Chapter Six #2
Then suddenly, in an instant, he filled the world, every detail of him pressing into my senses. The low, vibrating rumble of his voice, a faint, intriguing scar etching his wrist, the subtle prickle of stubble along his jawline. The primal scent of iron, pine, and woodsmoke enveloped me.
His closeness stole the air from my lungs, as my heart hammered against my ribs, a desperate drumbeat against the overwhelming intimacy of his presence.
I could barely contain the tension and unsettling steadiness that had come over me.
He was close, closer than anyone had been before.
The men at court always seemed untrustworthy to me—all smiles and empty flattery, perfumed and polished but hollow.
Erindor was the opposite—all rough edges, calloused hands, and a silence that said more than most men’s oaths.
He tapped my wrist. “Too tight.”
“I don’t want to drop it.”
“You’ll drop it faster if your hand goes numb.”
Obeying, I loosened my grip.
He stepped closer behind me, close enough that I could feel his warmth at my back. One of his hands hovered just over my shoulder, the other adjusting my grip.
“Here,” he said quietly. “The dagger isn’t about force. It’s about precision. Keep your wrist loose but not flimsy. Like this.”
He guided my arm forward in a short arc, the blade slicing through the air.
“Don’t swing wide. Short. Fast. You’re not trying to impress anyone. You’re trying to stop them from killing you.”
I swallowed hard. “Comforting.”
“Truth isn’t meant to comfort. It’s meant to keep you alive.”
I nodded, fighting to concentrate, my pulse skipping like a stone on water beneath the weight of his presence at my back.
“Now try it again,” he said, stepping back. “Yourself this time.”
I exhaled, reset my grip, and swung. Too stiff and too slow. The blade wobbled at the end of the motion like it wasn’t sure where to land.
Erindor’s expression didn’t change.
“No,” he said simply.
Heat rushed to my cheeks. “I’m trying.”
“I know,” he said, and gestured for me to do it again.
He nudged my shin with his boot. “Feet apart.”
After a pause, he moved in front of me.
“Try to hit me.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Come at me. Keep your balance.”
“I’ll lose.”
“I know.”
I narrowed my eyes and lunged. He sidestepped easily, catching my wrist as I stumbled into him. His other hand shot out to steady me.
Gods, he was solid, not like the courtiers who wore armor as decoration. No, they built him for battle, for carrying weight. Lean muscle, hard lines, and unwavering control.
My breath caught. The warmth of his body soaked through every layer between us. My pulse betrayed me, fluttering high and unsteady.
“I told you to keep your balance,” he said, keeping his voice low.
His hands, still resting on my skin, were a static charge that bypassed my thoughts, leaving only a chaotic hum where focus should have been. He looked down at me, and his eyes weren’t only steel. There was something beneath the surface. Something quieter, more curious?
“You don’t blink when you’re afraid,” he murmured.
“I blink plenty.”
“Not when it matters.”
A lump formed in my throat, dry and insistent. “Why are you teaching me?”
“Because next time,” he said softly, “I might not be there.”
He stepped back, and a wave of longing, sharp and unexpected, washed through me as his heat vanished.
I hated how obvious I must’ve been. My face burned, my breath catching in my throat as though I had raced through the courtyard. This wasn’t infatuation, I told myself. That wasn’t possible. It was a mix of gratitude, admiration, and embarrassment all tangled together.
He didn’t seem to notice. It’s possible he did, and he was thoughtful enough to omit mentioning it.
I lunged again. Faster this time with more determination. My arm extended, feet pushing off the earth with more control.
He shifted just enough. Turned his body, caught my wrist, and redirected my weight past him. Not harshly, just enough to remind me how easily he could.
I stumbled two steps and caught myself.
“Better,” he said. “But don’t lean forward like that. You’ll lose your footing, Princess.”
“I’m not meant to stab people,” I muttered.
He raised an eyebrow. “Then let’s hope they never try to stab you.”
I shifted, but a root in my way caught my boot. I lurched forward, off balance enough to crash into him.
His hands came up instinctively, catching me around the waist. I landed hard against his chest, breath shallow. His grip steadied me, unflinching, and then lingered for a beat too long.
He set me upright as if I weighed nothing.
“You alright?”
“Don’t stop on my account,” came Gideon’s voice from behind a tree. His arms crossed, grinning. “I was rooting for you to stab him.”
Erindor stepped back fast. I lowered the dagger, mortified.
“Are we interrupting?” Jasira asked, smiling far too knowingly.
“No,” I said too quickly.
“Yes,” Gideon replied at the same time.
I spun on my heel and rushed back toward the clearing.
Jasira fell in step beside me. “You’re glowing.”
“It’s the firelight,” I muttered.
“There’s no fire over here,” she said, smirking.
I almost dropped the dagger.
…
That night, sleep evaded me.
Kellen whimpered softly near Lark, who stayed beside him like a quiet anchor. Tyren and Corren took watch while the others tucked themselves in beside blankets or saddle rolls. The forest pulsed with slow tension, like it hadn’t quite forgiven us for surviving the morning.
I lay curled beneath my cloak, my gaze lifted upwards through the canopy at slivers of sky, too faint to hold the distant sparkle of stars. Jasira shifted beside me, turning to me and propping herself on an elbow. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m thinking.”
She gave me a knowing look. “Dangerous pastime.”
“Do you think I’m foolish?” I asked softly.
Jasira didn’t answer immediately. Then she said, “No. I think you’re brave enough to be kind in a world that punishes kindness. That’s not foolish. That’s rare.”
I swallowed, my throat tight.
Somewhere across camp, the steady scrape of a blade met stone. I didn’t need to look to know it was Erindor.
“Do you think he heard?” I whispered.
Jasira offered a hesitant reply. “Perhaps, but I believe he was already aware.”
I turned on my side, Bran’s warmth tucked against my back, and I listened to the rhythm of the whetstone. Even in sleep, the forest watched.
I closed my eyes, but the weight of the day still clung to my skin. All the blood, the fear, the way his hands had steadied mine. Today, I held a life in my hands, and I stood toe-to-toe with someone made of storms.
And tomorrow, I will try again.
I curled my cloak tighter around my shoulders; the fire had long since been reduced to coal.
The others were asleep: Jasira, finally resting after tending to the boy; Gideon snoring softly nearby; Alaric murmuring something in his sleep, Bran twitching beside him.
Erindor stood beyond the firelight, his back to us, watchful as ever.
My fingers ached from clutching the dagger too tightly. I was still conscious of its weight even now, long after he’d sheathed it for me.