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‘Fight smarter,’ Lukas quipped. ‘That’s what Ina always says; right? The mind is far more powerful than your sword.’

‘The mind is far more powerful than—’ James mimicked Lukas. His tone increased in volume and pitch until it scratched at her sensitive ears. Areanel had to step back when James quickly wrapped his arm around Lukas’s neck and tackled the poor boy to the floor, that small victory short-lived.

Rymedur’s laughter became a cresting wave as he roared and howled. Areanel pursed her lips, trying to hide her ever-growing smirk. ‘Boys—’ She tried to sound stern, but her glistening eyes deceived her tone. ‘Enough. Training shouldn’t be used for fun.’

James, utterly mortified, scrambled to his feet. ‘Sorry, Ma.’

Areanel knew he hated disappointing her. He wanted her to see him as mature. He had already made his wishes clear; he wanted to join the Envoy. How could she tell him that would never come true? She wouldn’t allow it. Becoming an envoy would mean losing a part of himself—and Areanel would rather die than put him through what she and her friends had been through. She did not want him to lose his innocence, nor did she wish for him to lose his humanity.

Watching James turn to Lukas and reach out a helping hand only made Areanel’s resolve tighten. James would never become an envoy. Not as long as she lived.

‘You should really know when to pick a fight, Lukas.’ James winked at his younger brother, patting his shoulder in good faith before turning his attention back to her. He swung an arm across Lukas’s shoulder as he spoke. ‘Lukas here—’ he ruffled the younger boy’s hair ‘—has improved his swordsmanship. You saw, didn’t you, Ma?’

Crossing her arms, Areanel sent her younger son an assessing look. ‘Your footwork could be better.’

When Lukas’s entire face fell—bright happy smile slowly fading into something sombre—Areanel knew she hadn’t said the right thing. Gods, why was she so bad at this? She hadn’t meant it to sound so… diminishing. She hadn’t meant to discredit his improvements, but had wanted to offer some constructive criticism.

‘Areanel…’ Rymedur sighed. Her eyes swung to meet his, and the look he sent her confirmed her suspicions: she had upset the boy. ‘Lukas, your ina means well; she just wants you to be prepared. She isn’t wrong; your footwork could be better. But you have improved immensely.’

Rymedur had always been so much better at this than she was. Gods, couldn’t she do anything right? Still, she was happy when Lukas’s face slowly brightened.

‘James,’ Areanel addressed her older son. ‘You are a prince. You shouldn’t be so boisterous in front of the other soldiers. Calm, calculated efficiency—that is what you strive for. And I am your mother; refer to me as such. You can even use Ina, since your father insists on you learning Selcirith customs, too—but not Ma; it is too casual. Too informal. Especially when in front of my men. Understood?’

Their faces fell at the same time, and that bright, easy-going humour was gone. Rymedur smacked his palm to his forehead.

She had done it again, hadn’t she?

Maybe she should explain why? James had called her Ma affectionately a few times since she had arrived, and it wasn’t that Areanel didn’t like it. She did! It was because of the soldiers—her men. She was General of Andrea; these men were under her command, but there was a thin, precarious line she forever found herself toeing. Allowing the soldiers to perceive them—her, Rymedur and her children—as less than because of any differences or slip-ups could not be allowed.

Within the walls of the palace, they had to be the epitome of gentility, or others would start to see them as alien. Half-breeds. They would be ostracised. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Areanel worried. She was protective—perhaps even more so after receiving her father’s punishment. Fear always niggled, lingering in the back of her mind that one day, her father’s anger would turn its hateful gaze on them. She could not allow them to make the slightest misstep.

She could take it. She could handle it. And she did, so they wouldn’t have to.

‘I think—’ Rymedur drew everyone’s attention, gently ushering the boys off the mat with the flat side of his scythe, keeping his trained eye on her. Holding her attention hostage with a knowing gaze. ‘We ought to give the boys a demonstration.’ Rymedur fell into a mocking bow, his hand extended, pointing to the mat behind him as he sent her a sly smirk.

Areanel saw it for the playful challenge it was. Oh, how he knew the way to her heart!

‘Right, little demon?’ His whisper was a gentle caress that had her fingers itching for him.

Areanel’s brows pinched at his proposal. What was he up to?

With a matching smirk, she stepped around him, aiming for the training mat and positioning herself ready for a fight.

Rolling up his sleeves, Rymedur turned to her, and Areanel let her gaze linger on muscle and sinew—the veins that bulged and crawled up his arms, the shadows that danced in excitement along his skin. She wanted nothing more than to put this man on his back and slam him into the mat.

The wink he sent their sons was full of male pride and ego that only boosted Areanel’s resolve. He strutted towards her, movements sure and confident, scythe swinging lazily at his side.

‘Watch and learn, boys.’

Chapter 33

Rymedur

Arush of air escaped Rymedur’s lungs as he was, once again, kicked in the abdomen. Sweat dripped down his forehead and into his eyes.

They had been at it for an hour now—sending hits back and forth.