Off-Balance
Chapter thirty-two
Lucianna accepted the cup of tea from Wren.
“Thank you,” she said with a soft smile. “I don’t know that I have ever watched a swordfight over tea.”
The princess returned her smile with a wide one of her own.
“I have more times than I can count,” she giggled. “Finn and Cas spar often and have no qualms over the time or place. They have sparred in the breakfast room, gardens, Castien’s study . . .” Wren shrugged. “Likely every room in the castle.”
“They do not tire of fighting one another?” Lucianna inquired before taking a sip of tea.
Finnick emerged from below deck with a collection of weapons in his arms. It was like watching the sun break through the clouds, the way his golden hair caught the light as the smoke dissipated around him.
He was barefoot and wore the same clothes he wore to bed the night before.
Lucianna glanced down and realized she was still in her nightgown.
Embarrassment heated her cheeks. Most of the men were distracted—Kaiden and Kelwin with the sea, Castien and Finnick with their fight, and Petals with Cora—but still she did not enjoy the notion of appearing so vulnerable.
“Oh never. There is always some way they make it interesting. Plus, each of them dedicates hours to training, so they are constantly learning new things.”
Finnick crossed the deck to where Lucianna and Wren sat at the table together.
He placed Lucianna’s weapons roll on the table next to her teacup and leaned the hilt of her sheathed long sword against the table.
His sword hung from his belt along with the dagger he’d thrown to Lucianna when she scaled Cora’s home.
“Your weapons, wife.” He winked, then produced one of her coats. “I hope you don’t mind, I took the liberty of retrieving this from atop your trunk, since you did not have time to change.”
“Oh,” she murmured. “Thank you.”
He beamed at her gratitude and set the coat atop the bundle of leather.
“Do you require anything else?”
She shook her head. He turned to the princess.
“Darling Wren?”
“Quit stalling!” Castien yelled from where he stood sparring the air in the middle of the deck. “I am too busy to waste time on you dallying about.”
Wren giggled. “I am fine, thank you.”
“I was seeing to your wife’s needs since you abandoned her with nary a blanket or so much as a parting word,” Finnick teased.
“Dearest, are you well?” Castien called, further increasing Wren’s laughter.
“Yes, my love!” she called back. “I am in need only of your victory.”
Finnick shook his head.
“Some sister you are.”
He reached for the top button of his white linen shirt.
Lucianna’s brow furrowed, then her eyes grew wide as he continued down the line of buttons.
Each one revealed firm muscles that showcased years of hard training.
He wasn’t entirely unblemished, for there were a series of tiny white scars scattered about his tan skin.
But somehow they only added to his masculine allure. Her lips parted in quiet shock.
Finnick’s smoldering gaze lifted as he undid the last button, catching Lucianna staring at him. A devious smirk curled his lips. Her heart quickened to an unsettling rate.
“Cas likes to ruin my best shirts. Would you keep this safe for me?”
He shed the fabric, then laid it across her lap.
“What makes you think I won’t toss it in the Tides as soon as you turn around?” she asked him, sounding far too breathless for her liking.
He chuckled, warm and low.
“Because if you did, I’d have more evidence that you enjoy staring at me disrobed.”
“More?” she challenged.
Finnick reached out and brushed the back of his hand over the apple of her cheek.
Lucianna stilled as goosebumps rushed across her skin.
His eyes—bluer than any sky or sapphire she had ever seen—sparkled with an ensorcelling sort of mischief.
It was as though they whispered come and play to all who gazed into them.
“You can hide your thoughts, but not your blush, little thief.”
He stepped away and turned to reveal rippling back muscles.
Lucianna curled her fingers into his still-warm shirt.
She struggled to regain normal breathing patterns.
The clatter of a teacup made Lucianna whip her head to the right.
Wren was pressing her lips together to disguise a smile.
She had forgotten the princess was even there.
She turned back toward Finnick’s retreating figure.
Had he used his Gift on her? Lucianna grasped her locket with trembling fingers.
Never before had she felt that way. She was not sure what to do with the sensation.
Lucianna felt as though the remnants of her control were marbles rolling about the deck of the ship.
She did her best to gather them up, but they seemed to slip out of her fingers and into the highly capable hands of her smirking husband.
With each bit he took, Lucianna was torn between fear and resignation.
Self-control was all she had. What would she do if it was ripped away?
When Finnick met Castien in the middle he dipped into a dramatic bow.
Castien shook his head and held his sword up.
Above them and to the right were Kelwin and Kaiden, who stood near the wheel, but their gazes were trained on the two cousins.
On the opposite side of the ship stood Cora and Petals, who watched with varying interest. Lucianna thought Petals would pay more attention if not for his constant glancing at Cora, whereas the alchemist seemed to be staring blankly ahead, her mind likely on compounds and calculations.
Finnick raised his sword, done with his theatrics, and the fight began.
Metal clashed against metal as the two danced around the deck and each other with quick steps.
It was a lively and dynamic battle. The two were seasoned warriors and knew each other well.
At times she wondered if they could predict one another’s movements, for they seemed to know precisely when to dodge or attack.
“Your husband is more motivated than I have ever seen him in a match that was not truly life or death,” Wren commented. “He must really wish to spar with you.”
Wren’s statement suggested that she had seen Finnick fight in a life-or-death scenario before. Lucianna did not know what to make of that information, save for thinking it made sense the two were like siblings if that were the case.
Lucianna took a sip of her tea before responding, “I suppose so.”
“And will you truly spar with Castien should he win?” Wren inquired.
“If he is amenable, I would find it to be an illuminating lesson.”
Her words were in earnest. For the prince showcased great skill and mastery of weapons.
Each of his movements was sharp and purposeful.
And yet . . . Lucianna could scarcely take her eyes off her husband.
There was something in the way Finnick fought that was entrancing.
It was as though he was swimming or waltzing, his motions were so fluid.
And not once did his smile drop, even when Castien advanced on him.
She would never say it aloud, but she hoped Finnick won. To spar with him was bound to be a mixture of invigorating and infuriating, which seemed to be the feelings her husband often inspired. So, in spite of her fears, she hoped.
Lucianna noticed the two men conversing as they fought, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying over the waves crashing.
“What do you think they’re talking about?” she inquired of Wren.
Wren’s wind chime laugh lifted on the breeze.
“No doubt Finn is taunting Castien in some manner or other. The two are quite evenly matched in skill, save for Castien’s Gift, which gives him an edge. Finn often seeks to distract him so that he cannot focus on what his Gift instructs him to do.”
“Clever,” Lucianna said under her breath, a grin playing on her lips.
The match went on for some time. There were moments Lucianna was sure one of them would best the other, but at the last second they failed to do so.
Until finally, the edge of Finn’s blade settled against the side of Castien’s neck.
Lucianna barely resisted shooting to her feet.
Wren clapped good-naturedly, as did the other crewmembers.
Finnick sheathed his sword and performed a series of ridiculous bows. That was, until Castien shoved him with a laugh. The two shook hands and patted each other’s backs. Lucianna smiled at their sportsmanship, but her expression fell when Finnick turned her direction.
He sauntered over, sunlight gleaming on his bare skin. A sheen of perspiration coated him and highlighted his already well-defined muscles. The self-satisfied smirk he wore sent her heart fluttering in anticipation.
“Congratulations,” she managed to say.
Finnick ran a hand through his hair, his muscles rippling with the movement.
“Thank you. I’m ready to claim my prize, if you’re ready to grant it.”
“You do not need to recover?” she asked, slowly standing on weak knees.
He shook his head with a smile.
“I am far from tired, and I fear that if I delay, you will conjure a reason to forfeit.”
“I would not back down from a fight,” she assured him.
His eyes glimmered with appreciation.
“In any case, I am happy to begin now.”
Lucianna went to grab her coat off the table—it would be more restrictive, but she’d feel better if she was covered—when she realized she still had Finnick’s shirt in her grasp.
A fabric that would provide some modesty, with less constraints, and offer an advantage over her husband.
She pulled it over her shoulders at once and reveled in the surprise that colored his features as she buttoned it up.
That was precisely what she wanted: shock.
For if she was to beat him, she would need to throw him off-balance.
And judging by the expression on his face?
Lucianna had succeeded.