I tried not to think about how close she was. She moved like sunlight, quiet, warm, and always a little beyond my reach. She was beautiful, yes. Anyone with eyes could see that. But it was more than her face. It was the way she watched the world, as if it were still worth saving.
That gave me a bone-deep dread that surpassed every other fear I had combined.
I didn’t have feelings for her.
It wasn’t like that.
It couldn’t be.
“She’s your duty,” I told myself as I moved in front of her, “not your possibility.”
She lunged. Sloppy, but improving. I stepped into her space, catching her wrist, guiding the blade aside.
We were close. Closer than we should’ve been. Her breath stirred the air between us. Her skin was warm beneath my fingers.
I leaned in, closing the space between us, my voice dropping to a murmur meant only for her ears.
“If you’re that close,” I murmured, “it’s not about strength. It’s about conviction.”
She swallowed hard. “Right. Conviction.”
I circled her slowly, eyeslike a hawk's, dissecting her every detail. “You hesitate. Don’t. The blade doesn’t care how kind you are. You move, or you bleed. Alright, Princess, again.”
She took a breath, reset her stance, then struck. I blocked, twisted, and nudged her off balance.
She growled softly. “You make it look easy.”
“It’s not. I’ve learned how to make the hard parts look graceful.”
Repeatedly, we ran the sequence. Each time, she got a little faster. Closer, her breath growing more ragged. Her hair clung to her neck. The torture was a steady thrum in my ears.
She spun too quickly, too committed, and her heel caught mine as her dagger arm swept low.
We went down in a blur of motion and breath.
She landed on top of me with a startled gasp, her palms splayed on my chest, my hand still wrapped instinctively around her waist. Her knees braced against my thighs, and the heat of her pressed close.
Her hair fell around us like a silk curtain. Her eyes, wide and shining, met mine.
Neither of us moved.
I sensed her pulse at her wrist; it was fast, like my own.
She looked at my lips.
Gods, she was beautiful.
But that couldn’t mean anything.
Not to me.
Not like that.
“I’m sorry—” she whispered.
“Don’t be,” I said hoarsely.
The moment pulled tight, a thread of something unspeakable trembling between us. She looked at me as if I could be something better. I didn’t know how to carry that, but I wanted to.
