13. Princess Davina
Chapter 13
Princess Davina
“I don’t mind living in a man’s world,
as long as I can be a woman in it.”
— Marilyn Monroe
C ole ushers me to some kind of training room, filled with worn and faded mats and other equipment. It’s dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of sweat and leather.
“Are you going to stand there staring at me all day, or are you going to come over here?”
I roll my eyes and cross my arms. “Excuse me for taking a moment to appreciate the ambiance of your lovely dungeon. I’m just trying to figure out if I’m supposed to be impressed or disgusted.”
“Oh, you’re witty too? Fantastic. Maybe you can use that attitude to fend off a punch or two.”
I bite back a retort.
“First things first—always keep your guard up,” he instructs, demonstrating a stance and positioning of his hands, his knees slightly bent.
I try to mirror his movements, feeling awkward in the process. I’ve never been in a physical fight before, let alone a hand-to-hand combat.
What made me think this was a good idea?
“The key to fighting is not just strength, but strategy and precision,” he explains. “Timing is everything. I’m going to teach you some basic self-defense moves.”
I nod, my body tensing with a mixture of fear and excitement.
“Alright then,” he says, “let’s get started.”
He shows me some techniques—how to block an incoming attack and then demonstrates a few punches and kicks. I focus on every little detail, every shift of weight, but I’m uncoordinated and clumsy while I copy his movements.
“How was that?” I ask, fully aware that my execution was less than impressive.
“As terrible as predicted.”
“Well, then let’s hope I never find myself in a fight.”
“What did you expect? We’ve only just begun. I want you to try to hit or kick me, and don’t hold back.”
“What?”
“Come on, humor me. I know your hands are itching to punch me.”
On second thought…
I square my shoulders, forcing myself to focus, and throw a tentative punch in his direction. It’s weak—so weak that I don’t even come close to making contact.
He watches me with his arms crossed over his chest, completely unbothered. “I said don’t hold back. You’ve got to put your whole body into it. Try again.”
Taking a deep breath, I pull my arm back and throw another punch, but it’s just as pathetic as the first. Without thinking, I follow up with a kick, aiming for his shin. It’s sloppy, driven more by frustration than by any real technique.
He shifts to the side, effortlessly dodging the kick.
It’s useless.
“Better,” he praises.
“What a liar you are,” I mutter. “You’re just flattering me.”
“Flattering you? Darling, if I were flattering you, I’d say something along the lines of, ‘That punch was so impressive, it almost tickled.’ And I’m not a liar. I’m just trying to ensure you don’t break your spirit before you even get the chance to improve.”
“Well, thanks for the encouragement, but I think I’d rather have a little less ‘motivation’ and a bit more actual help. Maybe then I wouldn’t be spending my time here looking like a clumsy fool.”
“More help?” he asks with a sly smile. “You want me to get more hands-on, don’t you?” He clears his throat, wiping his amusement away like he just realized what he said.
“You’re just as cocky as you are unhelpful.”
“Just try again,” he says, demonstrating how to throw a proper punch. “Think about all your wasted years in that castle. Channel all of that frustration and anger, and let it fuel your strike.”
I lunge forward, determined to do better. I focus all of my concentration on my next punch, putting all my strength into it as I aim for his chest. This time, I make contact, but only because he didn’t bother to defend himself.
He stands still and silent, while my fist aches from the impact.
“Not bad,” he says with a hint of amusement.
“You didn’t even try to defend yourself,” I mutter.
He shrugs. “I wanted to see how hard you can punch,” he replies. “I’m going to try to attack you. Stay focused. Remember what I showed you. Use your instincts and react quickly. Ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
With a swift movement, he lunges forward. I dodge his attack at the last moment but stumble, hitting the ground.
Pain shoots through my body as I realize I’ve twisted my ankle.
“Stand up.”
I grit my teeth in pain. “Just give me a second.”
He approaches me, a look of concern crossing his face. “Are you alright?” He offers his hand, but I refuse.
“I’m fine,” I lie, trying to sound confident despite the embarrassment. “Let’s continue.”
My heart races as I get to my feet, trying to anticipate his next move. He lunges forward, and I instinctively run away like a child instead of using his techniques. Frustration and shame make my cheeks burn. That’s when I feel a surge of anger rising within me, a determination to prove myself to him.
With a burst of energy, I charge at him, aiming a punch at his chest, but he’s too quick and easily blocks me again.
We circle each other, tension thick in the air. “Come on,” he drawls. “You can do better than that. Or maybe I overestimated you. Maybe I’m wrong, and you don’t have it in you.”
Anger and frustration flow through me as I glare at him.
“Prove me wrong.”
“I’m tired of being weak,” I snap, throwing another punch.
“Is that all?”
“Tired of constantly needing someone’s protection. Tired of being…locked…in,” I pant between unsuccessful punches. “Tired of being treated like a child.”
I sidestep another of his attacks and deliver a swift kick to his side, causing him to stagger back. Seizing the opportunity, I follow up with a series of punches and kicks until I manage one solid hit, landing with precision at his chest.
I’m panting, my body slick with sweat.
A smile pulls at the corner of his lips. Without warning, he lunges forward again, reaching to grab my arm. I react swiftly, using every skill he showed me to twist out of his grasp. But he’s too fast, cutting off my escape, and before I can react further, he’s pinned me against the wall.
I let out a yelp of surprise.
He chuckles a deep rumble that irritates me. His body presses against mine, his strong grip holding me in place as the heat of his breath tickles my skin.
Desperately seeking a way out, I stifle a frustrated groan.
Words get caught in my throat as I look up at him and see it—a slight flicker of amusement, a mischievous glint in his gaze.
So smug.
He tilts his head slightly, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. “This is quite the fun game,” he murmurs, his voice teasing. “Watching you hide your reaction while I keep you right where I want you.”
“Is that what I am to you?” I grind out. “A game?”
Green eyes meet mine, searching my face. “Do you want to be something else?”
I scoff. “Well, if this is a game, I hope you’re ready for me to turn the tables. I’d hate for you to be the only one having fun here.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it. So, what’s your next move?”
Wiping that cocky grin off his face becomes my sole purpose, and when he backs up slightly, still holding me in place, there’s just enough space for me to use my legs.
I force a sweet smile. “I’ll do exactly as you said.”
In a split-second decision and a flash of adrenaline-fueled instinct, I use all my strength to lift my knee, aiming for his most vulnerable spot. My kick lands between his legs, and he lets out a grunt of pain as he stumbles back, releasing his hold on me.
I watch him as he groans in agony and collapses to the ground. “I’m a woman. I’ll bring every man to his knees,” I recite his words from earlier.
He looks up at me, pain etched across his face, but his eyes sparkle with amusement and something else I can’t quite place—if I didn’t know better, I’d say it’s admiration.
Despite the pain, a hint of a smile tugs at his lips. “Nicely done,” he says, his voice strained. “Although there are much more enjoyable ways to bring a man to his knees.”
His smile fades, replaced by a grimace of pain.
I gasp, feigning shock. “Are you whining, Your Highness? I recall you saying that it’s ‘a terribly unbecoming trait.’”
He lies down on the mat, staring at the ceiling. “Nah, Princess. I’m impressed.”
I snort, stepping over his body on my way out of the room. “That was fun. We should definitely do it again sometime. I could get used to seeing you on your knees.”