“I was right,” he says as I bend to snatch the sword off the ground. “You were trained poorly.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say. He doesn’t know the highest ranking guard in the kingdom trained me, that I’ve spent years of my life devoted to being able to protect myself. He might think whatever man in my town I wanted to secure with a betrothal taught me how to fight, but he’d be completely wrong.
When his eyes are nowhere near my sword, I try to catch him off guard with a quick swipe across his abdomen, but he steps back lazily, as if he expected the move. His sword slaps the back of my calves and I cry out, shocked at the sting.
“Hey!”
“Fix your footwork. You’re giving away your next move.”
He did expect it.
I visualize my footwork and feel the way I am standing holding the sword, and as much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. I’m leaning on my lead foot, giving away which side I’m moving toward, and it is making me slightly off balance.
Stepping back and resetting my feet, I’m barely ready before he charges me, his strength sending vibrations through my hand as I block every one of his strikes. Our blades clash, locking us together in a stalemate before I push him away. The force pushes me backward, and I stagger, trying to steady myself. My eyes widen with panic as I look down at my feet, realizing how far we’ve shifted across the deck. The heels of my boots are now hanging off the edge of the ship, begging to tip over.
My arms windmill as I try to right myself, feeling my weight pulling me toward the water below. A scream catches in my throat and my stomach bottoms out before I feel Weston’s hand wrap around my waistband and yank me forward. I fall into him,but even with my weight and the momentum from my almost fall, he doesn’t budge.
“Careful, princess,” he grunts, and I shove out of his grasp.
“You should have let me fall,” I snap.
“I could have, but I didn’t think you wanted to get wet again this morning.”
I don’t need a mirror to know my face is bright red, not only with embarrassment, but with fury. Weston doesn’t need to be thinking about me wet in any sense of the word. He makes me want to stab him, and suddenly I’m wishing these were real blades, not training swords.
“What do you know about making a woman wet,Captain?” I seethe, wiping the sweat on my palm on my pants, trying to do anything to keep my hands busy so I don’t throw a punch.
“I know enough, princess.”
“Fuck you,” I spit out and spin so the opening is alongside me, no longer at my back. There are Castaways fighting near us, and I hope they were too preoccupied to hear.
“I’ve seen all I need to see, anyway.”
His dismissal feels worse than being scolded by Brynne on her worst day. My confidence is low when I fight with a sword. If given a choice, I’ll always choose a bow, and hearing him confirm my inadequacy makes me bristle.
Coming after his inappropriate comment, the words make me hate him even more.
He takes the sword from my hand and leans it against the rail, along with his. The jewels on my dagger hilt gleam in the sun as he pulls it out of his vest, then flips it so the blade rests against his palm.
“Can I trust you to practice with this?” he asks, his eyes meeting mine. Any humor I may have found there from before is gone now, as he considers handing me an actual weapon.
No.
I don’t speak, just nod. A thrill hums through me as he extends his arm and my hand clasps over the metal hilt. I feel safe again, my dagger back where it belongs.
Weston pulls a different blade from his belt, the dagger slightly larger than mine.
“Now let's see what bad habits I need to train out of you.”
He’s doing this on purpose. Antagonizing me, trying to get me to react to him. As if having to endure this morning wasn’t punishment enough, he feels the need to take whatever he’s feeling out on me here.
Is he jealous? Angry?
Was heexcited?
No, absolutely not. If Weston enjoyed whatever he thought he saw this morning, there would be no way I could sleep in that room with him ever again, let alone in the same bed.
I look down at the sharpened edge of the steel and watch as my fingers close tighter over the hilt.
