39. Octavia
I’m still mulling over Ben’s words during training hours later.
They came from such a loving place. Rejecting them feels sacrilegious.
How many times did I beg for a big family that gave a shit whether I lived or died?
I should swallow my troublesome pride and gratefully accept the role they slated for me.
I duck down, barely fast enough to miss the fist flying toward my cheek. Shit.
“Focus,” Vasiliy chides, one arm scooping around my middle when I start wobbling forward. I’m not about to tell him how counterproductive his touch is to the whole “staying focused” objective.
Training has become increasingly challenging ever since I learned how his lips felt tracing hot kisses down my neck. And somehow, I managed to mess that up, too.
Shaking out my wrists, I straighten and step back into my base position.
Vas circles me like a hawk, dancing back and forth between his feet.
His hair is still damp from the shower, and the strands hang over his brow in clumps that I’d kill to run my fingers through.
Every time he steps close, I get a whiff of his soap.
I jab my right arm out in the combination we’ve been learning today, stepping forward into the punch.
Though he has plenty of time to block the attack, he stays still, allowing the impact of my following hook to absorb into his side.
You have to get used to the feeling of punching a human, Vas said when we started one-on-one sparring.
I’m glad for it, because he’s completely right.
Punching a man is a whole other beast. Compared to the bag, skin moves differently below my knuckles, rolling and sliding over bone to counteract the pressure.
When I pull back, he’s already staring my way with a curious expression.
“What has you so distracted?”
I nearly laugh at the abrupt question, stepping sideways to circle my opponent. Why am I so distracted?
Maybe because the last time we were touching, I couldn’t feel anything but your hands and tongue driving me absolutely insane.
Or because the soldiers can’t help but discuss the woes of having to fuck me in order to become my father’s heir, while my own cousins see me as little more than a sequestered house pet, beloved as it may be.
I shouldn’t be whining about any of that. I’m lucky to be here.
I step back, dodging another attack with more balance than the last. Vasiliy doesn’t push, but I hear his question repeat in the silence.
“Do you notice the way my father’s men watch you?” I divert.
His head tilts. “How do they watch me?”
“Like you’re a threat,” I answer simply, tightening my fists. “Like a rabid beast that could snap at any moment.”
His face shifts into a knowing expression. “Yes. I do notice.”
I nod. I don’t speak again until after my next attack, a fake-out into an uppercut that barely dents his abs.
“How does it feel?”
He frowns. Then his eyes squint as he ponders my moronic question.
I turn away, stepping over to my water bottle so I don’t have to watch him think.
I have a chess rematch with Dad tonight, so I should probably be practicing my strategy if I have any chance at beating him, which I absolutely plan on doing, if only to put an end to all of that play the long game nonsense.
I practically jump when hands appear on either side of my hips, spinning me around. Vas’s expression is serious when I find his gaze.
“It feels like control,” he says, responding to my question. “And after spending many years of my childhood without that privilege, I hold it in the highest regard.”
I stare right into those bright blue eyes. I’ve been lost in the haze of jealousy many times throughout my life, but never has it felt quite like this. I’d never take his control for myself, no matter how tempting it would be.
I look down at the grass, but his knuckles nudge my chin back up. “People like you and me will never be completely satiated by sustenance and love. We need that control like the air we breathe, and that’s okay.”
I don’t allow my vision to blur, even though the tears are locked and loaded. The small act of defiance proves even more challenging when Vasiliy drops to his knees before me. My hands immediately find his shoulders.
“I don’t think…” I clear my throat, glancing around to make sure the courtyard is empty. “I don’t think I’m allowed to have any control here.”
His hands slide around the backs of my thighs, unconcerned with the possibility that someone may see him kneeling before me from the compound windows. “If no one will offer it, you’ll have to carve it out for yourself.”
“Is that what you did?”
His eyes flicker. “It’s what I tried to do. I never quite managed to crawl out from beneath their thumbs.” His throat clears. “But it’s not always an all-or-nothing mentality. Little wins can sustain you more than you’d think.”
“Little wins,” I repeat, considering.
His lips tilt, smile turning conspiratorial. “If you could do anything you wanted to me, what would you do?”
“That’s a dangerous opening.”
He shrugs. “An opening I’d only offer to you, of course.”
My chest warms. Only for me.
He’s not a man, I decide, gazing down at the creature happily dirtying his knees in the damp soil just so I can have a taste of true power. At least, not a man like any of the others I’ve met in this life. He must be an alien.
“Well? What will it be?” he presses, tugging me closer with his grip on my thighs. The wind ruffles my sweaty hair, drying my neck.
“Have you ever had your nails painted?”
His pink and black nails are still drying when I leave to go school my father on his own chessboard.