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Her mind raced as she tried to push through the pain, to find some inner strength, to keep herself steady. She took a deep breath, gritted her teeth, and focused on the muscles in her abdomen. Her body protested against the exertion. It felt stiff, unyielding, and every minor movement seemed to incite a fresh ripple of pain.
Eldrion, not happy with her performance, bridged the gap between them. He reached out to correct her posture.
A sharp gasp escaped her lips as his fingers grazed her bruised side.
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” she grunted through gritted teeth.
“Show me,” he ordered.
“No!” Anthea swatted his hand away. “I’m fine.”
Despite her protests, Eldrion drew her closer, lifting the hem of her shirt to inspect her side. A curse echoed against the stone walls as he noticed the discoloration on her skin.
“Why must you be so obstinate?” he asked while tracing the outskirts of the swelling with painstaking gentleness, his touch as light as a feather.
Acutely aware of the eyes on them, Anthea squirmed. “Stop,” she whispered, pushing his hand away.
“You need to be more cautious,” he said, his voice low, meant solely for her. “Remember, magic cannot mend you.”
Anthea rolled her eyes. “I’m used to it. My world doesn’t have magic,” she folded her arms across her chest. “And for the record, I do as I please.”
“As long as you are under my care, you will follow my orders.”
“Or what? Will you shatter my hand again?”
“My aim is to keep you from harm’s way, Anthea,” he said, his voice muffled by gritted teeth.
“Then perhaps you should stop inflicting it.”
Eldrion, at the end of his tether, motioned for her to follow him. As she made no move to obey, he gripped her elbow, yanking her towards the changing room. Before she could get her bearing, he shoved open the door and pulled her inside, slamming the door behind them.
He released her as though burned, taking several strides away from her, dragging his hand through his disheveled hair. “You have no idea what is at stake here,” he said, his voice shaking with barely suppressed emotion. “This is not a game.”
“I never said it was!” Anthea rubbed her arm where his grip had been. His warmth still lingered.
His eyes were like twin infernos, raging with an intensity she’d never seen before. His fists clenched at his sides as he stepped forward. “Do you have any idea, how easy it was for me to take you in the Cattleya court?” She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued, “I could hear your labored breathing from miles away. If I had wanted to, I could have found you blindfolded.”
Anthea’s face flushed, nails digging into her palms as she clenched her fists. “I was scared and?—”
“Even with the music echoing through the halls,” Eldrion interrupted, his voice dripping with disdain, “you might as well have been pounding drums. Your footsteps were so loud that had the guards still been conscious, they would have reached you long before I did.”
She blinked back the tears threatening to form, fighting the sting of embarrassment and frustration. “I didn’t ask to be here. I’m not trained for this!”
Eldrion’s face softened for just a moment, then hardened again. “That is precisely my point. You are weak, out of shape. If you don’t take this seriously, the next time you find yourself in danger, it might be someone with worse intentions coming after you. It is hard to trust, I understand that. We haven’t given you much reason to. But this,” he pointed at the training gear inside the room and to the door, “is not a ploy. This is not a pretense. This—believe it or not—is for your own good.” He moved closer to her, his words dropping to a low murmur. “Courts like the Obsidian and the Iron—they’re ruthless, unyielding . . . brutal. If they got their hands on you . . . they would not hesitate to seriously hurt you, in ways you cannot even imagine. You think a broken hand and a few lines on your back is torture . . .” His expression turned to stone. “There would be no pretense of kindness or concern. They would break you, without a second thought. And if they discovered your connection to the prophecy?—”
“Oh, and you have shown me kindness?” she shot back.
As Eldrion’s gaze met hers, Anthea noticed a flicker of something that looked suspiciously like pain flash across his eyes. “I am trying to help you. I have seen what the Obsidian court can do, the devastation they left behind. It must be stopped, and . . . you. If there is a chance that . . . if there is a way to stop them.” His voice wavered on the final words. “If there is a chance you might be the key to stop it. I would do anything to protect you.”
His earnestness was unsettling, it broke through the wall of doubt she had built around herself.
“You have to understand, Anthea. I want to keep you safe, but I need you to start listening to me.” Eldrion reached out again, his fingers hovering over her bruised side before finally making contact. His touch sent an unexpected jolt through her, making her catch her breath. It wasn’t painful—it was startling. “You need to train, to prepare. To be able to protect yourself. You need to take this seriously.” He was still touching her, his hand lingering on her skin. The intensity of his gaze met hers, and she was trapped in it.
“Okay. I . . . I’ll try,” she whispered, her eyes never leaving his.
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