Chapter 25 #2
It became painfully obvious that he meant exactly what he'd said. He wasn't going to teach me a damned thing.
Fine.
The next time he took me down, I didn't even bother struggling against his hold. I lay still instead, glaring up at him with all the venom I could muster.
It doesn't matter how strong someone is if you can find the flaw in their balance—and use it.
Segolayne's words cut through my anger.
I forced my breathing to slow. Fury had gotten me nowhere. I had to find a weakness.
My awareness narrowed to the impossible closeness between us—to every point where his body pressed against mine. Every place we touched—every place we didn't. His forearm across my throat. One hand planted beside my head, supporting his weight. His legs were a cage.
I squirmed experimentally, and a low sound rumbled in his throat.
Sideways was impossible. But… Up.
Heat crept into my face.
Gods.
"Do you yield?" he rasped.
Slowly, I bent my knees, testing the little freedom I still had. Enough. Just enough.
"Yes," I breathed.
He released me.
I climbed back to my feet across from him, pulse hammering. Rìan prowled toward me once more. And again he struck fast enough that the world blurred. The mat slammed into my back. His weight pinned me again. But this time, before he could even open his mouth—I moved.
Planting both feet firmly against the mat, I thrust my hips upward against his, breaking his balance. His forearm left my throat as he threw a hand to the mat to stop himself from pitching forward and—
There. The opening I'd hoped for.
I twisted hard to one side, slipping a hip out from beneath him before he could settle his weight again. The movement drew my knees tighter to my chest, freeing one leg completely. I planted my boot squarely against his chest and shoved with everything I had.
He rocked backward and landed hard on his ass.
I was on my feet in an instant, retreating across the mat as adrenaline roared through my body.
I’d done it. I’d actually gotten out.
I braced for his fury. But Rìan only looked up at me from where he sat. One corner of his mouth twitched.
Slowly, he rose back to his feet. Then he squared himself opposite me once more.
“Again.”
And so the hour wore on.
He would throw me to the mat.
And I would escape him.
Hip thrust upward. Twist sideways. Knee tucked tight to my chest. Foot planted hard against his sternum. Shove.
Over and over until the movement stopped feeling clumsy and desperate and instead became smooth. Fluid. Instinctive. Every successful escape sent a fierce thrill racing through me.
I'd figured out how to break his hold. Me. The realization ignited something deep inside me.
Finally, after one particularly vicious kick to his chest shoved him back farther than before, he lifted a hand. “That's enough.”
I collapsed at the edge of the mat, breathing hard. Sweat clung to my skin, dampening the back of my shirt. A reckless sense of triumph welled inside me. "Had enough?"
He snorted softly, though not even the ghost of a smile touched his face.
“Arrogance is often just as dangerous as stupidity,” he replied. “Don’t add it to your already impressive list of deficiencies.”
A growl rose in my throat at the insult. “Seems like quite the oversight, teaching me how to beat you.”
“I'm not teaching you to beat me. I'm teaching you to survive me.”
I scoffed, shaking my head.
He rested an arm across his raised knee.
“Physically, you're at a disadvantage. You'd be a fool to believe otherwise.
So sharpen your mind. Think quickly under pressure.
Adapt. React. If you can do that, it becomes possible—not guaranteed, but possible—to survive situations you otherwise shouldn't.”
Something about the blunt practicality of it irritated me all the more.
“You think very highly of me.”
He rose smoothly to his feet with a shrug. “Segolayne seems to. She warned me you have a semblance of a mind. Even if you only use it selectively.”
I stared. Segolayne had said that about me? She'd never once given me a compliment. If anything, she'd spent weeks tearing me down. And yet she'd spoken well of me behind my back.
Any warmth the thought inspired vanished beneath the memory of the slash I'd left across her face. She had every reason to hate me now.
Rìan brushed the dust from his trousers. “She’s fine,” he said, as though plucking the thought straight from my head. “Though I thought it best to move her from the apartments for now. She's not particularly pleased with you at the moment. Nadja will occupy the adjoining room instead.”
The image of the servant's mouth rose unbidden. The dark, empty space where her tongue should have been. Fresh anger surged through me.
Rìan looked up sharply. “What is it now?”
My thoughts raced back over the morning.
Nadja had led me straight to him without the slightest hesitation.
Shouldn't she have been terrified of the Dark Prince who'd cut out her tongue?
Veylan had greeted me outside the training chamber as though nothing had changed.
There had been no servants shrinking from the shadows.
No sign that Noctharis feared its monster's return.
Why wasn’t he staying in the royal apartments?
“They don't know you're back, do they?”
His expression darkened instantly, like storm clouds swallowing the sky.
I was right. “That's why you're staying in the library instead of the royal apartments.”
He said nothing.
“And the men who attacked me…” My pulse quickened as the pieces continued to fall into place. “You could've stepped into their minds. Stopped them before they ever drew their weapons. But you didn't. You didn’t want to risk them seeing you.”
His jaw tightened.
“You're hiding.”
He turned fully toward me, a snarl pulling at his mouth. “I'm not hiding.”
Again, I’d thrown him off balance. A vicious satisfaction coursed through me. I’d found the crack in his armor, and I couldn’t resist digging into it.
“Then why doesn't your own Court know you've returned?”
In two strides, he was before me, silver sparking angrily in his eyes.
“You will not mention me,” he growled. “Not to Nadja. Not to anyone. Understood?”
“Or what?” I shot back, lifting my chin. “You'll carve my tongue out like the others?”
For a long moment, he simply looked at me.
“Keep testing me,” he said quietly. “And I just might.”
I glared back, but said nothing.
“Now.” He turned toward the weapon wall. My stomach dropped the moment he reached for the bow.
He held it out toward me. I didn’t move.
The dull roaring started in my ears immediately at the sight of it—the elegant curve of the polished wood, the taut string stretched tight between the limbs. I could practically feel the familiar motion already: draw, aim, release.
My hand refused to move.
Rìan arched a brow. “Take it.”
I couldn't.
Every remaining scrap of exhilaration from escaping his hold dissolved in an instant, leaving only dread behind.
With visible impatience, he shoved the bow into my hands. I stared down at it numbly while he crossed the room and mounted a painted target against the far wall.
“Perhaps the distance yesterday was daunting for you,” he said, adjusting it into place. “You can work your way up to moving targets later.”
His voice barely penetrated the pounding in my ears.
That wasn't the problem. But I’d sooner die than tell him the truth.
He returned carrying a quiver and planted it beside my feet before withdrawing an arrow and holding it out to me.
Slowly, as though moving underwater, I took it. The fletching brushed whisper-soft against my fingertips.
Rìan frowned faintly down at me before gesturing toward the target. “Try.” He stepped aside and folded his arms across his chest.
My heart hammered as I faced it.
I nocked the arrow. Drew the string back. But when I aimed at the painted red center of the target… all I saw was blood.
Father’s blood spraying across the snow.
I released the arrow. It dropped uselessly at my feet.
“Pick it up.”
Fighting the sudden urge to vomit, I bent and retrieved it.
“Again.”
My fingers trembled violently as I nocked another shot.
Drew. Released.
Again, the arrow barely traveled before clattering harmlessly onto the floor.
“Again.”
I couldn’t move.
Blood.
All that blood.
The snow blooming red around his body.
I missed…
Rìan strode forward abruptly, snatched the arrow from the floor, and shoved it back into my hands.
“Pathetic.”
I said nothing.
“Shoot the damned arrow.”
I wanted to run. Gods, I wanted to run.
But there was nowhere for me to run to. Not from him. Not from myself. Not from what I’d done.
My throat tightened painfully.
Rìan stepped directly into my space, looming over me. “Do you enjoy being useless?” he hissed. The roaring in my ears intensified. “Or is warming Aedric's bed the only thing you're good for?”
Something inside me cracked.
I hurled the bow to the floor at his feet and turned sharply on my heel. “I’m not doing this again.”
I stalked away. As I shoved through the doors, another emotion welled beneath my anger, heavy and sickening.
Shame.
I shoved it down without another thought.