Chapter 20 #3
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” And again, I wondered how much he knew about me.
More sparks flew in the sky, pulling our attention back to Wolfe and his sparring partner. My breath stalled in my chest as I kept my eyes peeled on them, certain one of them was going to die.
“I never tire of watching them train.” The awe in Sirril’s voice amplified, sounding like a proud father watching his children excel. “I’ve been in Lord Nightblade’s service for over two hundred years, but every time I watch him, it feels no different from the first.”
I tore my eyes away from Wolfe again to glare at Sirril. “Over two hundred years?”
“Yes, my Lady. And it has been a great honor. Especially to see Lord Nightblade and Bastian, his second-in-command, training to fight as though they are one.”
“What do you mean, train to fight as though they are one? They look like they’re going to kill each other.”
Sirril laughed, a hearty sound. “Not at all. To fight as one, you need an opponent who can match you in strength. And almost be stronger than you are. When Bastian and Lord Nightblade train, it has to be with everything. That said, they are holding back due to the magical restrictions.”
My mouth dropped. “That’s holding back?” I gazed at Wolfe and Bastian, who were giving blow for blow in perfect synchronicity.
“It is, my lady. They’re used to training every day at different levels. It’s only been since we set sail that they’ve had a break. I imagine they’re preparing for their usual duties because we’ll be home by morning.”
“Wow. And they do this every day?”
Sirril nodded. “No matter the time, they find a way to train. Only exceptional circumstances stop them.”
“That’s incredible discipline.”
“Indeed, my lady. The Bloodsworn are the Fae’s elite of the elite.
Sworn not just to protect the kingdom, but to be an emblem of legacy.
Aside from that, the king and his men must always be able to protect his people from the threats of dark forces, whether he is the king or not.
Lord Nightblade must also be equal in strength to his dragon. ”
“Dragon?” I whispered the word like a breath.
Wolfe had mentioned dragons a few times, but it was difficult to get my head around the fact that they actually existed.
And that he flew them. In the mortal lands, people didn’t fly animals.
They rode horses and sometimes elephants.
To my knowledge, the biggest flying creature around was an albatross.
Sirril grinned. “Lord Nightblade’s dragon is unique for its magic.
Such as one has not been seen since the days of his grandfather.
Our people believe the spirit of not only the dragon but Lord Nightblade’s grandfather was reborn in his dragon.
Some believe Lord Nightblade is the incarnate of all dragons. ”
The information was so fascinating that I couldn’t help but be immersed. “What makes them believe that?”
“He’s not that much different from them, my Lady. Just look at his wings.”
Sirril looked back at Wolfe with the same admiration as before, and I did, too.
He was right. Wolfe looked like a dragon in the sky.
Bastian flickered out of existence mid-flight and Wolfe stilled, his sword raised and ready. But then he turned his head. And he saw me.
He lowered his sword as though momentarily thrown off guard and glared down at me. We were about thirty feet apart, but the look he gave me was a collision of breath and thought and desire. Like he’d pulled me right into his sphere of gravity and refused to let go.
He turned to face me, his wings coiled around him like smoke-fed claws, the edges flickering between shadow and sunlight.
He stayed there, suspended in the sky like a fallen god, watching me.
I couldn't look away. His torso gleamed with sweat, muscles defined beneath intricate tattoos of runes that coiled around him in inky shadows. My treacherous mind wondered what all those muscles would feel like beneath my fingertips.
The moment the thought hit, Bastian appeared behind Wolfe—literally appeared. He brought his sword down to cleave him in half and I gasped, instinctively pointing up at the danger.
A strangled cry choked out of me, but it was lost to the air as Wolfe raised his sword above his head and countered Bastian without even looking at him.
The two swords clashed like thunder, sending a boom rippling through the air. Bastian was knocked back a few paces but rearing to go again.
Wolfe still had his eyes fixed on me as if nothing had happened. Had he been human, or…anyone else, I was sure he’d be dead from that blow.
I caught the arrogant grin he gave me from all the way down here, and then I caught myself.
I was an idiot. An absolute idiot. Look at me here, calling out to my captor to stop him from getting hurt. If I’d been in my right mind, and that sword struck him, I would have cheered at the defeat of my enemy. Instead, I was worried he might die.
That was probably the reason the bastard grinned at me.
Wolfe glanced over his shoulder and said something to Bastian, then, to my dismay, he flew down to me, his boots echoing across the wooden planks with a hard thud as he landed.
He came closer, moving with lethal charm, seeming taller, and those wings…
Gods, they were massive in the air, but down here, they were colossal, unfurling until they took up the entire space and blocked out the pale morning sun.
With his long, broad sword in his hand, Wolfe was the formidable warrior. Like death incarnate. But beautiful.
Sirril bowed deep, but I was paralyzed by the sheer impact of the Fae prince's presence. Those glorious wings unfurled around him, his masterpiece body on full display. I couldn’t stop staring.
The menacing grin etched on his lips dripped with sin. So did the look in his eyes.
Wolfe turned to address Sirril, who bowed again and beamed at him as if he were a god. “My Lord Nightblade, your skills grow every day. A thousand blessings on you, your Grace.”
Wolfe placed a hand to his heart and bowed with a deep respect I didn’t think possible from someone who was supposed to be the next king of half the magical realm. “A thousand blessings to you, too, Sirril. And please, I am not your Grace yet.”
“You will always be my king, your Grace. With or without a crown atop your head.”
“La níyneria, a mun dair,” Wolfe spoke a language I didn’t recognize. It sounded old, fervent, and humble. Whatever he said had Sirril staring back at him with the deepest appreciation.
“La níyneria, your Grace,” Siril answered, using the same humble tone, his eyes brimming with pride and allegiance. Sirril then turned to me and gave me a curt nod. “Enjoy your morning, my Lady.”
“And you.” My voice sounded hoarse, thick with nerves.
As soon as Sirril walked away, Wolfe gave me his undivided attention.
I gripped the edge of my blanket tighter, wondering how he could be out here in this cold in next to nothing while I was absolutely freezing.
Reams of sweat were still rolling down his chest. And he was just staring at me, giving me that pensive but curious look that shifted my world.
“What language was that?” I decided to break the silence.
“Ilymerian, or old Galaythian.” His pupils dilated, darkening the usually vibrant color. “We were renewing an old pledge of allegiance.”
“It sounded… poetic.”
“I suppose it is. La níyneria, a mun dair’ means ‘by soul and blood, we are bound.’ It’s the traditional vow of a Nightblade Royal to his sworn servants or those they love.”
I’d noticed that loyalty here went deeper than mere service. It was like it was part of them. Loyalty made them who they were.
Wolfe glanced at the notebook pressed against my chest then cocked his head, regarding me with narrowed assessing eyes. “Enjoying the show?”
“I was writing in my journal, minding my own business.” I imbued my voice with indifference to mask my irritation to being called out.
“Yet I saw you watching me.”
“Well, with that racket? Of course, I couldn’t concentrate,” I scuffed. “I’m sure half the ocean was watching you.”
He chuckled, shadows gathering around his wings like mist. “He wouldn’t have killed me, mage,” he stated, ignoring my comment. “But your concern was touching nonetheless.”
“I wasn’t concerned in the least. That guy could have killed you for all I cared.”
Blessed Mother, I was such a terrible liar. That lie alone might condemn me to the deepest, darkest hell of the six.
“I must have been mistaken, then.”
“Yes. You were.”
Wolfe's smile widened, revealing lengthened canines.
Gods, I'd been right. His teeth really had lengthened, much longer than yesterday. They looked almost like a dog's, or like the vampyres and lycans from Grandmother's books.
When he spotted me staring, he made a deliberate show of baring his teeth, predatory and threatening. A calculated tactic to intimidate me, I realized, and it worked. My breath caught in my throat.
“Why are your teeth longer?” I managed to ask, my voice barely steady.
His smirk turned wicked, those elongated fangs glinting in the sunlight. “Do you think I'm going to eat you, Ziyka?”
Fear shot through my veins. I hadn’t thought of that. Until just now.
“Are you?” The words came out more breathless than intended.
“Do you think I’d tell you if I were?”.
“No.”
He inched closer, menace lurking in his eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ve already had my fair share of humans for the day. I’m not going to eat you Ziyka.”
I swallowed hard, not knowing if he was screwing with me. “That’s good to know. So, why are your teeth longer?”
“It’s best you don’t know the answer to that.” He tilted his head again and a stray lock of hair fell over his cheek, drawing attention to his scar.
“Why not?”
He leaned even closer, wings growing, talons floating like snakes. “I told you yesterday, Ziyka. I can’t go there with you.”
I caught his meaning and my eyes widened, then a sudden warmth that flushed through my body made me feel as if I were standing next to the sun.