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29
ARRAN
I couldn’t see her eyes glowing, pale blue that they were in the afternoon light, but I could see the subtle tremble of her hands around the hilts of her blades. She’d admitted she wanted me. The Ancestors knew I dreamed of that luscious body of hers nightly, imagining what it would be like to push through the door that separated us and take her body for my own.
But this was battle.
Our bodies may burn for one another, but our souls sparked with loathing.
Just then, I wanted to punish her for her recklessness sneaking out of the palace. I wanted to remind her that she was not invincible.
She needed to understand the danger her cavalier attitude implied for all of Annwyn.
I also wanted her at my mercy.
I could not have her in my bed, so I’d bend her to my will the only other way I knew how—through battle and bloodshed.
I would use her desire for me against her. She’d never seen me in anything other than the customary clothing of a terrestrial male. Close fitting trousers covered with knee-high boots, a knit undershirt—oftentimes more than one in the winter or when traveling north of the Spine. I’d traded that for a lighter linen base layer since coming to Baylaur. But even that was always covered with my wool tunic, buttoned at an angle across my chest.
Now, I was barely half-clothed before her.
And she was trembling.
I would enjoy having Veyka Pendragon at my mercy.
“See something you like, princess?” I said for her alone, though I knew the words would be heard by all the sharp fae ears around us. Let them hear; Veyka and I would be joined soon.
“Likeis not the word I would use,” she said, her grip tightening. She shook her head slightly, as if trying to clear it.
Little good may it do her.
She lifted her blades, rocking on her heels to settle her footing. “To first blood?” she asked coolly.
“To surrender,” I said, feeling the excitement beginning to heat my blood.
I waited for the cool calm that always descended upon my consciousness, that part of my mind that shifted towards the beast even when my body remained in my fae form.
She favored her right hand, but she’d be deadly with both. It hadn’t come into play in her duel with Lyrena, but I knew from how easily she’d killed the assassin in her bedroom that she was accurate with her throwing knives. This would be a duel fought close at hand, then, where my size and experience in hand to hand combat would be an advantage. She may be well trained, but I’d been killing my way across battlefields for three hundred years.
Sparring in a ring was not the same thing.
In the few breaths it had taken me to make my assessments, Veyka had moved into position. She thought I expected her to wait. So the instant my axe was in my hand she attacked.
I was ready.
Veyka was quick—her rapid, precise movements in our squabble with the skoupuma had been no fluke. She really was an accomplished fighter.
But Arthur had been too.
One mistake, and she would be as dead as he.
Her flowy, iridescent elemental clothing left her vulnerable. There were no thick layers of leather to protect her as I swung my axe around to parry. She was wicked fast, knocking my sword aside and ducking away.
The loose pantaloons she wore, gathered at the hip with a belt, then left open from hip to ankle where they gathered again, let her move swiftly. That was her main advantage, I decided.
Veyka caught my next swing, trying to force my blade up and away. She was faster but I was stronger. I shoved her back, the blade falling from her hand. I heard the crunch of my elbow against her shoulder as she stumbled away.
I could finish this now.
