“So have just one.”
“It’s illegal for queens to use contraceptions.” We have to make sure the bloodline prevails. The last time there was a question about which heir to follow, Vyla was created.
Fabia lowers her sticks just slightly as irritation flows across her face. “Use it anyway.” She holds my gaze, that stupid fucking confidence back in her eyes. “And trust her to be queen.”
Wordlessly, I lunge forwards. She barely manages to block the strike at her side. She swings for me with her other stick,grunting, “Asshole,” beneath her breath as we trade blows back and forth.
I deliberately don’t do anything that’ll knock her off her feet. I want a continuous pace that’ll work the energy from my body, the thoughts from my head. But she moves too slowly to drown out the words that grow in volume.
Trust her to be queen.
Trust Arienna, a happiness-sex cult brownie, to rule over the vicious, cold Razians.
It’s suicidal.
Literally.
Fucking.
Suicidal.
For the both us. Because if I lose her like I have my sister, if I see her lifeless body…
Clenching my jaw, I strike harder, move faster. My feet dart forwards, pushing her back. Sweat beads on my brow, making my skin run cold. I raise my arm, aiming a blow to her face.
She stares up at me as she lies on the ground, her eyes fighting back her fear as she lifts her chin in defiance. My brows pull tight as my eyes flicker left and right, looking for the sticks she’s been blocking me with. Seeing her hands empty, I jerk my stick to the right, missing her head to graze her shoulder. She hisses as she flinches. I drop my weapon as I crouch in front of her.
“Are you okay?”
“Do you fucking care?”
My jaw tightens. “You’re Arienna’s friend, and you’re a member of my guard. That means something.” Standing, I offer her a hand.
She breathes heavily, her lilac hair moving across her face with each puff of air. She stares up at me for a few heavy seconds before grasping my wrist and climbing to her feet.
“So who’d win between you and Jace?” she asks as she winces and hugs her side.
“Jace.” Turning, I head for the cabinet with the healing wand.
“That was a quick response.”
“It’s a quick spar when he wants it to be.”
Her mumbled, “Fuck,” has me smiling the littlest bit.
“It’s a gift of his, making people want to smack him upside the head.” Grabbing the wand, I head back to her. “If you want to get back at him, buy a cake for yourself and don’t share any.” I move the wand over her, healing the bruises and scrapes I gave her.
“Really?” she asks warily.
“Yes. Him and Nicholas are both suckers for cake.”
“Why would I care what Nicholas likes?” she asks way too defensively.
A smile tugs at my lips as I heal her bruised ribs. I shrug. “He’s my brother. I talk about him sometimes.”
“I’ve never heard you do so before.”
I glance up at her, my face blank of all humour. “Do you listen for his name?”
