enough.” His voice is low and thick with…something.
My breathing hitches in my throat.
Suddenly, I became keenly aware of how close we are.
The way Draven’s skin feels against mine.
As if Draven knows I’m thinking about his touch, he softly brushes his thumb against the inside of my wrist, his gaze remaining pinned on me as he does.
Something tightens in my stomach.
I quickly tug my wrist away from him and recede, reassuming my fighting stance. “Don’t go easy on me,” I demand. “It’ll taint the taste of my victory.”
He cocks his head, watching me with a growing smile. “And yet, somehow I am labeled as the one with the overinflated ego.”
I shrug. “All men have overinflated egos.” I strike again. Draven dodges, smooth as silk.
“Hey,” Griff objects from the side of the circle, my attention flicking to him. “Don’t put me in that box. I have a perfectly average ego.”
Marcella jabs her elbow into his side and hushes him.
When I return my eyes forward, Draven is no longer in front of me.
I make to turn, but before I can, my wrists are being pinned together behind my back with a large, calloused hand while another lightly grips its fingers around my throat, pressing me into an immovable body, holding me captive.
Draven dips his chin, and his lips brush the tip of my ear as he whispers, “ Never take your eyes off your opponent. Not even for a second.” His fingers tighten around my throat. Not enough to be threatening, but certainly enough to be…distracting. “Especially when that op ponent is me.”
I fight against the small tremble in my voice, ignoring the acceleration of my pulse. “Never?” I say through hollow confidence, feeling every bit of him pressed against me. “But what if there’s something more important to look at?”
He drops his chin even lower, his lips moving away from my ear and toward the base of my neck. With a phantom-like touch, I swear the top of his lip grazes my skin.
It sends a shiver sweeping along my body.
“I assure you,” he drawls slowly. “When I’m in front of you, that’s not possible.”
I swallow, my heart rate pounding to an entirely new rhythm. “No? And how can you be so sure of that?”
“Because,” he starts, squeezing my throat a little tighter.
His thumb traces circles against my erratic pulse.
“When you enter this circle, I am all that matters. There is no one else. Only me.” He loosens his hold on my throat, and his hand slowly grazes up toward my jaw.
“And those distracting eyes of yours?” He grips my jaw, sliding his thumb along the curve of it.
“They better not look away from me again.”
Heat coils in my stomach, licking around my spine and up every nerve ending I have.
And did he say… distracting?
“Right,” I reply as coolly as I possibly can. “But you don’t have an overinflated ego or anything.”