35. Chapter Thirty-Three #3
But my focus was quickly directed toward the scene in the middle of the room. Tairngire was arms up in a guard stance—facing off against King Caedmon on the mats.
The air in the room was warmer than the courtyard, thick with the scent of leather, sweat, and dusted stone. Light spilled through the high windows in long gold beams, catching on movement, on skin.
Right on him.
Tairngire was shirtless. Just like he had been in the illusion Caelith wove for me while I slept on the forest ground in Morhaven.
Fuck. Me.
Every line of him looked shaped with intent rather than chance.
Broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist. His muscle shifted clean and fluid beneath skin etched with faint runes that pulsed like quiet embers, accentuated by every movement.
His perfect golden locks were drenched with sweat as they hung slightly over his brow.
He looked every bit the Tuatha blessed god he was.
Across from him stood Caedmon. He was barefoot.
Loose training trousers were tied at his hip, his chest bare.
He looked no older than thirty-five turns of the sun, but the strength in him was settled, grounded, and ageless in its beauty.
Where Tairngire was sharpened fire, Caedmon was steady earth, balanced and relaxed, entirely unbothered.
I spared a glance at Mairenn, who seemed to be drooling over her own blood and my Forest God.
Wait…my Forest God?
I needed to get a handle on myself. Cindraloch was such a strange place, their customs alien. It had to be getting to my head. That was the excuse I told myself, anyway.
I followed her gaze back to the mat just in time to see Caedmon roll his shoulders once, grinning. “Don’t you dare go easy on me now, Awakener.”
Tairngire’s mouth curved faintly. “You say that every time, Your Highness.”
“And every time you act as if you don’t want to put me on my ass.”
“That’s because I don’t want to put you on your ass,” Tairngire replied mildly. “You’re far too useful to be out of commission for too long, and also…I fear Scáthae’s wrath.”
Caedmon bellowed his signature laugh, bright with no offense lacing it. “As you should.”
They began to circle each other like wolves.
No tension or posturing, just two beings who knew exactly what the other was capable of.
It was odd to see Tairngire playful like this.
In fact, I never had up until this point.
He spoke of the other divines as if he couldn’t relate to any of them, but he seemed to be a part of something bigger here—a family.
I wondered just how much he hid behind his expertly guarded words.
Caedmon moved first, and he moved fast. He threw a straight strike toward Tairngire’s ribs. Tairngire pivoted, letting it slide past, their shoulders brushing in controlled contact as he slipped inside the king’s reach. It didn’t look accidental.
They flowed apart and back together again like performing an intricate dance.
Mairenn stood beside me, arms folded with a glint of amusement in her eyes. “They do this every time Tairngire comes to visit,” she leaned toward me, whispering.
“And how often is that?”
She shrugged, her playful attitude making its appearance once again. “Not as often as Caedmon would like.”
Caedmon feinted high, then swept low. Tairngire cleared it with effortless precision, landing light, only for Caedmon’s elbow to drive toward his side the moment his feet touched down. Tairngire took it—not fully, but enough that the impact landed with a solid thud.
“That was good…for you.” Tairngire said.
“I told you not to hold back,” Caedmon shrugged, still grinning.
They closed again, closer this time. Flesh struck flesh with controlled force. Their forearms clashed, shoulders braced, hands redirecting rather than stopping.
It was like watching a language I didn’t speak but could somehow understand.
As if I’d been in a similar room before, with different people, my own blood spilling on a mat…
I grabbed my head as the strange thoughts assaulted me.
Pain throbbed in the back of my head, the same one I’d feel when a vision was about to take me…
I felt a nudge to my ribs and snapped my attention back to Mairenn who was looking at me with furrowed brows. I shook off the thoughts and her attention. I refocused on the sparring match in front of us, even though I could still feel her eyes burning holes through my skin.
God and king.
Divinity and bloodlines.
Caedmon drove forward. His palm struck toward Tairngire’s sternum. Tairngire caught the wrist coming his way, turned with it, but Caedmon rolled through the momentum, slipping free at last second and stepping behind him. A hand caught Tairngire at the waist, trying to throw him off balance.
Tairngire was having none of it—he dropped his weight instantly, grounding himself.
“That was your best move yet,” he said.
Caedmon scoffed. “Your flattery won’t get you anywhere in a fight.”
“Please, war-born. You know I don’t flatter. If I sing praises, I mean them. Either that, or I’m practicing a diversion tactic.”
Caedmon laughed again—and that was when he made his critical mistake. He laughed while moving, and the Forest God took advantage.
Tairngire shifted his hips, sharp and efficient.
His foot hooked behind Caedmon’s exposed ankle as his shoulder drove into his center.
They went down in a controlled tumble, bodies turning.
Before I could blink, Tairngire was on top, forearm braced across the king’s chest, pinning him to the mat with ease.
“See? Diversion tactic. And I even warned you ahead of time.” Tairngire was grinning now.
Caedmon didn’t strain or panic, he simply looked up at Tairngire with a frustrated expression on his face. “Yes…and why, exactly, did you do that?”
Tairngire’s eyes flicked up then and his gaze found me, just for a heartbeat. He ignored the half-born king underneath him completely.
It stoked the fire that he started last night at the gazebo. The memory of his hand braced beside me head, his voice low in the dark.
I don’t bed mortals.
Tairngire looked back down at Caedmon, his breathing normal, like he hadn’t just sparred with Scáthae’s blood. “You dropped your guard.”
“You were distracting me.”
“So, work on not being easily distracted.”
Caedmon tapped the mat twice. Tairngire released him immediately, rising in one smooth motion. Caedmon rolled to his feat, breath heavier now, a sheen of sweat across his chest and a smile still on his face.
“Again?” he asked.
Tairngire nodded once and winked in my direction. Actually winked.
The doors behind us opened and Scáthae walked in. She moved like a panther in the jungle—smooth and inevitable, commanding without force. Her presence didn’t demand space. It simply existed so fully that space made itself.
She watched the two of them for a moment, arms loosely folded, silver eyes focused and bright.
Caedmon caught sight of her and straightened slightly, aware of his war goddess mother’s presence.
Tairngire glanced back once before returning his focus to the king.
They moved again—faster now. A clean exchange. A sharp block. Caedmon nearly broke free of a hold that would have dropped most men twice his size.
Scáthae began to clap, slowly.
“Well done,” she called, pride clear in her voice as she looked at Caedmon. “You hold your own against a god, son of mine.”
My chest tightened. It was a simple thing, a mother praising her son. But the word own echoed inside my skull. I glanced toward Mairenn and she was looking at her mother with more than just a daughter’s love. She looked at her with respect and complete adoration.
This entire place was the war goddess’s domain. Her children, her castle, her legacy, her blood. Nothing existed here without her.
I stood there, sweat cooling on my skin, lungs still tight from training, and felt something ugly and small twist inside me—unworthiness. I felt like an outsider in her presence.
Because she was everything I was not.
Goddess. Warrior. Mother of Kings.
And Tairngire—the god who had almost brushed his lips against mine and smirked like temptation itself—stood easily in her midst. Like he belonged anywhere she was. Like together, they could conquer the universe.
I hated that I noticed it. Hated that it caused my skin to tingle even more. Because he might not bed mortals, or give them children…but what of intimacy with a goddess?
Scáthae’s applause faded into the stone around us. Tairngire didn’t look back at her, instead he walked toward me, and not with the loose ease he’d had sparring with Caedmon, but with something quieter and more focused. The shift was subtle. His shoulders settled, his gaze narrowed.
Up close, heat seemed to roll off him in waves, there was no teasing in his expression now, no crooked half-smile. He glanced at Mairenn. “How was she with the blade?”
Mairenn huffed. “Determined. A bit sloppy. Bruises are forming in all the right places.” She shot a wink in my direction.
“Good,” he nodded.
I folded my arms, my attitude leaking through.
They would continue speaking about me as if I wasn’t standing right there?
I narrowed my eyes and let my inner fire consume me.
“You have the audacity to ask her that? After standing up on your little balcony, watching everything with your war goddess girlfriend at your side?”
Mairenn nudged me so hard in my freshly bruised ribs it almost toppled me, I didn’t dare look to her and see the ire written all over her face.
Tairngire’s gaze slid to me then, slow and unhurried, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I was assessing.”
“Uh-huh.”
He cocked his head to the side. “You don’t like being measured, Little Seer?”
“Not by you.”
“Me? Or someone else?” His eyes darted once toward Scáthae, and I bristled.
Well, it would seem nothing got past him.