Chapter 35
The sparring hall was filled with dozens of Envorsen in various states of training. Several floor mats had been laid out for hand-to-hand combat and wrestling. Racks were half empty as the guards rotated through them in mixed weapons combat.
It smelled of sour sweat and chalk dust.
Archers skillfully shot the hanging dummies that swung from wrought iron chains overhead.
She hummed and dusted her gloves off as she worked her way deeper into the hall, where Bohdan sat against the edge of a work table, his jaw tight and eyes hard.
With a clap of his hands, he dismissed his men to retire for the evening.
“Rough day, Captain?” she greeted with a smile.
“Arm yourself,” he replied.
“Our precious captain is in a mood…” Ksenia crooned as she reached for a weapon.
A sword pierced past her torso, a flash of silver splitting the fabric of her tunic. Cool air hit her bare skin.
She leaped back, her lips curling. The seams of his mask were splitting. “What is wrong with you?”
He slashed again. She dodged.
She snatched a rapier and caught his sword cross-wise in time. The flexible shaft bent against the weight of his strike.
“Tell you what”—he clicked his tongue—“if you win against me tonight, I’ll give you the week off from training.”
His hands grasped the dull sides of her rapier like a mere toy as she struggled to wrench it free.
“But, if I win, I get to interrogate you about breaking into my quarters.”
Her head tipped back with her laugh. “Breaking into your quarters? If you want me there, all you have to do is beg, Captain,” she said, her voice rough and low.
He rolled his shoulders. “I know you trespassed.”
She eased up on her tiptoes, his sword pressing dangerously close to her throat as she stopped within a hand’s length from his face.
Her eyes glittered with amusement and something darker. “How do you know?”
Admit your obsession, she thought wickedly.
Did you smell me on your bed? On your clothes?
Did you find my little gift in your journal?
Do you suspect I know your dirty little feelings for me?
His jaw clenched with horrible realization.
He pushed her off, and she nimbly landed a few feet back in a fighting stance.
“Come on then, let’s get this over with.” She twirled the rapier once. “And when I win, I want the entire week off, not just five days.”
“Confident,” he clipped.
“I prefer inspired.” She circled him slowly, with predatory grace in every step. “After all, I know what keeps you up at night now, don’t I?”
The line of his shoulders stiffened.
“And somehow, I don’t think it’s the killer…” She tapped her index finger against her chin, a glint in her eye.
His grip tightened on his sword. “Careful, Senka.”
“So you’ve said, multiple times.” She tilted her head. “What will you do about it? Put me in my place? Lock me up? Torture me till I confess?” She smiled, sharp and bright.
She lunged forward, their blades meeting in a screech of steel. Her face was inches from his, her breath warm against his jaw.
“You’d get off on that, wouldn’t you, Captain?”
He stilled.
She was turning his vulnerabilities into a weapon.
His breathing hitched—barely audible, but she caught it. Something dark and dangerous flickered across his face before he could wipe his expression clean.
He shoved her back harder this time.
Ksenia had cornered him. If he beat her resoundingly, he might look desperate to punish her. If he lost, it would be because he didn’t have the guts to beat the truth out of her.
Either way, he was playing her game.
His blade cut wide arcs, forcing her to give ground with each parry. Her rapier was a poor choice against his sword’s overwhelming reach and power.
Every time she tried to create distance for a proper attack, his blade was there, driving her back.
He hooked his leg behind hers, then slammed his hand down hard against her shoulder.
Air punched through her lungs as she hit the ground with force, her rapier clattering from her hand.
The tip of his sword buried into the floor by her neck, and she rolled away in time to avoid having her throat slashed.
He bore down on her, pinning her hand. “Yield.”
“No.” She gritted her teeth as she thrust her hips up against him, her free hand fisted in his collar, wrenching him sideways.
It was enough.
She twisted, reversing their positions before springing to her feet with unnatural speed, recollecting her weapon.
Sharp, precise strikes forced Bohdan to adjust his guard.
He ducked beneath her blade, cutting the air where his head had been just moments before.
She spotted an opening and jammed her foot between his, forcing him back down.
Ever the opportunist, his hand fisted in her tunic as they both hit the ground in a heap.
A satisfying crack resounded as the heel of her palm connected with his jaw.
Both vied for control, to get their feet beneath themselves. They traded blows, fierce and fast.
His balance faltered as she shoved.
He recovered in time for the tip of her blade to kiss his throat.
She gripped his hair, yanking his gaze up to her.
“Yield,” she hissed, echoing his earlier command.
They stood frozen, breaths held. Her eyes were bright with triumph and something more carnal—something that spoke to the basest needs in his body that had nothing to do with the fight.
“Well, there’s a first for everything.” He spoke roughly, almost reverently. His eyes held hers, full of hunger.
“Don’t act so surprised.” She held the blade firm.
He pushed himself up slowly, forcing her to either step back or maintain their proximity. She stubbornly held firm, the rapier still at his throat even as he towered over her.
“You going to hold that blade to my throat all night?” His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, leaving only a thin green ring at the edges.
“There he is.” The blood in her veins burned like fire.
His thumb traced her bottom lip.
She closed the remaining distance between them, her fingers tangling in his hair as their mouths scraped together in a searing kiss.