His wings tensed.
“Your father?”
Fire crackled in the silence.
She began to step forward but thought better of it. “I’m sorry. I suppose that’s what you meant when you said he was cruel. Did he hurt your mother too?”
Alaric shook his head.
“Then how was he responsible?”
“It was rumored he had a mistress before marrying my mother. When father refused to marry her and instead married my mother, his former lover flew into a rage, vowing to kill anyone else my father dared to love.” Alaric clenched his fists. “Whoever she was, she made good on her threat. Father, of course, knew it was likely this woman, but he didn’t have enough evidence to convict her. Because of this, he didn’t speak of her identity to anyone, though it does appear that he hired assassins to finish this woman off privately.”
“When was he murdered?”
“A few months after my mother died. I’ve always thought his former lover must have discovered he’d sent assassins after her, so she arranged for my father to be killed. But no one truly knows.”
It seemed the history of royals and nobles was pockmarked with assassinations. Was it possible they were the Scorpio assassins, the same assassins who were after her? And if the previous queen couldn’t be protected, what were the chances that she would be?
“You truly fear being assassinated, don’t you?” he asked.
She glanced up, unsettled to find his gaze fixed on her. Well, duh. “Wouldn’t anyone be?”
“Despite all the safety precautions I’ve set in place? There’s nothing else I could do to make you feel safer?”
“Let me return to Earth.”
As soon as the warmth drained from his eyes, she knew she’d said the wrong thing. She should’ve kept her mouth shut. “That’s not an option, and you’d do well not to make such a suggestion again.”
Evelyn glanced away, barely suppressing the need to crumple into herself. She hadn’t just tolerated their icy interactions, or lack thereof, she’d hated them. And now they were back to square one.
True, she didn’t feel the same things toward him that she had for Draven, but Alaric was still her friend. At the thought of Draven, she felt another surge of concern. Throughout the past weeks, she’d desperately wanted to ask Alaric how Draven was being treated. But to do so would convince Alaric that she was still romantically interested in him. She’d just have to wait until Alaric trusted her or until he broached the topic himself.
She turned, preparing to go to bed, but stopped. “Alaric?”
He stared at her, his expression rock-hard.
“I’m afraid I dismissed the fairies a while ago, and I wouldn’t want to summon them again since it’s so late.” She turned her back to him. “Could you undo the laces on this dress? They’re a bit complicated.” She glanced over her shoulder in time to glimpse a softening in his expression. Though she wasn’t quite comfortable with allowing him so close, at least he’d thawed a bit.
“Of course.” He stood at her back, and with a few gentle tugs her dress loosened.
“Thank you.” She clasped the front of her dress to her chest and ducked behind Alaric’s changing screen to slip on a chemise.
By the time she clambered onto the mattress, Alaric was already changed and abed. She’d been certain he was shirtless the night she’d snuck into his room to poison him, but ever since, he’d always worn a shirt when she was around. Evelyn wriggled beneath the covers and turned on her side.
“Evelyn?”
“Hmm?”
“In the mornings, I go to train in arms with the knights. Perhaps if you joined me, I could teach you a few simple techniques and you’d feel safer.”
Regardless of how many techniques she knew, it was unlikely she’d be the one walking away from a fight. But the thought was sweet. “Sure.”
“Then I’ll see you on the morrow.”
The Next Day
Someone tapped out a knock on the door. “Your Highness?”
Evelyn lifted her head, blinking the blur from her eyes. Highness? Was Alaric being summoned? A quick glance at his side of the bed revealed it was empty, the sheets and blanket smoothed as if he’d never been there in the first place. As it had appeared most mornings.
An ache pinched her chest. He’d forgotten about training with her.
“Your Highness?”
She slid out of bed and cracked the door open.
A knight handed a bundle of clothes to her and a pair of boots. “Once you’ve finished changing, the King has requested your presence in the arena.”
Oh. Guess he hadn’t forgotten. She closed the door and unfurled the clothes. A small pair of trousers, a sleeveless brown tunic, and a belt. She slipped them on. They were her size, which made her wonder what young boy he’d pillaged these from. The fit was a bit off, especially at the waist. She stuffed the shirt into the waistband of the trousers and cinched the belt tightly around the top before twisting her hair back into a ponytail. That would have to do.
She opened the door. “I’m ready.”
The knights awaiting her nodded and walked with her down seven levels of stairs, passing a few nobles who stared at her with wide eyes and arched brows. The knights opened a pair of double doors for her, and she slid inside.
Puffs of dirt shimmered beneath the bright Lux orbs dangling from the ceiling. Stone benches, built for larger frames than hers, cradled a dirt-floored arena below like a coliseum. A few fights in the arena stirred up clouds of dust. Some used exotic weapons like maces or spiked staffs. One even used a whip.
The weapons used in the duels were either wooden or dulled, while the real weapons were used on targets. It was strange to see so many knights shirtless or without armor. Without their helmets, it was impossible to identify their rank. The ring of steel striking steel echoed around the room, and someone grunted. She turned toward the source of the noise, finding it in the far corner of the arena.
Alaric’s sword was locked with another man’s blade. So this was how Alaric knew how to fight. Naturally, he didn’t wear a shirt. Sculpted muscles curved across his chest. Alaric’s gaze slid to hers.
The other knight shoved forward and whipped his sword toward Alaric’s shoulder. The dulled sword met its target with a fleshy smack. Alaric stumbled to the side, clutching his shoulder. Evelyn flinched. That would leave a mark. Alaric rubbed his shoulder once before letting his hands fall by his side.
The knight planted the tip of his sword into the ground and knelt. “Your Majesty, I beg your forgiveness.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. I was… distracted.” He strode to the side of the area. With his back to her, she was given a full view of the scars distorting his skin—more of his father’s work? Alaric picked up a discarded shirt and slid it on. Then he strode to the edge of the arena and tilted his head back to glance at her, his sword hanging at his side. “Evelyn.”
“Alaric.”
A smile teased his lips. “You said my name.”
“I guess I’ve gotten used to it.”
He nodded and looked at the arena for a long moment. “I’ve almost finished warming up. Would you allow me another sword fight before we train together?”
“Sure.”
He dipped his head and sprinted back to the middle of the arena before withdrawing his sword. “Sir Garuth, please bring me a second sword.”
She couldn’t see the Knight’s expression, but judging from the tilt of his head, he was confused. Then he stood and strode to a rack of weapons before picking another sword. He tossed it toward Alaric.
Alaric caught it with his free hand. “Many thanks. Now select three other knights and arm them with swords.”
“Yes… Your Highness. If that’s what you wish.”
Alaric nodded. “I need to compensate for my lapse in attention.”
There was another quizzical pause before the Knight called three others over and tossed swords to them.
Alaric bent his
knees, balancing on the balls of his feet, holding his two swords high. “When you’re ready.”
The Knight shook his head, as if trying to clear a hallucination from his vision. “Your Majesty?”
“Attack me.”
He paused again before lifting his sword. The other knights followed suit. The first knight—Sir Garuth?—charged forward. His sword clashed with Alaric’s, and steel sang. The other knights spread out, approaching Alaric from the sides. Alaric backed up until he bumped against the wall of the arena.
“Hmmm,” said someone nearby.
Evelyn glanced to her left.
A man leaned one forearm against the railing. His other arm clasped a helmet against his side. The eye slits of the helmet were rimmed in gold. Only the King’s personal guards and the Grand Master knight himself were allowed to wear such helmets.
“Alaric has never fought like this before.” The man turned toward her. “Typically, he’s intelligent enough to know better. His skill in arms has come a long way, but I’m afraid this is beyond him.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t believe we’ve properly met before.”
The man dipped his head. “Grand Master Elmir, Your Majesty.”
“A pleasure. How long has Alaric practiced here?”
“He started a few years before Queen Amara died.” A smile edged the Grand Master’s lips. “I had to pull him out of a few scrapes. The other boys would pick on him for his royal status—and his wings, of course. It wasn’t long before he no longer needed my assistance.”
“Is that allowed? To pick on a prince?”
The Grand Master wiped his face of expression and stared at her, his blue-gray eyes hard. “That depends entirely on the king.”
Swords clanged as they smashed together, drawing her attention from the conversation.
One of the soldiers to the left had hesitated before swinging at Alaric. The knight’s sword flew across the arena before landing with a poof of dirt.
The knight retrieved the sword before returning it to the weapon rack. Apparently, once you lost your sword, you lost the fight. Only three knights remained.
Alaric was still backed against the wall. The knights kept on getting in each other’s way. It seemed they weren’t used to fighting three-to-one. One knight hit Alaric’s upper arm. Alaric’s grunt deepened into a growl as his sword arced before him.
The knights all stepped back to avoid his swing. Using their retreat, Alaric rained down blows and attacks on the third knight. Alaric landed a heavy blow to the knight’s ribs with his blunted sword.
The knight doubled over before stumbling away, his arm curled around his waist.
From the corner of her eyes, Grand Master Elmir shook his head, stirring his vivid red curls. But his blue-gray eyes sparkled. “This is an impressive but foolish feat.”
Now that there were fewer knights to get in each other’s way, the remaining two cornered Alaric and kept him on the defensive. Occasionally, Alaric tried to swing his sword toward them instead of blocking, but they deflected his blows and kept him pinned.
After several minutes of swords grazing and clashing with each other, Alaric batted away the second knight’s sword. One knight remained. It was the knight Alaric had dueled earlier—Sir Garuth.
Alaric pushed forward, away from the wall. Sir Garuth gave up only inches at a time. Alaric’s movements were gradually growing slower, and Sir Garuth’s blade nipped Alaric’s skin a few times. Alaric lunged, driving his sword forward. Sir Garuth sidestepped and whipped his sword up to rest against Alaric’s neck.
Alaric froze. Then his lips flattened into a line. “I yield.”
Sir Garuth dropped the sword instantly and bowed toward Alaric. Alaric strode across the arena. He never once met her gaze. Had he forgotten she was there?
Grand Master Elmir’s lips bent into a small smile. “I’ll have to warn my men to avoid fighting the King when the Queen observes. If you’ll enter the arena, I’m certain the King will join you once he has tended his wounds.”
“Is he hurt?”
His smile grew slightly. “I’m afraid his pride has been dealt a blow only you, Your Majesty, can heal.”
Before she could tell him Alaric didn’t care one whit about her opinion, he turned and marched down the stairs into the arena, calling out greetings to the men and correcting their form.
Evelyn began to pluck up her dress, so the hem wouldn’t brush the ground, only to grab fistfuls of her trousers. She straightened her back as best she could and followed the stairs down into the arena.
She stopped at the very edge. Now where should she go while waiting? Maybe wait by the weapon rack? She crossed the arena, stirring up dirt in her wake. A few of the men paused their fighting to look at her.
By the time she stopped by the weapon rack, her face felt like it’d been smothered in heated coals. She pretended to study the weapons, ignoring the stares of the men.
“Evelyn?”
She turned around and found Alaric standing in front of her.
“You’re ready?”
“Of course.” She ran her hands along a fine-pointed dagger. “Now which weapon do I use?”
“Most of your training will be without the use of a weapon.”
She spun back around. “What? Why? How am I going to defend myself?”
“With intelligence and technique. Oftentimes, you might not have the benefit of a weapon available or the weapon might be used against you.” His hand brushed her lower back as he led her away from the weapon rack, to an unoccupied edge of the arena.
He grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Of course, your first action should always be to run and yell to seek out help rather than engaging an attacker yourself.”
“What if someone’s not available to help?”
“With your guards, that shouldn’t be an issue, but should that happen, there are a few things you can do. First of all, you’ll want to strike in vulnerable places.”
“Like kneeing the groin?”
Alaric stepped back. “There are other sensitive areas, but you’re welcome to try.”
“Try? On you?” She grimaced. “Don’t you have a dummy or something I could practice on?”
He grinned. “Do you fear injuring me?”
“Well, I don’t want to completely incapacitate you or anything.”
“I’d like to see you try.” The teasing glint in his eyes nearly caught her off guard. She couldn’t remember Alaric ever teasing her before.
“All right. Fine.” She hesitated and then took a few steps forward.
Alaric suddenly dropped into a fighting stance, arms raised.
She backpedaled. “Are you going to try to punch me?”
“No, but I will defend myself. Now try.”
She crouched into a similar stance and shuffled forward a few steps. When he didn’t advance or retreat, she ventured closer before striking out with her leg.
He latched onto her ankle, twisted, and she fell to the ground, her ribs receiving the brunt of the impact. She pushed herself into a sitting position and shot him a heated glare. “That hurt.”
Alaric shrugged. “Your assailants won’t go easy on you and neither will I.” He offered her his hand, but she ignored it and stood before dusting herself off. “The groin can make for an excellent target, but don’t forget other sensitive areas.”
She folded her arms. This training was proving to be a lot less fun than she’d thought it’d be. “Like what?”
“The eyes.” Alaric held out a palm, his fingers slightly parted. “All you have to do is this.” His hand slowly neared her face. When she closed her eyes, she felt his fingers touch her eyelids. Then he withdrew.
She opened her eyes. “So you just thrust your fingers toward their eyes?”
He nodded.
“That’s easy.” She crouched, held her splayed fingers out. “So like this—” She jabbed her hand forward. When she drew back and found her fingers slightly wet, she flinched. It seemed
she’d actually poked his eyes.
Alaric staggered backward, sucking in a sharp breath, and pressed his palm over his eyes. A tear slipped down his cheek as he gritted his teeth.
She clapped her hands to her mouth. “I am so, so sorry, Alaric. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s… fine.” He lowered his hand, blinked, and grimaced. Bloodshot veins slithered across the whites of his eyes, which shone glossily with unshed tears. He forced another blink. “It seems you have a good grasp of that move. Let’s move on, shall we?”
She ducked her head. “I’m really, really sorry. Really sorry.”
“All is well.” He strode toward the edge of the arena and gestured her closer.
When she neared him, he firmly pushed her against the wall and planted his palms on either side, so she was effectively trapped between his arms. “If you’re cornered in this position, there are a few things you could do. If both my arms are up, you can jab your hands underneath my armpits. Hold up your hands. Good. Now straighten them and jab them beneath my arms—and slowly please.” He grinned. “I’d rather not be completely incapacitated by the end of our session.”
Evelyn laughed. “I’ll do my best.” She held her palms toward the ceiling, straightened them, and pushed them against his underarms. Even through his shirt, they were slightly damp. Ewwww.
“Excellent. Another option is to squat lower than your assailant, then jump upward, ramming your forehead into their jaw. Go through the move slowly.”
She bent at the knees, straightened, and touched her forehead to his jaw. “Like that?” Her breath puffed against his neck, and they stood close enough that she could feel him tense.
He cleared his throat—several times. “G–good. Though you needn’t squat so low.”
“Okay.” She pressed herself back against the wall, preparing to redo the move.
Alaric shifted closer, then froze. Even his chest didn’t rise and fall with breath. A glance at his eyes stilled her as well. They were a darker shade of green than she’d ever seen, the color of pine trees at dusk. He angled his mouth closer to hers.
Ice wrapped around her muscles, freezing them stiff. She cared about Alaric and even admired him at times, but as far as a desire to touch him, she felt nothing—nada. They just didn’t have the fiery spark she and Draven shared.
Captive and Crowned Page 20
