by AJ Nuest
A smile that reeked of insincerity creased his cheeks as he stood and made a grand display of sweeping his hand aside in a formal bow. “You’ve more than proven your worth. No need for further bloodshed, my lady.”
He had to be kidding. Did he really expect her to believe that load of manure?
Silver whispered through the air and, with his ascent, she applied the needle-sharp tip of a long deadly spike to the tender underside of his chin. “And the minute my back is turned?” His head jerked and he stretched to his full height when she stepped close and pushed a little deeper. A bead of red fattened near the point and snaked down the silver toward her fingers. “I suppose then you’ll gladly let me be on my way?”
Wood creaked behind her.
She whirled. Her arm jarred as the downward stroke of Tristan’s sword dislodged her weapon. Shit! They’d double-teamed her with a diversion.
With a flick of her wrist, she conserved the force behind Tristan’s blow and spun to one knee, her other leg extended. Tristan was swept off his feet at the same moment her wrist blade rammed into the inner meat of Rinald’s right thigh. She rolled onto her shoulders, hands braced near her ears, and shoved into a handstand. Ankles locked behind Rinald’s bowed head, she yanked him forward. He tumbled over her, collided with a rising Tristan and they careened to the floor in a rattling crash.
Down, but not out. She flipped to her feet, reclaimed Keegan’s discarded shield and jammed the pointed end under the seam of the nearest freestanding wall. Her full weight balanced on the other end, and the wall tottered. A good solid kick to the side and it teetered, broke over its threshold and collapsed in a deafening slam, trapping the two men beneath.
She ran up the incline and jumped, digging her boot heels into the wood. Muffled groans crept out from under the wall and she jumped again. “Let’s have it, gents!”
“I submit! Submit, submit!” they called in unison.
A full grin in place, she fisted her hands on her hips and peered toward the table of doom. Apparently her last opponent awaited her there, unless he’d decided to tuck tail and run.
Movement caught the corner of her eye, and her smile slowly faded as he stepped into view.
Shirtless under a leather chest plate, corded muscles straining beneath the wide black bands encircling his biceps, the vambraces on his forearms crossing over his chest to form a perfect black X; the man personified a warrior god. He cocked a dark eyebrow and curled a finger, beckoning her near.
Oh-h-h…sh-h-hi-i-it…
Prince Caedmon Austiere.
***
She’d trounced them all. Helios had yet to inch across the sky and she’d reduced his brothers into tarnished lumps of mewling flesh. Pride swelled in Caedmon’s chest even as he cautiously assessed her every move. That she could accomplish as much in such a short span warranted meticulous consideration.
Denmar had forewarned him of her unusual fighting style, the technique they’d developed which allowed her to rampage her surroundings like a phantom. He’d discussed the way he’d taught her to bow under any attack, a willow in the wind, only so she could lash back, transferring the power behind her opponent’s strike into her own…an ability which garnered her a much-needed advantage over the size and strength of her adversaries. Her speed, dexterity and those wicked blades she launched with the accuracy of a lightning bolt all had been assessed.
What Denmar had neglected to confess, however, was the way a second skin of gray leather would hug each voluptuous curve of her body. He had omitted how the smooth swell of her breasts, the arc of her lower back, the succulent curve of her ass and the entire length of each perfectly formed leg would be wrapped like a gift. And Caedmon, the recalcitrant warrior, would be denied the rapturous pleasures that lay beneath.
No effort was squandered in believing she’d been kissed by the goddesses. Her stunning beauty aside, the woman exuded both grace and might, an inner glow he yearned to breathe into his lungs. She was ecstasy incarnate, intoxicating, a lush, ripe fruit to douse the sweetest of juices on his lips.
Thank the nine he retained a secreted edge to level the playing field. He would need it if he withstood one chance at impeding her exodus.
He dusted an imaginary speck off his shoulder, feigning indifference, and strolled to the side, the table pitching under his boots. “Imagine my surprise to learn you’d been training with the guard, my love.”
Her eyes narrowed into two glittering emerald slits, but whether in anger over his endearment or in challenge, he had yet to discern.
“And you, I presume, are here to teach me my place?” She matched him pace for pace, maintaining the distance between them. “I hate to break it to ya, but your lessons come a little too late.”
He shrugged off her disdain. “On the contrary. I am nothing if not pleased with your progress. To see you’ve advanced thus far under Denmar’s tutelage warms my heart.” He locked his gaze onto hers. “I do, however, take issue with your methods.”
Her footfalls paused and she tipped her head. “You’re not making any sense. Stop talking in riddles and just say what you’ve come to say.”
Her fingers twitched near the deadly blades at her hips, a little too close for his liking. With an ear-splitting screech and rustle of feathers, that deadly falcon of hers careened in from above and alit on her shoulder. Its wings remained slightly spread as it chucked a grim warning, the continuous bob of its head another clue to what transpired behind its soulless black eyes.
This latest contestant was sizing him up, assessing the threat he represented.
“Your engagement ring, my love.” Silver hummed along his spine as he withdrew his blade and made a display of inspecting the sharply honed edge. “’Tis quite regrettable, really, and yet I’m told offered without hesitation.” He whipped the blade around and aimed the sharp tip straight at her chest. “Or do you deny you bartered my mother’s ring in exchange for your training?”
Her spine stiffened and the blood drained from her face. “Your mother’s ring? I-I didn’t…no one told…” Myriad emotions flitted across her lovely features—surprise, awe, regret—and at last an exquisite sorrow, hinting just along the corners of her eyes.
Her jaw clenched and she boosted her chin as if to rebuff his accusation. “What would you have had me do? I had nothing else of value in my possession.”
Not so. And her brusque dismissal cut him to the quick.
“You had my heart,” he snapped. “You’ve always had it. Though you’ve quite soundly dashed any delusions I may have embraced regarding its value. Sneaking behind my back, scheming to flee the very moment of my return.”
The color returned to her face thrice-fold, flooding her cheeks with an enticing luminescence. Short pants puffed from her chest and his traitorous cock hardened and lengthened in response. She’d once worn the same captivating radiance in the throes of passion. Passion she’d shared with him.
“Scheming? Sneaking behind your back?” With a blinding glint of sunlight against silver, two lethal blades whirred home to the centers of her palms. “Since when do I need your permission for anything? You don’t own me, Caedmon. No one does.”
He internally scoffed. What fool would ever attempt ownership of one as spirited as she? Therein lay a path aimed straight for the bowels of hell. Security, trust and love are what he endeavored to build between them. Yet he would never achieve such a goal without her protected. Guarded. In his bed.
He affected his battle stance—one leg bent, the other extended to the side, sword high in both hands and at the ready near his right ear. “You will not depart the safety of the castle grounds until I deem the time is nigh. And if bloodshed is the only path to make you see reason, then more is the penalty I’m prepared to pay.”
“I knew it,” she spat. “I knew you were just like the rest of them.” She lowered her chin and her shoulders bunched. “All this talk of love when all you truly want is to control me.” Daggers spun and flashpoints slivered the air as
she exacted her own battle stance—legs parted, arms crossed over her chest, deadly knives twirling to a stop on either side of her shoulders. “This one’s mine, Dart. All mine.”
The falcon screeched and lunged forward. A draft from the powerful down stroke of its wings washed Caedmon’s face before the bird corkscrewed and disappeared over his left shoulder.
Fury blazed like a perilous green flame in her gaze, and he tensed as an evil laugh slipped low and smooth from the flawless column of her throat.
“Brace yourself,” she warned. “This is gonna hurt.”
She whirled with mind-boggling speed. The artful tune of singing steel altered to a discordant twang as he deflected the hailstorm of her assault. Sword in constant motion, he pivoted and dodged. A rain of blades littered the table, chiming on impact, a promise of death with one fatal kiss. The floor pitched as she zigged then zagged in front of him, a torrent of silver spikes cloaking her advance.
Securing a thick rope, she ascended halfway up the nearest wall, dashed madly along the side and flew back, her white braid whipping the air. A thud damped his shoulders. His throat constricted when she wrung his neck between her thighs. The entire weight of her body swung pell-mell around his shoulders. His windpipe wrenched in the crook of her knee. His feet tangled with her rotation. The world slanted strangely off-kilter a moment before his back slammed the table below.
A groan of empathy unfurled from the crowd under the rattling clash of swords pounding steel as the guards displayed their appreciation for her skill.
He gazed dumbfounded at the pristine blue sky. Sweet tits, she had spoken true. That hurt like a whore.
Bracing his hands near his ears, he rolled onto his shoulders and flipped to his feet. The table keeled as a flash of gray streaked across his vision. She sprang past him, hands over heels and vanished feet-first through a high hole in a freestanding wall.
He stared slack-jawed at the empty space she’d just occupied. A glance toward Master Denmar—the proud smile creasing his cheeks, the musing stroke of his beard— and Caedmon narrowed his eyes in suspicion. The captain had grievously downplayed her strength.
Well, more’s the better. He now understood her approach, and would not be so easily duped a second time.
He retrieved his sword and rotated his shoulders to relieve the penetrating ache in his back. Yet, like all warriors of his time, she had to sustain a weakness. If he could lure her close, engage her in hand-to-hand combat, mayhap he could unearth an indication of her limitations or, at the very least, eke out some small advantage to counteract the relentless volley of her vicious blades.
“You ready to quit yet?” Her voice rang out from behind the partition, filled with glee.
A silver spike thudded into the wood near his boot and he leapt back to avoid having his toes impaled. “But we have only just commenced, my love. Come. Let us have another go. The fun has yet to begin.”
He deeply inhaled and resumed his stance, ready for combat, a breath trapped in his lungs.
A roar erupted a moment before she vaulted headfirst through the opening in the wall. A tuck onto her shoulders and she somersaulted into a low crouch, one knee braced on the table, arms extended low and to the sides, wrist blades seated in the palms of her hands. “This is all a joke to you, isn’t it? You play a game as if it’s not only your right, but your duty to rule my every waking thought. Well, guess what? You and all the rest of your pals can go straight to hell. If need be, I’d be more than happy to escort you there myself.”
He tsked, shaking his head. “Such calamitous words from one who is soon to be a princess.”
“What?” Her eyebrows shot up and her thighs bounced as if she’d nearly sprung her feet. “We’re not engaged, Caedmon. Get that crazy idea out of your head right now.”
He tightened his grip on his sword. This woman was sure to incite him to the brink of madness. To dissolve their agreement went against everything he believed in, everything he desired. “I petitioned, you consented. Our betrothal stands.”
Her jaw dropped as if he’d just confessed to possessing a third arm. “What in the world is wrong with you people? I don’t remember agreeing to any such thing.”
She raised her haunches, one booted foot slightly behind the other, zeroed in on him from under her brows and sprang forward as if she’d been launched by a catapult.
Sprinting at high speed, she closed in before swiftly veering to his right…but this time he stood ready. He slashed his blade before the space in front of her, arresting her route to the wall. She dropped to her knees and slid beneath the razor-sharp edge of his sword, back bowed, the tail of her hair dragging along the floor.
Three lunging strides, a pivot on his heel and he towered over her. The muscles of her thighs skimmed the inside of his boots. A downward stroke and the tip of his sword screamed toward the skin of her throat. She crossed her wrist blades before her neck, faced turned in a grimace. A jarring vibration traversed the length of his arms when steel clanged against steel.
She collapsed onto her shoulders and swiveled her hips, hands stationed on either side of her head. Her legs coiled to her chest and she pistoned her booted heels straight at his stomach. The breath shot from his lungs on impact. He stumbled back, quickly regrouped and charged as she scrambled to her feet.
A whirl and her crossed blades fended off his attack. A jab and she countered. By all the goddesses, she was fast. He parried and danced, a flurry of motion led by instinct alone. She bowed and swayed, advanced and withdrew, each of his thrusts met by her counterstrike of precision.
His muscles ached, sweat beaded on his brow. A damp sheen glistened along her neck and her labored breathing matched the tempo of his.
A minute switch of his aim and he prodded her left-side defenses. She hesitated, and the small gaffe was her undoing.
Under his second press to the left, she faltered and twisted, miss-stepped and inched away. Yet such a space he would no longer allow. The distance between them ended here. Now.
A smile burst free. His victory was at hand.
With his next press, he easily swiped her blades away, encircled her waist in one arm and hauled her lithe body flush to his chest. The width of his sword hovered between them, the deadly edge perched at the fluttering pulse point beneath her jaw.
“You favor your left side, my love.” Each of his panting breaths drew her essence deeper into his lungs. His body responded in kind, throbbing and aching to be buried inside her. “It ’twould seem this bout goes to me.”
She squirmed against him, the succulent swell of her breasts arching along the top of her chest plate, each shove of her hips a delicious friction against the heat of his groin. For all her effort, her struggles proved fruitless, and when he slid his hand lower to cup the luscious arc of her ass, she gasped and placed both hands on his chest.
Her wriggles abruptly ceased, but she did not thrust him away. Heated desired swirled through the depths of her delicate green gaze and the deep eternal craving to claim her lips surged within his soul.
He obeyed its siren’s call, angled his sword from her throat and brushed his mouth lightly across hers. “Now enough of this folly,” he whispered. “Let us cease these needless brawls and submit to one another. Sword to sword, heart to heart. My freedom for yours.”
She softened against him, but not a heartbeat passed before a rigid tension filled her beguiling form. “You may think you have beaten me.” Though her words were fierce, her breathlessness conveyed much more lay hidden beneath her heated threat than mere bluster. “But there’s no way I’m going down alone.”
A slight shift of her weight and Caedmon froze. His member shriveled and dread leached into his spine as the pointed tip of a sharp dagger pricked the tender underside of his balls.
“I suggest you release me,” she whispered, darting her lips near. “Or I can promise you, your ability to sire an heir will come to a dismal end.”
“Ho! Hie!” Denmar jumped onto the table and appr
oached, slapped a hand to each of their shoulders and eased them apart. “Under the constructs of the Gantlet, I declare this contest a draw!”
The crowd roared its approval amid the rattle of armor and resounding applause.
“You two need to secure a private chamber,” the master spoke from the side of his mouth. “Before someone retains a serious injury.”
Caedmon chuckled at the slight blush tinting the fair skin of his lady’s cheeks, though she frowned and darted a fearsome glance between them. “And what of my title? What do your constructs say about that?”
Denmar opened a hand toward the king. “In the event of a draw, His Majesty determines the outcome of the games.”
Caedmon swiveled his head toward his father, an anxious breath lodged in his throat. If the king ruled in her favor, any chance at his future happiness would disappear like so much water seeping though his fingers.
“Denied.” The king declared his ruling with a quick flick of his hand. “The sorceress shall remain at the castle and reacquire the tasks due her station.”
Relief flooded his chest and Caedmon exhaled. One glimpse of his lady’s face, however, and his unease resurfaced in a rush. Every muscle in his body instinctively tensed.
His love held her jaw tight, her hands fisted at her sides. Tears flooded her eyes as she slowly pivoted and pinned him in her vicious, watery gaze. “You bastard. You ever come near me again and I swear on the nine I will kill you on sight.”
Chapter Six
Her leaving wasn’t supposed to happen this way.
Rowena swiped at a wayward tear before cramming the last of her bundled blades into her satchel. Meddling asshole. Ever since Prince Caedmon’s return, every step she’d taken toward independence, every aching joint and hard-won bruise she’d suffered in silence had been dumped straight into the cesspit.
A sob of rage pressed against her chest and she gritted her teeth until the throbbing ache subsided. Her fingers trembled as she cinched the drawstring on her pack and tied a tight knot.
Showing up with plans for their future as if she had no say. Insinuating himself into her final test and throwing her entire existence into turmoil. Well, screw him. Screw the king, Denmar and anyone else who thought they had the right to tell her how she should live. For all she cared, the entire Austiere Kingdom could kiss her lily-white ass.
