Chapter 6 Kai #2
"She needs to feel like she has some power," I continue, the idea taking shape as I speak. "Some way to influence her own fate instead of just waiting for other people to decide it for her."
"Training," Ursik says immediately. "Give her skills. Show her how to defend herself, how to move safely through our territory if she ever needs to. Knowledge is power, especially for someone who's been running on pure survival instinct."
The suggestion resonates with something deep in my chest—not just practical sense, but rightness. I remember the way Saela moved during her first night here, quick and economical despite her exhaustion. She's not helpless, just untrained and overwhelmed by circumstances beyond her control.
Maybe teaching her to fight won't solve the political problems or dissolve the clan's expectations, but it might give her back some sense of agency. And maybe, selfishly, it might give us both a way to work through the anger and frustration that's been building like pressure behind a dam.
"Besides," Ursik adds with a grin that's only slightly forced, "you need something to do with all that protective energy before you start pacing grooves in the floor. Might as well put it toward something useful."
He's not wrong. Three days of watching Saela flinch away from clan hospitality while being unable to offer any real alternative has left me feeling like my skin doesn't fit properly.
Training would give me a legitimate reason to focus on her wellbeing without the uncomfortable weight of romantic expectation.
And maybe, if I'm honest with myself, it would give me a reason to spend time with her that doesn't involve either of us pretending this situation is normal or sustainable.
"Think she'll agree to it?" I ask.
"Only one way to find out."
I find Saela exactly where I expected—in her room, sitting on the narrow bed with her back against the wall and her knees drawn up defensively. She looks up when I knock, and something in her expression suggests she's been expecting bad news.
"The scouts?" she asks immediately.
"Still keeping their distance. No sign of your friend yet, but our people are still looking." I lean against the doorframe, trying to project calm confidence rather than the restless energy that's been driving me toward increasingly poor decisions. "I wanted to talk to you about something else."
Her posture grows more guarded, if that's possible. "What now?"
The wary resignation in her voice makes guilt twist in my stomach. Three days, and she already expects every conversation to bring new restrictions or unwelcome developments.
"Would you like to train with me?" I ask simply. "Combat skills, territory knowledge, basic survival techniques for this climate and terrain."
Whatever she was expecting, it wasn't that. Her eyebrows lift slightly, the first genuine surprise I've seen from her since that first night.
"You want to teach me to fight?"
"I want to give you tools to protect yourself.
Whether that's fighting or running or hiding depends on the situation.
" I cross my arms, trying to look like a teacher rather than a captor offering conditional privileges.
"Right now you're completely dependent on our protection, which I know you hate. This would change that."
She studies my face with the intensity of someone trying to detect hidden motivations or trick clauses. "Why?"
The question deserves honesty, even if the full truth is more complicated than I want to examine.
"Because you're going crazy trapped in here with nothing to do but worry about things you can't control.
Because being able to defend yourself might make this whole situation feel less like imprisonment.
And because if something does happen—if the political situation changes or the Stonevein make a move—I want you to have options beyond hoping someone else will protect you. "
The last part seems to resonate with her in a way the first two don't. Her posture relaxes fractionally, the defensive hunch of her shoulders easing into something closer to attention.
"What kind of training?"
"Basic blade work, unarmed combat, reading terrain and weather signs. How to move quietly, how to find shelter and water if you're separated from help." I pause, then add the crucial detail: "Outside. Away from the longhouse and the watching eyes."
That gets her attention completely. For the first time since arriving, her expression shows something other than wariness or resignation—actual interest, maybe even anticipation.
"When?" she asks.
"Now, if you want. There's a clearing behind the longhouse that's private enough for training but close enough to be considered safe territory."
She's off the bed and moving toward the door before I finish speaking, her eagerness so obvious that it makes my chest tighten with something uncomfortably close to protectiveness. When was the last time she had a choice about anything, even something as simple as going outside?
"Lead the way," she says, and there's more life in her voice than I've heard since she stumbled into our celebration.
The clearing I have in mind sits perhaps fifty yards behind the longhouse, ringed by evergreens that provide natural privacy screens while staying well within the patrol boundaries our guards maintain.
It's where I come sometimes when I need space to think or work through problems with physical activity rather than endless mental circles.
Saela steps into the open space and immediately turns a slow circle, taking in the sight lines and escape routes with the automatic assessment of someone who's survived by staying aware of her surroundings.
But underneath the habitual vigilance, I catch something else—relief, maybe, or simple pleasure at being under open sky again.
"Better?" I ask.
"Much." She faces me with an expression that's more alert and present than anything I've seen from her indoors. "So what kind of blade work are we talking about? I know the basics of knife fighting, but I've never had formal training."
I draw the practice blade from my belt—dull-edged but properly weighted, designed for learning without bloodshed. Her eyes track the movement with immediate focus, and I catch the slight shift in her stance that suggests she's already thinking about balance and distance.
"Show me what you know," I say, tossing her a matching practice blade.
She catches it without fumbling, her grip falling naturally into a position that's not quite right but not entirely wrong either. Self-taught, but with decent instincts and the kind of practical experience that comes from actually needing to use a weapon for survival.
"Like this?" She demonstrates a basic defensive stance, and I can see the flaws immediately—too much weight on her back foot, guard held too low, elbow positioning that would leave her vulnerable to certain attacks.
"Close. Here—" I move behind her without thinking, my hands covering hers to adjust her grip and position. "Feet wider for better balance, and bring your guard up to protect the centerline of your body."
The moment my hands touch hers, the instruction dies in my throat.
She's warm and solid against my chest, her hair smelling faintly of the pine soap Shae brought her, and suddenly I'm hyperaware of every point of contact between us.
The way she fits against my larger frame, the slight tension in her muscles that speaks of someone ready to fight or flee at any moment.
She's beautiful, I realize with the kind of clarity that knocks the breath from your lungs.
Not in the polished way of clan women who've never known hunger or fear, but with the lean strength of someone who's earned every breath through determination and cunning.
Her gray-green eyes hold depths that speak of intelligence and resilience, and the stubborn set of her jaw suggests a will that won't easily be broken.
Some male would be fortunate to earn her trust, her partnership, her—
"Is this better?" she asks, and the sound of her voice breaks through my inappropriate thoughts like cold water.
I step back quickly, putting professional distance between us and trying to ignore the way my hands feel empty without her warmth beneath them. "Yes. Much better. Now let's see you move through some basic attacks."
She follows my instructions with the focused attention of someone who understands that skill might mean the difference between life and death.
Her movements are economical rather than graceful, functional rather than beautiful, but there's something compelling about watching her learn.
She absorbs corrections quickly and doesn't make the same mistake twice, approaching each new technique with the methodical determination of someone building tools for survival.
We work through basic strikes and parries, footwork drills and simple combinations.
She's breathing hard within minutes—her conditioning is better than I expected given her recent hardships, but she clearly hasn't had opportunities for sustained physical training.
Still, she doesn't complain or ask to rest, pushing through the discomfort with the kind of stubborn endurance that speaks to her character.
"Better," I say after she successfully executes a combination we've been working on. "Your instincts are good—you're thinking about angles and distance instead of just trying to hit hard."
The compliment brings a flush to her cheeks that has nothing to do with exertion, and something in her expression softens slightly. Not quite a smile, but closer than I've seen from her directed at me.
"I had a good teacher," she says, then immediately looks away as if the words were more revealing than she meant to.
The moment stretches between us, charged with something that feels dangerous and right in equal measure. For just a few seconds, we're not captor and prisoner or divine chosen couple—we're just two people sharing knowledge and discovering unexpected compatibility.
Then Ursik's voice shatters the tension like a stone through glass.
"Well, well. Look at you two, all domestic and training-focused."
I turn to find him leaning against one of the surrounding trees with a grin that suggests he's been watching for several minutes and drawing his own conclusions about what he's witnessed.
"Ursik," I say, and there's warning in my voice that he either doesn't hear or chooses to ignore.
"Don't mind me. Just wanted to see how our divine bride was settling into clan life." His attention shifts to Saela, and his grin becomes something warmer and more genuine. "Looking good with that blade, little bird. Kai's a decent teacher when he's not brooding about everything."
And there it is—the easy charm that makes everyone comfortable around him, the casual humor that draws people in without effort. Saela's expression lightens in response, her defensive walls lowering in a way they never do when I'm the only one present.
"He's very patient," she says, and there's actual warmth in her voice. "I expected more criticism of my form."
"Oh, he's full of criticism. He's just being polite because you're pretty." Ursik's grin widens at her startled laugh. "Give him a few more sessions, and he'll be correcting your breathing patterns and the way you blink during combat."
She actually smiles at that—a real smile that transforms her entire face, making her look younger and less burdened by the weight of constant survival.
It's the kind of expression I've been hoping to see from her for three days, and watching Ursik produce it effortlessly makes something dark and possessive twist in my chest.
Jealousy. The recognition is unwelcome and entirely inappropriate given our circumstances.
I have no right to feel possessive of her smiles, no claim to her attention or warmth.
She's not actually my bride, divine or otherwise, and any attraction I might feel is just a complication neither of us needs.
But knowing that doesn't make the feeling go away. If anything, it makes the sharp edge of want more pronounced, more impossible to ignore.
"Well," Ursik continues, oblivious to my internal struggle, "I'll leave you to your very educational training session. Try not to work her too hard, Kai. We need our divine guests in good condition for the upcoming festivities."
The reminder of the Valentine celebrations makes both Saela and me tense simultaneously, the easy warmth of moments before dissolving back into the complicated reality of our situation.
She's not just a woman learning to defend herself—she's Cupid's chosen bride, the centerpiece of a month-long celebration that the entire clan is watching with rapt attention.
And I'm not just her teacher—I'm the male she's been chosen for, whether either of us wants that designation or not.
"Right," I say, the word sounding rough. "We should probably head back. It's getting late."
Saela nods, her own expression closing off again as the walls rebuild themselves. The progress we made during training—the moments of connection and mutual understanding—fade behind the weight of expectations and impossible circumstances.
But as we walk back toward the longhouse, I catch her glancing toward the trees with something that might be longing. Not for escape, exactly, but for the freedom to make simple choices like staying outside until dark or deciding when she's ready to stop learning.
Small things. But for someone who's had every significant decision taken away from her, small freedoms might be the most valuable gift I can offer.
Even if offering them makes me want things I have no right to want.