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“The trick is to pretend the target is something—someone you hate. Something that drives you mad enough to destroy. Let that repulsion flow through you and release it with the dagger.” I shrugged. “I just pictured you.”
Her mouth snapped shut, and I strolled past her, toward the field’s exit. I called back to her, “I think that’s enough training for today.”
I chose a spot in the far corner of the pool to ease my tension. I hadn’t done much physical training today, but I still felt drained from the time spent teaching Emilie. It was probably the most mentally exhausting job I’d ever had. And I’d had a lot of taxing positions.
It took so much gods’ damned effort to not throw her over my shoulder and dump her outside the city’s gates. I cupped water in my palms and splashed it over my face, wiping sweat and dirt as I ran my hands over my skin.
I leaned back against the marble edge of the pool, soaking in the sun and perfectly tempered water. Warmth permeated my body, and I slowly began to relax. I even closed my eyes for a bit while I listened to the water trickling into the pool from a small fountain.
I’d ended our training session early enough that no other soldiers were here to disturb my peace. Only three older women laid on the lounge chairs across the room. By the way they hadn’t moved since I’d arrived, I assumed they were fast asleep.
I might’ve dozed off too if it weren't for the sound of a towel billowing and something else clunking as it hit the floor. I sighed. Was it too much to ask for a moment’s peace?
I squinted and peered out beneath one eyelid. Then I sighed heavier. Of course, it was Emilie. The gods hated me. They knew I wasn’t a devout worshipper and so they’d chosen me to punish for all eternity. That was the only explanation.
It was no use pretending I didn’t know she was there. She glared at me as she dipped her toes in the water. She had changed into black bathing clothes. The bottoms were modest but the top was merely a thin piece of fabric that dipped low enough to see the curves of her breasts.
It was impossible not to notice her long legs and toned torso. For someone who had never trained, her body didn’t show it. I chalked it up to youth and good breeding.
“Don’t you have any place better to be?” I growled.
Emilie sank further into the water, relaxing against the side like a mirror image of myself. She gave me a pensive look. “No. This life of pampering and uselessness is apparently all I was made for.”
Chapter Ten
Emilie
Cyrus walked me through the gardens late in the afternoon. The enormity of the castle grounds never ceased to amaze me. We wandered through hedges and groves until we found ourselves under the largest pergola I’d ever seen.
Lush green vines climbed the trellises, deep purple grapes hanging from above our heads. There was just enough space between the plants to allow glimmers of light to peek through, decorating the sandstone floor with a majestic glow.
My steps faltered, and Cyrus slowed beside me. “What do you think? I thought we could have the wedding reception here.”
Tables had been arranged in a circle around the patio, leaving a space in the center for a makeshift dance floor. As I looked around, I noticed each table had been decorated differently. Different floral arrangements, different linens, different accent colors. A plethora of options for me—for us—to choose from.
“It’s stunning. I can’t imagine a more beautiful place to celebrate.” I could picture it already. The sun setting in the distance. A cool breeze blowing through the open sides while people danced and drank. Myself in a flowing white gown, perhaps with an open back, and Cyrus guiding me back to his room well past midnight.
My cheeks flushed at that last thought.
“Good,” Cyrus said cheerfully. He placed his hand on the small of my back and led me forward into the center of the reception area. Across the patio, a plump man with a white coat was racing back and forth, tampering with an array of plates and directing his assistant, a woman with brown hair pulled back in a bun, to fetch a serving utensil.
He didn’t see us approaching until he turned around and, with a shocked expression, greeted us warmly. “Welcome! You’re early. I sent Dani to grab some utensils to serve the cake. I brought everything you asked for and then some. And this must be Emilie!”
The man bounced back and forth on his feet, his energy too much to contain. He was a few inches shorter than me, his wrinkled skin flushed from the heat of the afternoon. And up close, I could see smudges of frosting and dye on his otherwise white coat.
“Yes. Emilie, this is Ivan. He is our baker here in the castle. One of the most talented men you’ll ever meet. Ivan, this is Emilie.” Cyrus wrapped his arm around my shoulder as he introduced us, pulling me close to his side.
I held my hand out. “It’s nice to meet you, Ivan.”
“Likewise.” Ivan waved an arm at the long, rectangular table. “I’ve brought six different cakes for you to try. As soon as Dani gets back, we can dig in.”
Cyrus and I moved closer. Each cake was labeled with a small white note card. There were the basics—vanilla and chocolate. And then there was also red velvet, salted caramel, double fudge, and a zesty lemon. They were all decorated uniquely, yet still stately enough for a royal wedding.
The vanilla had white roses, while chocolate had shaved swirls of dark chocolate sprinkled on top. Red velvet was covered in fondant with a red and white marble pattern. They were all so beautiful, I almost felt guilty for digging in.
Almost.
When Dani returned with a serving knife, I was nearly drooling. She effortlessly sliced into each cake, serving two sample sized pieces for both me and Cyrus of each flavor.
