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This was damn madness. Was Celine truly nearly killed, was she truly stripped of her voice, all because she was a woman?
“Gavyn doesn’t acknowledge you because—”
“Because I should not exist.” Celine glanced over her shoulder. “Please, I can’t tell you more. It isn’t a matter of wanting, I truly can’t for the sake of more than just me. But know this—you might detest what my king did to you, but Gavyn and I, we owe Erik Bloodsingereverything.”
CHAPTER33
The Songbird
“Deep bites. Long swipes.” Sewell demonstrated a brutal strike with one of the cutlass blades used on the Ever Ship.
I was more accustomed to knives and battle axes, but I’d sweated from the early morning hours to the lavender light of the dusk in the days since the claiming. I saw little of Erik, but he’d insisted on seeing to it I could hold my own with a blade.
I tightened my grip on the hilt of the sparring blade. Sewell struggled with his words, but his body moved like a warrior, one that knew how to strike from the shadows. Swift, deliberate, and unseen.
The edge of his blade came down on mine. My shoulders throbbed from the pressure, but I spun out, dislodging his blade. Sewell struck again. I parried. He jabbed. I sliced. When he ducked, I attempted to knock him off balance. With his elbow he slammed me between the shoulders, and I fell with a roll back to my feet as he showed me.
From the side of the hall, Celine shouted her opinions on my form, mostly criticisms, but occasionally she groaned at Sewell.
“Come on, you taught me better than that, old man.” She shook her head.
Sewell pointed his blade at her, grinning. “Back your talk, Thunder Fish.”
Celine blew out her lips. “I stand by my word that I could flatten you.”
Sewell huffed and tossed Celine a blade. Forgotten, and given a moment’s rest, I observed their fight for a few breaths before the cool steel of a blade leveled against my neck.
I froze.
“Don’t let down your guard, love. Not in the Ever.”
Erik lowered his blade, but kept close to me. His fingers brushed over the back of my neck when he leaned his mouth against my ear. “Fight me.”
Each word dripped through me like liquid fire. I swallowed and rammed my elbow into Erik’s ribs. He didn’t let out the slightest grunt, simply laughed and spun a gold-hilted cutlass in his grip.
I kept low, circling the king. Guards lined the hall. More courtiers gathered to watch. Even Celine and Sewell paused their match.
“Show me you can defend yourself,” he said in a sharp tone, but beneath it all there seemed to be a strange plea to his voice.
Doubtless, I imagined it.
Erik didn’t wait for me to catch my breath before he lunged. Like Sewell, the king moved with a captivating finesse. His strikes came before I caught up to the previous move. I fought to gain the offensive, but kept backstepping, blocking every strike in a frenzy.
I managed to spin out and get behind him, but an off-center strike to his back ended with Erik finding the leverage to curl one of his legs around my ankle and knock my feet out from under me. I landed flat on my back with a grunt.
Erik made a cage with his arms and legs, pinning me to the ground. The red of his eyes was like a soft flame. Dark hair pinned to his brow from a thin layer of sweat. His body was hard and strong, and too close to mine. The bastard only made it worse when he leaned his mouth over my lips.
“I think of you like this too often,” he whispered. “The fire in your eyes, sweat on your brow.”
“It will only be in your head, Bloodsinger.”
He chuckled. “Ah, but I’ve had a taste already, Songbird.”
“I was feeling generous.”
His lips brushed mine and I bit down on my tongue to keep in a moan. “You often rob me of words, but I want you to hear me when I say this—” Erik pulled back, waiting until I looked at him before going on. “You have horrific footwork.”
I rammed a fist into his shoulder. “Get off me.”
