Chapter 31
“Sentries are tasked with protecting the realm from threats both foreign and domestic.
Duty knows no kin to lawlessness.”
“This is where we’re doing this?” I asked, voice flat.
Rowan didn’t even glance back at me as he walked toward the center of the gymnasium.
“It’s private,” he replied.
When Rowan first appeared at my door this morning and told me to “put on something you can bleed in,” I had half a mind to slam the door in his face. Instead, I followed him.
He led me to the base floor, down a maze of concrete halls that reeked of metal and rust. It was nothing like the main level. The lights flickered as we passed, their buzzing like a chorus of dying flies. I was skeptical that we could go somewhere without watchful eyes.
The gym looked like it had been abandoned for decades. The air was thick with mildew and old sweat. One of the ceiling panels was cracked and drooping. The floor mats were torn and uneven, crackling underfoot like dried leaves.
“Why is it so humid down here?” I asked, wiping sweat from my temple already.
“The boiler room’s on the other side of that wall.” He gestured lazily. “Turns this place into a sauna. Perfect for training.”
“It’s creepy.”
“It works. That’s what matters.”
I scoffed as Rowan tossed me a set of knuckle wraps that I barely caught. I didn’t know what to do with them, so I just watched him tighten his and repeated what he did.
I squared up opposite him on the mat, mimicking his stance. It felt awkward, stiff—like I was wearing someone else’s body. In contrast, he resembled a predator toying with its prey.
“Don’t go easy on me,” I warned. If I were pitied, I would never advance.
Rowan smirked. “First, let’s just see what you know.”
I launched forward—too fast, too wild, and entirely off balance. Rowan sidestepped, anticipating the strike before I even moved, and my fist sliced through empty air.
“Try again,” he said smoothly.
I turned and struck again—this time with more focus—but he ducked, spun, and ended up behind me before I could blink. My elbow came up, hoping to catch him on the turn, but all I hit was the ghost of where he’d been.
“You’re dancing,” he said. “Not fighting.”
I gritted my teeth and tried again. Another miss. And another. He wasn’t even breaking a sweat.
I charged, this time with a growl of frustration, aiming a low kick at his side. He caught my ankle midair.
“Better,” he murmured, before shoving me back. I stumbled, nearly falling, but caught myself.
“You’re infuriating.”
“You’re predictable.”
I straightened, jaw clenched. “Is this how you treat all your students?”
“You’re not a student,” Rowan replied, expression unreadable. “You’re trying to survive. That’s different.”
I looked at him then, really looked—at the ease of his movements, the sharpness in his eyes, the way he held himself like nothing could ever strike him down.
“You could kill me right now if you wanted,” I stated. It wasn’t a question, but he answered it anyway.
“Yes.”
That single word rang louder than any blow.
Then he added, quieter: “But I won’t.”
Something lodged in my throat.
“Again,” he said, stepping back and opening his stance. “And this time, stop hesitating.”
I exhaled through my nose, shaking out my hands. My muscles ached from clenching, but I couldn’t seem to stop. The sweat at my hairline wasn’t just from the heat.
I lunged again. This time I didn’t think—I just moved, letting my instincts take over. But Rowan was already moving before I did. He knocked my wrist aside, stepped in close, and swept my leg out from under me.
I hit the mat with a loud thud, all the air fleeing my lungs.
He hovered above, not gloating, not mocking—just… observing. “You think too much,” he said simply, offering a hand.
I smacked it away and climbed to my feet on my own.
“Great,” he said dryly. “She has pride.”
I gritted my teeth. “She also has a powerful desire to punch you in the face.”
His lip quirked just barely. “Then by all means, stop showing your movements before you’ve made them.”
I squared up again, hands raised, breath steady. I moved—quick jab, pivot, feint to the left. He blocked with ease, but I saw the flicker of approval in his eyes.
Then he came at me.
He threw his fist at me slower, yet I barely ducked in time. If it had been real, my nose would’ve been shattered. The next hit came low, toward my ribs, and I twisted just in time to avoid the full brunt. Still, it knocked the wind out of me.
Rowan didn’t stop. He stepped into my space, crowding me. His arm hooked around mine, trapping it.
“You keep moving backward,” he said. “That’s not defense. That’s retreating.”
His breath was warm against my temple, his voice low—too calm for someone who’d just disarmed me.
“You’re faster than you think,” he added. “But you don’t trust yourself. You hold back. That’ll get you killed.”
I jerked my arm free with a snarl and shoved at his chest. He barely moved.
“Again,” he said, not unkindly. “Use the anger.”
I stepped back, breathing hard. Sweat clung to my spine. My limbs trembled—not from exertion, but from restraint. From the sharp, twisting cocktail of humiliation, heat, and something dangerously close to attraction.
I moved again—this time with less technique and more desperation. I aimed a punch at his side and followed with a knee.
Rowan blocked both, but I saw it. A half-second. A shift in his stance. I had surprised him.
That flicker of satisfaction lit something within me.
“Better,” he said again, but this time, there was something new in his voice. Something akin to pride.
We stood there, both breathing hard, close enough that my next step would put me against his chest. Neither of us moved.
Then Rowan stepped away, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding. “You’re learning. We meet here every week, an hour after dinner. Don’t be late.”
With that, Rowan exited the gym, and I stood there panting with my hands on my knees. This was going to be challenging, in more ways than one, but I prayed it was worth it.