Chapter Six
Fenric
M y eyes were on her every chance I had, every breath between swings, every lull in roars from the crowd. Even when my opponent's axe nearly kissed my ribs, I was still scanning the stands for just a glimpse of her, of dark curls and a shy smile.
She looked like something out of a dream, high up in the chief’s viewing box. In her purple dress with ribbons in her hair, which I thought she was wearing just for me. I kept waiting for her to stand and climb down from the perch to bring me the favor she’d promised.
She didn’t, of course, and I knew deep down that she was most likely too nervous or maybe waiting for the break before the final bout to seek me out.
When my eyes lock on Garron leaning slightly toward her, too damn close for my liking, it takes everything I have not to vault myself over the damn rail and drag her away from him right then in front of everyone. She doesn’t belong next to him; she doesn't belong next to any male except me.
The ugly brute is twice her age at least . I am younger, faster, stronger. I can protect her, make her laugh, make her blush, make her mine .
She didn’t even stay to see me win. When I look back up at the chief’s canopy between rounds, she is gone. Was she not interested after all? Was I just some fool Bull chasing butterflies?
I wipe the sweat from my brow and turn toward the ring, nearly breaking my opponent's shield in half just to burn off the fire in my chest.