37. Isla
37
ISLA
“ H ere, I expected your return to put him in a good mood”—Ilya puffs as he tries to land a kick on my thigh the following afternoon in the castle training room—“but it’s even fouler than before.” He punches, but his fist sails through air when I crouch. “The only silver lining is that he’s?—”
I sweep his legs out from under him, and he smacks into the black mats with a muted oomph . I reach down to clasp his hand, while Elio winces from the sidelines.
My Lucin friend hasn’t let me out of his sight since I burst back into skin at dawn after spending all night in feathers, weaving around the steep peaks of Garaglace, going as far north as the White Fang, which I took the time to visit. Despite the many intersecting train tracks, the sight of the frosty arena was a shot of pure adrenaline that increased my lethal mood tenfold.
The only reason I’m not scouring the kingdom from the air at the moment is because of the brutal snowstorm battering the mountain range. The winds were so violent, and the temperatures so frigid, that I was finding it harder and harder to stay afloat. Since I didn’t want to end up perched in Konstantin’s mountains like a weathervane, I flew back to his home.
A home which he has yet to return to himself, presumably riding his royal trolley to a confidential destination.
“He’s…?” I prompt.
“What?” Ilya pants.
“You mentioned a silver lining.”
“Oh, right. He’s eating again. A lot.” Ilya seizes my fingers, and I haul him to his feet. “Care to tell me how you’re so good at hand-to-hand combat?”
“Years of training with my grandfather, Cathal.”
Ilya wipes his brow. “Why did he train you so hard when you’re a shifter and a sorceress?”
“Because we don’t turn into shifters until puberty. As for spellcasting, though some of us are fast, sometimes, we’re not fast enough.” I glare at my scabbed fingertips.
“Izolda mentioned you were watching the boys spar, but here you are sparring yourself, Miss Ríhbiadh.” The voice has the whole of me tightening, from my stomach, to my mouth, to the beats of my heart, to the knot of anger in my chest.
I twist around to find Konstantin leaning against the wall, one boot planted on the sky-blue wainscoting. He holds his arms crossed over his torso that is ensconced in dark leather. His legs, too. Goddess below, he looks good in black. Especially with his hair swept up and bound into a top knot.
Remembering that I’m very mad at him, I tilt my chin and slant my eyes. “Want a turn, Vizosh?”
“I wouldn’t want to break you, Yegmenka .”
Ilya drops an arm around my squared shoulders. “No offence, big brother, but my money’s on Isla.”
Elio doesn’t echo his enthusiasm, staring with caution between me and the Ice King.
“What do I win when I win?” I ask.
A corner of Konstantin’s lips tucks up as he ambles toward me. “I see the Crow doesn’t fall far from the nest.” His jest makes Ilya hoot. “Name your prize, Miss Ríhbiadh.”
“A tell-all,” I snap.
My tone doesn’t fluster him one bit. He must’ve been informed of my humor.
“Any terms of your own, Vizosh?”
“I like to decide on my prize once I’ve won.” He stops an arms’ length away, his gaze stroking over my perspiration-glossed cheeks and sweat-matted braid, then lower, at the sleeveless leather top molded to my heaving chest, which I’ve paired with thick vambraces to keep my arms scratch-free.
I scoff. “That’s hardly fair.”
“Worried you can be beat, Miss Ríhbiadh?”
“No. But I like to understand the stakes of a battle I willingly engage in.”
“You can walk away.” Does he mean from this battle? From him? From Glace?
“I never walk away.” Unlike some people…
When his brow dips, my heart misses a beat. Did he hear me? I hunt his gaze for a stray thought, but I’m met with loud, dismal silence.
“Best of three?” he suggests.
I nod. “No magic allowed.”
He acquiesces. “No magic. Ilya, arbitrate?”
“Sure thing.”
At Ilya’s whistle, I drop into a fighting stance and start to circle Konstantin. His eyes sparkle with enjoyment, which annoys me to no end. I glance at his right side, making sure to let my gaze linger there. And then I lurch forward, toward his left, and pump my leg. Not only does he block the shot, but he catches my heel. I spin my body, whipping my foot from his grasp, and land in a crouch.
All right, then. No feinting. Direct hits, it’ll be.
I wait for him to attack, but the male remains on the defensive. Not even on the defensive. He just stands there, feet planted wide, tracking my every move, listening to my every breath.
“Here I thought you’d fight like you reigned,” I taunt him.
“How do I reign?”
“You don’t wait for things to come to you. Or at least, I didn’t think you did… Perhaps I was wrong, and you aren’t the go-getter I deemed you to be.”
Instead of spurring him to react, a provocative smile curls his mouth. “Don’t you know the old adage: good things come to those who wait ?”
I stop moving, realizing he’s not going to attack. “Is that why Ksenia’s been MIA for so long?” It’s a low blow, but not any lower than him keeping it from me.
His smile collapses. “Who told you?”
“Not. You,” I grit out. “Ilya, what’s your brother’s weakness?”
“You,” Ilya says.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Ilya says.
In Serpent, Elio says, “He’s favoring his left side.”
As I concentrate on Konstantin’s stance, I note that he is putting more weight on his left foot. How did I miss it? “You should’ve told me.”
His throat clenches. I kick. He blocks my foot without even glancing away from my face.
I skip backward to regroup. For a tell-all, I need to win. But how? What will put him off his guard? What will get him to react? I suppose I could strip, but we have an audience. Another idea froths to the forefront of my mind. One which I’m certain will get a reaction.
With an inflammatory smile, I drop my arms, straighten, and step gingerly toward him. His eyebrows hunch, as do the corners of his mouth. Once I’m within reach, I just stand there, open for the taking.
A beat goes by.
Two.
Ilya boos.
Konstantin’s pupils shrink a heartbeat before he finally moves. He shackles my wrists and whirls me around.
When my back smacks his front, I twist my head and murmur, “So predictable.”
“Yet you’re the one at my mercy.”
“I’ve a little secret for you. Come closer.”
His fingers close more snugly around my wrists, forcing my spine to bend. “I can hear you just fine.”
“But so can everyone else, and this isn’t the sort of secret you’ll want them to hear. Trust me.”
He leans in, and I think I’ve got him, but he hooks my calves, throwing me off-kilter before lowering me in excruciatingly slow-motion. And then the big Faerie cages my legs between his knees and sits back on my thighs.
I attempt to wriggle free, but there’s no give to the male’s body.
Ilya counts to three.
Once the first round is called—not in my favor—Konstantin, leans forward. “What was that little secret?”
“Help me up, and I’ll tell you.”
He tows me to my feet. The second I’m upright, I whirl and attack. I land a blow to his right thigh that rids him of breath and sends him staggering sideways. His expression sharpens when he realizes I duped him, and he lunges.
Although his muscled frame advances with speed, I anticipate his move and dodge. Our bodies graze, leaving me with a lungful of his evergreen, woodsy scent.
My heart thrashes with more than just frustration. Squishy heart.
I round Konstantin like the predator the men in my family have raised me to be. Instead of frightening him, it rekindles his smirk and sets his irises ablaze. Evidently, my fiancé is enjoying himself.
In a blur, he reaches out and snares my wrists. Before he can twist me around, I sidle up to him—front to front this time—and tilt my head. His hot breaths mingle with mine, growing more rushed when I roll onto my toes to reach his mouth and scrape a gentle kiss there.
“I hope you heal fast,” I murmur a split second before I shoot my knee with practiced precision between his legs.
He grunts, and his hold slackens. Whistles and chuckles erupt from Ilya, while Elio grimaces in shared pain. The shock dissipates from Konstantin’s features, morphing into something primal. He feints to the left and trips me.
My knees buckle, and I stumble, hitting the mats with a gasp. Before he can pin me down like an insect again, I kick up hard, landing my heels on his thighs, and shove, jarring his equilibrium.
I’m back on my feet before he’s recovered his balance, and then I’m launching myself at him, gripping his biceps to swing myself onto his back. I lock my legs around his middle, and my arms, around his neck. He cuffs my thighs, his long fingers warming the leather.
“Yield!” I yell.
A chuckle darkens the air as he skirts his fingers along the sides of my legs. “I yield to no one, not even to you, beloved .” And then he’s locking one hand around my ankles, flying the other up to my nape. When he squeezes, I tighten the knot of my legs and shift my weight, using Konstantin’s strength against him.
With a jerk of my body, I fell the tall, almighty Faerie, bringing him to the mat again. Though the supple ground absorbs the vibrations of our crash, I sense them rippling through the air, in time with our ragged pants.
I distribute my weight between my straddle and the palms I flatten against the backs of his hands, then curb my spine to murmur, “How about now, beloved ? Do you yield?”
He smiles. “What a surprisingly steadfast combatant you are.”
“What about my steadfastness is surprising? As I’ve mentioned before, I really don’t like to lose. Also, I’m really pissed off with you.”
His body softens beneath mine as the fight leaves his system.
“One, one?” I press a white lock off his sweat-glossed brow, then trace the pointed edge of his ear with my index finger, bumping along all his blue-diamond studs.
With a burst of air-magic, he propels my body upward, then flips himself onto his back and hollers, “Out!”
Ilya and Elio don’t waste a second before shuffling out the door.
The instant the latch clicks, Konstantin releases me from his magical hold. A harsh breath flees my lungs when I land, my front thwacking into his. I find myself wishing he weren’t as muscular.
“That was incredibly unfair,” I gripe.
He flattens one hand on the small of my back and yokes my nape with the other. “Because fondling my ear was fair?”
I prop myself up on one elbow. With his distended pupils and mussed hair, he looks unhinged, a male about to commit an irrevocable crime. I’m hoping that crime involves my body. No, wait. I’m angry.
“Am I forgiven?” he asks.
“No. You promised no secrets, yet you kept two really massive ones from me.”
“I was going to tell you until you used my bargain against us.”
“Your safety trumps uncovering whether we’re mates.”
His thumb roves over the arch of my neck, caressing my pulse point. “I’m a mortal man, Isla.”
The reminder dulls my humming blood and cools my heated skin.
“I’ll eventually pass on to the next realm.”
An obsidian spike through the heart would’ve hurt less. “Later rather than sooner. Besides, silent asides are overrated.”
He must read the unsteadiness of my pulse beneath his thumb because he breathes out, “Liar…”
“I did it to keep you safe!”
He gives me a sad smile. “As did I. I worried you wouldn’t leave for Luce. Granted, I also worried you’d look upon me like those villagers had.”
I flick another lock of hair off his forehead. “Never. I would never.”
We stare a long while at one another, both of us silent, appeased in some way, fretful in others.
“Still willing to give me your heart, Vizosh?”
“I never took it back.” He bumps my nose with his. Right before kissing me, he adds, “Even if you hadn’t wanted it, Miss Ríhbiadh, it will never belong to anyone else.”
His tender words glitter like suspended stardust behind my ribs, eclipsing all the doubts that have crowded my chest in his absence.
Once we come up for air, I tell him about our visit to the Countess’s home. “She sent you an anonymous letter.”
Shock blows his pupils. “Fuck. I knew I recognized the handwriting! Fuck .”
“So, you’ve read it?”
“Right before you left for Luce.” His nostrils flare. “I should’ve shown it to you.” He growls a few more fucks.
“I wouldn’t have been much help. Probably wouldn’t have been able to read it in the first place.”
His lips harden. “I hate when you put yourself down like that.”
“And I hate when you keep secrets from me.” I rest my head in the crook of his neck. “Did Meriam send a reply?”
His throat bobs. “She did.”
When another spiky swallow jostles my cheek, I pick my head up to hunt his silver gaze. “What did she say?”
He kisses me again. Although I realize he’s doing it to delay answering, I’ve missed his lips so fiercely that I mold my mouth to his and take all he’s willing to give.
It’s only a long moment later, when my lips are as tender as some of my muscles that Konstantin finally pulls away to rasp, “I’ll tell you over supper tonight. How about we eat in your room, just you and me?”
“That sounds really nice.” After a beat, I add, “You swear to tell me what she said?”
“Yes, Yegmenka .”
I almost ask him to stamp his promise into my skin in the form of another bargain but decide to trust him. “I’m sorry about kneeing you.”
A slow smirk reshapes his lips. “I bet you are.”
“I can paint a sigil to make it better.” He huffs a laugh but turns somber when I point out, “As long as you wear your necklace, no one can harm you. Not your sister. Not your niece. Not a band of vicious monarchy-haters. Not even me.”
He parts his lips but his reply is usurped by loud knocking.
“Kostya!” Salom’s loud timbre shivers the door. “We’ve got a situation.”