Chapter 22 #2
He mumbles something under his breath, but I ignore it, because it sounds like something close to, “Does she care? Does she even have emotions?” When I don’t respond, I hear him dragging himself behind me as we head to the oval arena.
It’s stacked with amphitheater seating and a wide-open center, where scorch marks have been made from previous duels.
A weapons rack glistens under the midday sun.
This is where Ramiel will fight in two months.
And also, where we will practice.
We reach the center, and I turn on him, swiftly disarming him and pulling the longsword from his sheath. With a quick step around him, I angle the blade inches from the nape of his sweat-slicked neck.
He freezes in place.
“This is no good.” I sigh. “How could you let me take your weapon from you like that?”
He blabbers, his words incomprehensible.
I flip the hilt and jab him in the chest with it. He grunts but manages to catch the heavy thing before it clatters to the hard ground.
“And if I may offer a correction,” I say with a smirk, unsheathing my knife and brandishing a saber from the weapons rack, “I have an emotion or two. But I don’t bow to them. Not like you think I do.”
We spar for about thirty minutes, if one can call our pitiful display “sparring.” Between the prince’s longing gazes that burn with otherworldly desire and the huffing he does whenever I pin him to the ground with a simple parry, I think it’s safe to say we’re going to have a long two months ahead of us.
But sparring is all I can do to keep my own thoughts and desires at bay.
The brushes of touch between us might bring brief moments of relief, but they only serve to feed the fire.
After the fifth time I’ve knocked him to his back, Ramiel’s breath is hot and heavy. His hands pull over his knees, and he bends forward onto his toes, eyes trying to focus on the flat gray ground, where his longsword now lies.
The sun beats down on us, unrelenting. It’s like Aldorin herself has possessed the bright star and wants to discern which of us will bow to her whims. I hide my exhaustion with steady, shallow breaths.
The cool saber sits flat against my exposed shoulder, alleviating the searing sensation blossoming along my collarbone. Like humans, elves aren’t immune to sunburns, but we are slightly more tolerant of them.
“Had enough yet?” I ask, trying not to smile as I wipe the wet heat from my forehead.
His head tilts, eyes squinting at the heavens. Coiled strands of dark brown stick to his forehead, glistening with sweat. His lip lifts in response to the glaring light, revealing a set of straight teeth in his half-open mouth. “Explain to me again why this is the first thing we’re doing?”
It beats sitting in silence while our bodies grow more and more demanding of one another.
I turn the saber’s blade quickly, letting the other side absorb the warmth in my shoulder.
“Magic is useless if you can’t wield it in a vessel.
” A half truth. Magic is strongest when its wielder has an equally incredible eluviam within them.
But in his current state, I’m almost certain he couldn’t conjure even a droplet of water, especially not when he lacks even basic physical skills.
Hence why he needs to master a weapon before attempting to control the speck of magic squealing in his eluviam.
It’s like teaching a baby how to talk or walk or whatever babies need to be taught to do. Add in a useless flurry of unnecessary emotions made turbulent thanks to an ill-timed blessing, and my job has been made impossible.
Maybe I don’t need to sabotage Ramiel to earn the king’s mercies. I glance at the sky, concern etched into my brow. Could Aldorin have…helped us? Given me a means to break the deal I’ve made with my pupil’s father?
If that’s the case, I?—
“Useless?” he echoes. His eyes blip away from me, no longer able to withstand the brightness.
Grunting, he plucks his sword from the hard ground and grips it with both hands.
He seems to finally understand the importance of this exercise.
Guilt pricks at me when his expression morphs into determination.
The blade slides off my shoulder, and I lift my other hand to grip the leather hilt.
I aim it at him, commanding his focus. I’m sure he can now sense the klopse I’d found limping in the castle’s forest slowly hobbling its way toward the arena, attracted to the energy spiraling between us.
Or maybe he doesn’t, if the desperation in his eyes is any indicator of what he might be thinking.
“Did I tell you I’ve never taught anyone how to wield a sword?
Nor have I ever described how to use magic.
These things were a part of my upbringing.
It’s going to be difficult for you to catch up in a mere two months.
” I word my confession carefully, trying to buy time.
I am not sure when the klopse will arrive or in what condition.
All my mind can think of is the jars and jars of klopses and other magical beings being kept in the castle for whatever terrible things the king has planned to use them for.
There is no reason why one should be so far from Aldorin and so weakened.
A starving klopse is the perfect way to injure the prince without killing him, fulfilling the king’s orders. But now I’m starting to have second thoughts…
“You did not, but I also didn’t deign to ask.” The prince coughs. He puts one foot forward, and I tilt my blade to the ground. “I have hope you’ll be able to do it. It has to be you.”
My eyes widen.
Hope.
This isn’t about my ability. It’s about the trust he’s granted me, like Bernadette swore he would. He believes, by some miracle, I’ll have him twirling around a dragon without so much as a drop of sweat emerging from his brow.
I scan him quickly and palm my dagger.
After surveying his coordination, I conclude he isn’t terrible, but he also hasn’t trained his body to withstand the heat of battle.
What threat could this prince possibly pose, for the king to go to such lengths to ensure his failure?
I clear my throat. “It can and will be done. You just need to be serious.” My hands begin to tremor as my eyes get even more watery than before. I’m on a roll with my lying today. The more I keep this up, the more my symptoms will show.
The prince scoffs. “It feels like I’m the only one being serious here.”
My grip tightens on the hilt of the saber. I wish he could understand how serious I am. How much depends on what happens here today.
The last breath of energy pulses in my dagger, and I glance at it. The faint purple glow in the glassy obsidian winks at me, then disappears as it reenters my body. Such a small drop of magic, and yet, the sweat quickly dries from my brow.
“If you can best me, I will teach you how to imbue your weapon with magic. That will be our next step in training.”
He nods.
We stand a distance from each other, swords angled at the ready.
To my surprise, he lunges first, sword leading his attack. But the blade is off target, and I parry it easily. The soft shriek of metal echoes off the walls surrounding us, fading as quickly as it came.
Ramiel’s nostrils flare, and his jaw ticks. I shrug my shoulders, but this seems to only aggravate him more.
I find myself wanting to irritate him.
It’s a shocking desire. One I wouldn’t assume comes from the bond winding us together.
But it’s better than being the object of his affection, and him mine.
He lunges at me, thrusting the blade forward, but it slices through empty air. His face flushes red as he bites his lip, his eyebrows stiff slopes over his eyes.
“I’m not putting much effort into dodging your attacks.
” I sigh, tipping my blade toward him. The frown he makes nearly draws another laugh out of me.
Oh, this is too much fun. The smile spreading on my face is close to painful with how wide it stretches.
“Why don’t you try to copy my movements instead of always going on the offensive?
” My tone is meant to be disciplinary, stoic. But it sounds much more flirtatious.
He seems to realize this because his shoulders twitch and his face deepens a shade.
With one hand behind me, I bend my knees and take three small steps forward, maintaining eye contact. Ramiel’s eyebrows lift slightly. I take the opportunity to strike the heel of my saber and swing, stopping scarcely before grazing his glistening neck.
I dare a glance at him, hoping to find fear or humiliation there. But he’s ogling me, eyes brimming with innocent admiration. And a passion that has all but consumed him once again.
In less than a second, I swipe my foot against his ankles and knock him and his wretched expression to the hard ground.
A gurgly laugh barrels from my throat, but I don’t stop it. Nor do I want to. It’s freeing, laughing at royalty like this. For the moment, I don’t worry that anyone else can hear.
And if he orders me dead, he’ll be sending himself to the seven hells right along with me. That’s how our bond works. Souls bound to one another.
Once my throat is dry, I tip my head and bask in the sun, sweat forming once again at my hairline.
“Are you satisfied?” he asks from his sprawl, grunting as he props himself on his elbows.
He smirks, his hair sticking up around his face and his eyes toeing the line between tired and energized.
“I know I didn’t give you the best first impression.
Much of this is new to me, so I know I’m being desperate asking you to bear with me.
“The…mating…thing…doesn’t make sense, but I think I’m starting to understand it.” A hand sifts hesitantly through sweat-speckled brown curls as he struggles to find his phrasing. The more moist his hair, the tighter the curls. I wonder if one might hug my finger if I were to slip my hand?—