Chapter 28 #2
Heavy wooden posts, wrapped in rough rope and leather, were stationed at intervals throughout the long hall. Deep gouges and pieces of wood had been cleaved from them in countless training sessions.
Sandbags hung from wrought-iron chandeliers and anchored to beams, ideal for archery practice.
An expansive sparring circle on the ground was inlaid with bronze.
Bohdan adjusted his leather gloves, wrapping them tighter around his wrist. He didn’t spare her a glance as she approached.
Ksenia couldn’t help but eye the opening of his tunic and that long scar running up his neck before she quickly averted her gaze back to his hands.
Maybe he got it from a similar duel to the death.
“You fight with no finesse or structure.” His smooth, even voice could have been paying her a compliment. “I’ve seen your progression. I thought you were disciplined at first, but you’ve only gotten worse.”
“Has anyone ever commended your motivational speaking skills? You’re a sparkling conversationalist.”
“So I’ve been told.” He retrieved a spear from the weapon rack and stood before her, flexing his broad shoulders and twirling the spear languidly between slender fingers, still not looking. “I have some rules.”
Of course. He probably had sub-rules for his rules.
“What’ll it be, Captain.”
“Rule one: You will follow the training regimen I lay out for you, including the conditioning.” She let slip an eye roll, but he continued undeterred.
“Rule two: I will break you to pieces and leave you behind if you do not rise to the occasion.”
“That isn’t a rule.”
“Consider it a promise then.” His voice was low and soft as he examined the spear point. “Rule three: If you do not surpass my expectations soon, I will ‘discharge’ you from the position.”
She stilled, then glowered.
“Interesting. So, despite me fairly winning the trials, you reserve the right to remove me from it at any point you deem fit?”
“I’m glad you can listen.”
“That’s not what I—”
“And I’m sure you’re now adequately motivated for our nightly sparring sessions.”
Nightly? Even Varka had given her time off, which she desperately needed to handle her other little problem.
In the old stories, the most dangerous betrayals come from within the walls. Those who know where you sleep also know where you’re most vulnerable. Vornaya warned.
That could work both ways.
She slung off her cloak and deposited it on a weapon rack, sending a longbow crashing to the ground.
His jaw ticked.
A wicked smile slipped to her lips.
He stepped into the center of the arena, firelight casting ominous shadows over his face and figure.
“When you step into the ring, the match will begin.”
She unsheathed Caromir and pointed it downward. He casually turned his head to watch her approach. Watch her stalk him.
She lowered her stance and launched herself at his back.
He pivoted, and she did as well. Changing directions in a split second.
A slash across his chest.
He turned away, minimizing his energy expenditure. His eyes were focused and clear as a slow smile spread across his face. “What’s next?”
A growl rattled her chest as she lunged forward, her movements quick but reckless. She spotted an opening and leaned all of her weight into the horizontal strike.
Her blade rang against the shaft of his spear upon impact.
In a blink, he was behind her.
She spun around.
Too slow—a side swipe of his leg into her torso sent her skidding across the ring.
A scream was building at the back of her throat. He was holding back.
“Your impatience is a liability.”
With economical precision, he closed down her openings of attack and escape, one by one, and put her on the defensive.
Every parry sent her backward, getting closer and closer to the edge of the ring.
She needed an escape from his onslaught.
The sharp point of his spear pierced the air above her head. Sliced the fabric of her tunic. Just a show of how her own parry was too slow to match him.
He was toying with her, and she could feel her blood roiling in response.
“And when you’re angry, which is almost always, you make even more mistakes.”
The butt end of his polearm punched her in the gut to prove his point. She wheezed and fixed him with a vicious glare as she toed the bronzed line of the sparring ring.
She spared a look—big mistake.
His firm hand gripped the back of her head sharply, twisting through her black locks and forcing her into a kneeling position.
The tip of his spear was ice-cold against the column of her neck.
She strained against his hand. Caromir, white-knuckled in her grip, was useless now.
He ignored her, his hand wrenching her head back so he could peer down at her.
Beneath him, Ksenia was breathless and flushed, unraveling as the memories of their little tryst in the rain were renewed.
His grip was crushing, and her back arched to prevent him from snapping her neck.
She saw herself from his perspective: chest heaving, eyes promising violence but hazy with something carnal.
“How will you get out of this?”
A sharp intake of breath. “Fuck you.”
“Wrong response.” His grip tightened, forcing her into a back-breaking arch.
“Fuck y—ou,” she growled, her eyes clenched from the pain, her hands and fingernails digging into his, trying to pry him off her scalp.
Bloody scratches emerged on his exposed wrist, but he didn’t flinch. She expected Bohdan to be a patient man—now she was learning how much he’d endure to get what he wanted as he continued to let her struggle.
Her pride was bruised as the words ripped from her mouth. “I—concede!”
Bohdan clicked his tongue, letting her go.
His eyes traced her body and face, subdued before him.
Ksenia dragged her head forward, slamming her hands onto the ground in front of her, gasping for air and composure.
Humiliation branded itself deep in her stomach.
“Again.”