Chapter 29 #2
One of the female warriors—a slender fae with dark purple hair twisted into intricate braids—leaned forward, her interest visibly piqued.
“There are some other important differences.” I turned, letting the words hang.
I grinned at Fenric, who looked torn between irritation at the dismissal, and perhaps a reluctant respect. “Want to try again?”
He nodded, though there was a wariness about him that hadn’t been present before. This time, he approached more cautiously, circling me. I could see him reassessing, trying to predict my next move.
When he lunged now, it was with more care. He feinted left, then right, trying to throw me off balance. But I saw the tension in his shoulders, the slight shift of his weight that telegraphed his true intentions.
He came at me lower, his arms shooting out, aiming to take me down. I saw his intent, read the determination on his face. But instead of dodging, I let him take me down.
We hit the ground hard, the impact forcing the air from my lungs in a harsh breath.
Dust billowed around us, coating my skin and filling my nostrils with the scent of sun-baked earth.
Fenric’s weight settled over me, his muscled form pinning me effectively to the ground.
His hands gripped my wrists, forcing them above my head as he straddled my waist.
For a moment, triumph blazed across his features, a satisfied grin tugging at his lips. Some of the watching warriors sniggered, others raised eyebrows or wore knowing smirks. They thought the demonstration was over.
They were wrong.
I let my body go slack beneath Fenric, feigning defeat.
His grip loosened, already sensing a victory. That split second was all I needed.
A smug laugh had just escaped his lips when I moved.
With a twist of my hips, I bucked upwards, throwing him off balance enough to create the space I needed. In one fluid motion, I freed my legs from beneath his weight, my muscles burning with the effort as I snapped them up and around his shoulders.
Time slowed as I hooked my ankles behind Fenric’s neck, the rough fabric of his tunic scraping against my calves. He let out a shocked noise, realisation dawning too late. I could see the beads of sweat on his brow, even the faint stubble along his jaw as my thighs clamped around his head.
With a grunt, I used the leverage of my legs to yank him sideways, my hips pivoting in a fluid arc.
The moment he hit the dirt, I tightened my hold, my legs securing him in a chokehold, my body angled just right to keep him from throwing me off.
Fenric growled, instinctively trying to pry my legs apart, but I held firm, pressing my forearm against his chest to pin him further, my weight making it impossible for him to escape.
A few of the watching warriors let out low whistles.
Fenric struggled ferociously as he realised exactly how trapped he was. He thrashed beneath me, his powerful body bucking and twisting. Muscles strained beneath his skin, cords standing out along his arms as he fought against my hold.
“Yield,” I commanded.
Fenric let out a strangled snarl. He fought more violently, trying to break free.
Dust kicked up around us in small clouds, the afternoon sun catching the particles like floating embers.
His face flushed crimson, partly from exertion and partly from the growing lack of oxygen.
The rise and fall of his chest beneath my forearm became more frantic with each passing second, each desperate breath he drew.
“I said, yield.” I increased the pressure to make my point.
After a few more moments of futile struggling, Fenric tapped the ground twice, conceding defeat. I released him immediately, rolling to my feet as he gasped for air. Fenric pushed himself up, red-faced and coughing.
“What... the fuck... was that?” he wheezed.
I grinned, offering him a hand up. “That, my friend, is how females fight.”
A ripple of laughter and approving murmurs spread through the group. Even Lincatheron was grinning, though he tried to hide it behind his hand. I could see the change in their expressions, from scepticism to genuine interest.
Fenric, still catching his breath, shook his head in disbelief. “I’ve never seen anything like that before,” he admitted, a mixture of awe and chagrin in his voice.
“That’s because you’ve never had to fight like your life depended on it, against someone twice your size and strength.”
One of the female warriors stepped forward, extending a hand not to shake, but to clasp my forearm. “Where did you learn those techniques?”
I shrugged, keeping my tone light, easy. “Women have been part of the command structure of militaries for a long time in the human lands. I was lucky enough to be taught by someone who understood what that meant.”
The warrior nodded. “So, you were a soldier?”
“No,” I admitted. “But I would have been in charge of my own territory eventually, and if there was a war, I wouldn’t be sitting on the sidelines.
” I let my gaze sweep over the gathered warriors, holding their attention.
“That, and my mentor knew that females—or women, in human lands—live in a world where being able to protect yourself is a necessity.”
A ripple of understanding moved through the warriors, quiet nods exchanged between them.
“The most important thing he taught me is simple.” I folded my arms, letting my stance relax. “Men are arrogant.”
Fenric let out an offended grumble, throwing up his hands. I turned to face him, feigning innocence.
“Sorry,” I said sweetly. “I couldn’t hear that over the sound of you yielding.”
He flipped me off with a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan.
The female warriors erupted in laughter. One even wolf-whistled, which made Fenric’s flush deepen from red to something approaching purple.
Lincatheron stepped forward, and the yard quieted immediately.
“Pair up,” he ordered, the words cutting through the lingering amusement. “I want everyone practicing that sequence. Use the momentum, don’t fight it.” His dark eyes swept over the assembled warriors. “And we stop assuming size equals victory.”
The females moved to obey, pairing off with renewed energy. A few shot me looks that ranged from impressed to calculating, already trying to dissect what they’d just witnessed.
Fenric pushed himself fully upright, rolling his shoulders with a wince. “Want to go again?” he asked, almost respectful in his question. Almost.
But the fight hadn’t helped.
The violence, the demonstration, the satisfaction of putting him on his ass—none of it had done a damn thing to burn through the rage that sat like acid in my chest. If anything, it had sharpened it. Honed it into something with edges that could cut.
“Where’s Varyth?” I asked, my voice cold.
The shift in the atmosphere was immediate. Darian and Fenric exchanged a look. Wary, loaded with silent communication that made my teeth ache.
“He’s busy,” Darian said carefully.
“I don’t care.”
Another glance between them. Fenric cleared his throat. “Isara, maybe you—”
“Where. Is. He.”
Darian sighed, the sound of someone who knew this was a losing battle but had to try anyway. “His chambers. But Isara—”
I was already moving.
The training yard fell away behind me, replaced by corridors that had become familiar over the past weeks. Stone and starlight and that persistent fucking song that hummed through the castle’s bones. Usually it was beautiful. Right now it grated against my nerves like broken glass.
My boots struck the marble with purpose, each step carrying me closer to answers I should have demanded weeks ago. Before the manipulation. Before the management. Before I’d let myself be lulled into thinking protection and control were the same thing.