Chapter Eleven #2
“Do I, your majesty?” asks Adria, emphasizing the honorific that I’ve forgotten. She’s acting frightened again, and I wonder if Ronan can see through it, or if he’s just accustomed to this response from people because it doesn’t seem to faze him.
“Everyone has a tell. Let me demonstrate,” he says, holding out his hand for my sword.
To my knowledge, the only person in our family who has faced Ronan directly was my father, and he lost. But Adria is at least as good of a fighter as Father was, and she’s a lot angrier than I ever remember him being.
I back out of the way to watch with Ronan’s guards. Their exchange is lightning quick, so much so that I can barely follow the different attacks they send at each other. But even at this speed, he can see her attacks coming, and he has no trouble parrying them at first.
And then I see it: just as he said, she feints to the left. He doesn’t take the bait like I always do. He anticipates the thrust to the right that always gets me and counters it, nearly getting her neck.
While she’s recovering her footing, he attacks with one decisive downward thrust, which he stops just short of her breastbone.
It looks impressive, but I can’t help but wonder if she let him do that.
“See?” says Ronan. He holds out the sword to me. “Now you try.”
“I think I’ve had enough for today,” says Adria. What is she talking about? She’s barely broken a sweat. “But if you’d like to give Sylvie a few pointers, your majesty…”
Adria, what the fuck? Don’t leave me alone to make a fool out of myself with him.
Unless he gets off on that. Which…actually seems likely, come to think of it.
“With pleasure,” says Ronan. He takes Adria’s sword from her as she smirks in my direction, then he holds my sword out to me again. “Shall we?”
Reluctantly, I take the blade from him. I get into position across the floor, measuring him up.
He’s much taller than me, which means he’ll have a major advantage with reach.
I’ll need to watch out for attacks from above to my head, but that’s the case when I fight almost anyone, so I’m quite good at defending against them.
What’s more problematic is how good he looks.
He’s wearing breeches with a grey linen tunic tucked into them, and the laces on the chest are open, revealing the tan muscle of his chest. It’s an obscene little shirt, and though my mind is trying desperately to focus on the tactics that could keep me from completely humiliating myself in this fight, my body has other ideas.
Extremely not helpful, I tell my nipples as they harden under my own tunic. Thank the gods my leather armor covers my chest. Although the slight upturn of the corner of his mouth lets me know he felt at least some of what I felt just then.
This isn’t a bad thing, I try to remind myself. My body can protect my mind. It can protect my heart. It’s not a betrayal. It’s exactly what I need to happen.
I’m expecting an attack at any moment, but Ronan lowers his sword instead. “Let’s start with fixing your stance.”
I look down at my legs. They’re bent slightly and angled to my opponent as Larus taught me. “What’s wrong with my stance?”
“Nothing if you’re fighting with a rapier. But you should face more forward with this sword, and you probably want to open up more to get more leverage for cuts. Try a high cut from here first, and then again wider and more forward.”
I try the cut from my current stance. It seems fine, but I am having to fight the blade a bit to keep it straight.
“Now from the front.”
I turn towards the front, but he stops me before I swing. “Not quite. Bend a bit more.”
I bend my knees further.
“Too far,” he says with a laugh. “Can I show you?”
He puts down his sword and begins to walk over. I nod and lower my weapon, trying to ignore the fluttering in my chest as he approaches.
He keeps eye contact with me as he holds out his hands towards my legs. I nod again.
He gently places his hands on my hips to guide them into the correct position. I’m holding my breath, and I’m not sure why. “Move this foot forward a bit,” he says, bending to grab my left knee.
His head is dangerously close to the lower half of my body, and it stirs something down there.
Fuck.
He absolutely had to feel whatever the fuck that was.
It’s good, it’s good, I tell myself as I move the foot forward. I can’t tell if I’m more aroused or humiliated.
He stands back and assesses. “Better. Take a high guard now.”
I do as he says, drawing my sword up and over my right shoulder.
“Chest out,” he says, and my heart races for a moment when I think he might touch me there, but he just demonstrates himself.
And, well, it’s a nice demonstration. His muscles strain against those useless little strings—seriously, who made this shirt?—and it’s just very nice to look at. Entirely too perfect, but it’s impossible to deny how easy he is on the eyes.
As I puff my chest out, my mind starts turning to what would happen if the leather wasn’t there, and I shut it down immediately.
Absolutely not, body. Calm down.
“Ass—um, rear out too,” he says, for once not meeting my eyes.
“Oh, fuck off,” I say, breaking my stance and lowering my sword.
He laughs and holds up his hands, and I see Soren in the gesture. I’m annoyed enough with him right now that I want to come out and ask him, but he takes the stance once more, puffing out his chest and poking out his ass, and it’s so fucking ridiculous I lose my train of thought.
Is he a child? I’m not putting on a damn show for him, God-King of Selara or not.
“No way. I’m not doing that.”
He’s still laughing. “I promise, this is the stance. I’m not being rude. I’ll close my eyes if you don’t want me to look.”
He covers his stupid perfect face with his hand and peeks through it.
“Asshole.”
“Stella, come here and show her your longsword stance.”
Poor young Stella comes over and draws her sword—her real sword—and she assumes the exact stance Ronan is trying to get me into without so much as a blush on her tan cheeks. Chest out, ass out.
“Ridiculous,” I say. “Why can’t we just fight with rapiers?” The rapier stance is way less provocative.
“Because they’re expensive, and there are one hundred people in the trial of the blade.”
And they probably had a lot of these swords lying around after the war ended.
I pout, but I slowly draw myself back into the longsword stance. I puff my chest out, and then…I stick my ass out too.
I may not be able to feel what Ronan feels, but I can see his sharp intake of breath and the way his eyes linger a bit too long on the curves of my body to just be evaluating my posture before they return to mine.
He likes what he sees. The part of me that stirred when he was bending stirs once more.
“Better,” he says.
He paces back across the floor and mirrors my stance. He really does stand the way I’m standing, and I envy the guards their position, which offers them a much better view of his ass.
Gods, I need to concentrate. If I keep this up, I’m going to get my ass handed to me.
“Ladies first,” says Ronan.
I don’t hesitate. I’m hoping my sudden movement will catch him off his guard, and it nearly does. I’m going for his hands to disarm him, but he parries my point with the strong part of his blade at the last moment and comes in for a quick riposte to my shoulder.
“That was actually very good,” he says.
And godsdammit, that’s nice to hear, even coming from him.
“Try the same again, but this time, be ready for my riposte.”
I do as he says, and he goes for the same attack after he parries, but I take a step back and knock his sword away.
“Very good.”
“As long as my opponent tells me what he’s going to do beforehand, I’ll stand a chance.”
He drops his guard. “You’re very good at this. You do know that, don’t you?”
“I don’t need your pity.”
“It’s the truth. I watched you. Adria’s one of the best sword fighters in the kingdom. She’s more practiced, but her training happened on the battlefield. This isn’t a battle. It’s a sport. Adria knows how to go for the kill. You’re smart enough to see other options.”
He watched me.
“And you know that how? My feelings? Do I feel smart?”
He smirks. “Among other things.”
Heat drifts down to my core instead of my neck this time. I know exactly which feelings I’ve been having around him.
We continue for several more rounds, and though our exchanges are lasting a bit longer, he wins every last one.
I do appreciate that he doesn’t just let me win. Although I’m not sure if it’s for my sake that he doesn’t or his.
“I’m dying,” he says, wiping the sweat from his brow.
It’s a bit past midday, and the sunlight has started to shine into our covered alcove.
It gave me a small advantage in our last exchange when my sword glinted in his eye: I finally managed to make contact with him, but unfortunately, he got me in my belly at the same time.
I am melting in my leathers, though. I’m not sure what he’s complaining about in his clothes, which are so thin they might as well not be there. “Do you mind if I…?” he asks, pulling at the hem of that absurd shirt of his.
“Go ahead,” I say a little too quickly.
There’s a hint of a smile on his lips as he pulls the tunic over his head.
Fuuuuuuck.
I thought I’d seen it all through the laces, but I hadn’t even scratched the surface.
I can see why they call him the God-King. It isn’t because he’s the end of a long line of nobility believed to be descended from the goddess Vayla herself.
It’s because of his abs.
The whole chest area, really. I don’t know the names for all the muscles, but they’re all there, and they’re exquisitely cut and hard and—wait, is that a scar?
It is. There’s a scar there on his left side. It’s long and deep, from a brutal cut that must have nearly killed him.
I wonder why he didn’t have it healed with the others he got in the war.
I struggle to keep thinking of it as my eyes follow the V-shaped crease of his muscles to his thin, silky breeches and…let me stop my thoughts right there again before I make a fool out of myself.
He chuckles a little, and honestly, fuck him. It isn’t fair that he gets to know every embarrassing feeling I have.
And it isn’t fair for me to be the only one distracted.
“Do you mind if I…?” I say, reaching my fingertips under the ties that hold down my leather chest piece.
“Go ahead,” he says.
I take my time removing the chest piece and pauldrons, keeping myself turned to him so he has a good view. Then I unbuckle the leather leg guards I’m wearing over my pants. I feel much cooler but also much more exposed.
I hope my gamble pays off.
I get back into the stance he taught me, and this time, I feel my breasts move with my chest as I push it out. The undergarments I wear when I’m wearing my leathers don’t do much to keep them in place, which isn’t going to feel great when I’m fighting, but I’m hoping it will be worth it.
“Like this?” I say, though I know perfectly well how to stand by now.
He tilts his head unblinkingly. “Just right.”
There’s a soft, sultry quality to his voice that tells me this was absolutely the right decision.
I go for an attack from waist height. I cut down towards his legs and duck under his blade, which works.
It actually works. I hit him in the thigh, and he misses me entirely.
“Yes!”
“Good, but it was a risk. I shouldn’t have missed that.”
“Shouldn’t have, but you did,” I gloat. I can’t help myself.
“Are you a sore winner, Sylvie?”
“I think you’re about to find out.”
I’ve noticed something in the way he attacks. It’s like the way Adria loves to do a feint to the left. Ronan loves to leave something, usually his left side, unguarded as bait so he can get you with a quick parry and riposte.
I’m usually so busy parrying his furious movements that I fall for it, but he’s moving a bit slower this time.
My breasts bounce on my chest as I lunge forward and back for a quick attack and then a parry for his counter, and I can guess what’s causing the slowdown.
I’m finding it hard not to stare at his chest as well. And his arms. And his back when he cuts down. The muscles tighten and ripple beautifully.
And then there’s the way he looks at me, especially when I get close to him. It’s not just hunger or excitement, although that’s there too. It’s something like fascination. Like he can’t believe that I’m real.
It makes me feel bold. Powerful.
It makes me feel like I could bring him to his knees.
“Something the matter?” I tease.
“I don’t know, is there?” he replies as he manages a glancing blow on my shoulder.
“Touché.”
He smiles then, really smiles, and it makes his skin glow a little. I wonder if he knows how appealing that is. “One last time?” he asks.
I nod. I’m exhausted, but there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to stop. I have to admit that this was a good idea. I’m getting in good practice with the longsword, and I’m learning a lot about how Ronan fights.
I may or may not share that information with Adria. We’ll see how nice she is to me tonight.
I prepare for his attack. He lunges, I parry, he lunges again, I parry again. I bring my sword up for a high cut, and he rushes forward. But he’s got my blade to deal with, so he doesn’t take the thrust he intended to my side.
Instead, he takes his left hand off the sword and grabs me by the shoulder.
He pulls me to him, trying to control my sword arm. I grab the blunted blade with my left hand to control it and thrash against him.
But he’s too strong. He abandons his own sword and overpowers me quickly, forcing the blade from my hand.
He pulls me against him.
My head is pressed against his bare chest. It feels so good, I nearly forget that I’ve lost the fight.
“You’re dead,” he whispers in my ear. He has my own blade pointed at my side, but he doesn’t take the point.
I don’t know what makes me do it. I don’t know if it’s something about his magic or the proximity or my desperation or the way that looks at me or the way flirting with Soren made me feel.
But I see my opportunity, and I go for it.
I shift my hips to meet his. He’s rock hard. I rub myself against him, lightly, just once.
He inhales sharply in surprise.
Then I snatch the blade from his hand.
I jump back and land the point directly on his heart.
“No, you are.”