“Eyes on me, princess.”
My eyes flick up to meet his, as if I can’t disobey his command. He waits, his gaze not leaving mine, until I strike, swiping at him, but I'm met by his blocks every time.
I groan in frustration as we reset.
“I think I’ve heard enough of your moaning for one day.”
It’s almost as if something physically snaps inside me. He’s punishing me, and I’ve had enough of it. I want to beat him, to be done with this stupid exercise, but I don’t want to just walk away. He wins if I walk away.
Ignoring the heat burning in my face, I charge at him, letting my rage take over my actions. I thought the anger and humiliation I felt when I was in the training ring with Brynne being mocked by the guards was bad, but that was nothing compared to this. The last time I feltthiswas the last time I fought him, when he took Fin.
My training takes over, the movements the same as with a sword, only with the shorter weapon. Much closer, more personal.
Because he’s made this personal.
With every blow he dodges or blocks, my frustration escalates. How is he this skilled? He’s been hidden away here for years, with no one to fight. Why is he making me look like I can’t touch an opponent?
A grunt escapes my lips as I slice at the air, until his fingers wrap around my wrist, squeezing tight and jerking it to an odd angle, just as he did in the cave. My grip loosens on the hilt, and I cry out and grab my wrist, pain lacing from it up into my arm as he slides the dagger out of my hand.
“You’re fighting with too much emotion. You’ll never win that way.” The dagger clatters on the wooden deck as Weston tosses it at my feet. I bend over, snagging it quickly and ready myself again.
All I have is emotion right now. So many mixed negative emotions flooding my mind, day and night, and I want them all to stop. I just want to feel good, happy. Like myself. Or, at least the new version of me I became once I found a home here.
I inhale deeply, trying to settle the emotions, and realize the noise on deck has dulled. Many of the Castaways have stopped their duels to watch us, and it gives me even more motivation in this moment to beat Weston.
We slowly circle each other, each of us stalking our prey, waiting for the other to make the first move. It feels like a dance, not that I have ever danced with anyone outside of lessons.
He watches me intently, and his eyebrow quirks in a challenge. I barely wait a second before I feign a strike to his left side, only to step back to his right, and swipe at the arm he’s moving to block me.
My blade meets his skin, and deep red blood blooms across his forearm before his dagger drops to the floorboards.
Pride rises inside me, not at making him bleed, but at besting him. After all the taunting, the jabs, the embarrassment, the criticism, I won. An uncontrollable smile breaks out across my face, but before I can celebrate my victory, he grabs the wrist of my dagger hand, and descends on me, invading my space until my back hits the railing and my own dagger is held to my throat.
By both of us.
I arch my back, leaning as far away as possible, bending over the rail, but he follows, towering over me, his strength fighting my own and keeping the blade in place as I try to lower my weapon.
My eyes widen as he leans in, closing the space between us until I think his lips might actually brush mine. His expression is more serious than I’ve ever seen it, the intensity bordering on hatred as he snarls at me.
“Don’teverlet your guard down.”
I hold his gaze, my eyes flitting between his, trying to figure out why he doesn’t seem to be angry about me cutting him. Why is he concerned I didn’t protect myself? Is there a hint of worry in those teal eyes?
My lips part slightly as I suck in a sharp breath before I nod quickly, barely moving my head so I don’t draw blood on my neck. He releases my hand, his other wrapping around my back and settling between my shoulders before he pulls me upright. He steps away quickly, leaving me to stagger back onto my feet before looking down at the wound on his arm.
The ship comes back to life, and I’m aware that there are other people around us as the dull roar in my ears starts to subside. Bodies shuffle away and training resumes, as if the fight between the captain and the newest victim hadn’t ever happened.
Weston rolls his sleeve up to his elbow, and my eyes fall on the slice that is much larger than it felt.
He scowls at me, then reaches back and snatches the dagger from my hands.
“Go get your scrub brush. There’s blood on the deck.”
He stomps away and I’m left stunned. I shouldn’t feel guilty for hurting him, but deep down, I do. I’ve never actually harmed anyone before, and Weston is the only person who’s been on the other side of my attempts. Now that I have, I don’t like the way it feels.
I know my kingdom has the tradition of giving the royal family a dagger for protection, so if we need to, we can use it. I’ve been trained to use it, but being trained and actually harming someone are very different experiences. Now that I have, now that I’ve hurt someone who has repeatedly sworn he will not hurt me, even though he is my enemy, it feels harrowing.
Like I have blood on my hands.
