“And whose fault is that? Who kept me in the dark for nineteen fuckingyears?”
I shove away, then stab forward.
His blade sweeps in and knocks my strike to the side with another jarring clang, taking a large bite from my composure. I snarl, letting that discomforting sound fuel me as I whirl, coming down at him from another angle.
He dodges.
This may be a wooden sword but when it whips through the flutter of his shirt, it’s just as merciless as steel—leaving a gaping hole that exposes smooth slabs of muscle contained in a flawless wrap of porcelain skin.
For a moment, I think he let me get so close to gutting him. But when my gaze flicks to his face, I see twin seeds of shock in his tawny eyes ...
Seems this new sword isn’t so bad after all.
Tossing it from one hand to the other, I root my feet in the sand, keeping as much weight off my right foot as possible.
His attention darts to my wrist, and a darkness falls over his face. “Did they hurt you?”
I roll my eyes. “You mustn’t have very much confidence in your training abiliti—”
His sword whips out, the flat side landing a blow to my right thigh, sending a lick of pain shooting down my injured leg.
I yowl as it buckles beneath my weight, and he whirls around, taking my armed hand with him, pinning it behind my back between the press of our bodies.
“I thought I taught you to always shield your weakness,” he seethes, immobilizing my other arm and shredding the bandage with a smooth flick of his blade.
The dark blue tourniquet flutters to the sand.
A laugh bubbles out as he studies the deep, crescent wound punched through my wrist. “What did you do, leave him a doggy dish full of blood?”
The fact that he worked that out so fast is a little concerning.
“Yes ... actually, I did.” I stomp his bare foot with my solid boot—something he’s not used to me wearing.
He howls, pulling away just enough for me to slip my arm free. I twist out of his hold and dip low, the hilt of my sword clouting the back of his knees.
He drops like a rock, a denseoomphpushing from parted lips as my knee collides with his chest. All my weight is pressed into the one point of contact, the sharp tip of my sword poised atop his heart.
There’s a war in my chest, and I take a moment to check our surroundings—to ensure we’re hidden behind the shark-teeth stones and that my two guards are well and truly out of sight.
It’s just us on the beach; nobody bearing witness to my victory aside from Baze’s wounded pride.
I zero in on his hand that’s holding my knee, as if he’s considering an attempt to shove me off. Gripping his ring, I watch his eyes widen while all the blood drains from his cheeks. “Always shield your weakness, huh?”
“Orlai—”
I pull.
The shift is instantaneous, the utter vision of him so shocking I whip away from the safety of the rocks, leaving him in the maw of their protection while I marinate in the open air.
I can barely bring myself to draw breath, because I don’t recognize that man.
Not one bit.
His hair is so white it appears to harbor its own light source, his ears pointed at the tips, the outer shell lined with the same crystalline thorns that decorate my own. And hiseyes... they’re big and round.
They remind me ofhis.
But it’s like they’ve been dipped in dirty water, dulling their shine. And those black smudges beneath his eyes are now darkened dents in his face.
