“Who taught you?” I repeated.
“You already know the answer to that question.”
“Corvin?”
She nodded.
“Interesting topic, that.”
She glared at me, but still neither of us moved. “Why is it interesting?”
“What is he to you?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Why do you answer every question I ask you with a question of your own?”
“Because that’s how one verbally spars.”
I lowered the sword. “I want to know,” I said, “who took your virginity.”
When we learn his name, we will destroy him.
The flush on her cheeks didn’t deepen. She just stepped back and reset her stance. “We’ve been through this.”
“We have. I’m asking again.”
“And I’ll keep not answering.”
She came at me. I let her get inside my guard, absorbed the hit to my shoulder, threw her off balance, and caught her before she went down. My hand closed around her forearm. She yanked it free.
“Why is this such a bone of contention with you?” I demanded.
She shrugged. “Why does it matter so much to you?”
“It doesn’t.”
“Then why do you keep asking?”
“Because I want to know.” I rolled my shoulder where she’d connected with it. “And I’m accustomed to knowing things I want to know.”
“That must be very convenient.”
“It is… usually.” I took a breath. “Who was it?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“You’re a prisoner of the crown,” I said. “That means everything about you is my business.”
She tilted her head at that particular angle, as though she were measuring something. I’d seen her do it before, many times actually, when she thought no one was watching.
“Unlike Isolde,” she said.
The words landed lightly. She’d meant them to, but I recognized their impact all the same. I studied her for a moment and, more particularly, the set of her jaw, the way her grip had tightened on the practice sword, even as her voice stayed even.
“Unlike Isolde,” I agreed.
Her eyes didn’t change, but something did, somewhere beneath them; a fire rose up and burned through the amethyst.
