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I gazed out the window at the darkening sky, the soft evening breeze blowing in over my face. I wondered whether Rook was down there somewhere in the castle seething, determined to show me what a mistake it was to square up to him. I wondered whether he would hold back tomorrow or if I would bear the full brunt of the hatred he clearly felt for me.
I dreamed that night that he climbed in through my window, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight. He tossed a serpent's head onto the floor before he climbed into my bed, leering down at me as blood dripped onto my face.
“Are you pleased to see me, my love?” He whispered, before his teeth seized my throat.
* * *
Rook was already in the enclosed courtyard that held the training arena when I arrived the next morning. I padded down the steps, feeling exposed in the linen camisole and brown leather vest I wore. At least the leather pants sat snugly and gave me some feeling of security. But fighting without my armor was a strange sensation.
Rook was even more exposed, wearing only a pair of black pants, his feet bare. He had his back to me, a battle ax in his hands, swinging it with great skill at an unseen enemy. The muscles on his back rippled, his many scars undulating over his brown skin. His hair was tied up at the back of his head, revealing a tattoo that snaked from the base of his neck over his left shoulder, a series of lines and dots with a script I couldn’t decipher threaded through them.
I had seen a tattoo like that once before, when my parents had been visited by emissaries from Isambard. I’d only been small, but I remembered those elegant tattoos that adorned the arms of the beautiful woman who’d been at our court. Her brown skin and thick black hair had entranced me, so unlike any of the fair-haired, fair-skinned Fae.
Rook held the ax with two hands and lifted it above his head. My mouth dropped open as he swung it forward, one-handed, into the sandy ground with such force that I felt it reverberate under my feet.
I’d never seen anyone wield a weapon like that before.
He seemed to sense my stare, and turned to look at me over his shoulder. “Good morning, princess,” he said, pulling the ax from the ground and turning to watch me approach.
He spun it so it stood, pommel down, his muscular arms draped over the double-headed blade. The damned thing had to be as tall as I was, and the gleaming crescent blades were wider than Rook’s shoulders. The head was etched with markings similar to those that decorated Rook’s skin. The wooden haft was stained dark from blood and sweat, making it impossible to tell what kind of wood it was. Two feet of the handle, from pommel up, were woven with a thick black leather braid.
As I approached, he lifted it, swinging it in his hands with ease, around and around, as though it was weightless before arcing it over his shoulder one last time and slamming it into the ground in a shower of dust. He was showing off, certainly, his self-assured smirk was evidence of that. The way he used it, as easily as though it was a part of his body, was downright elegant. This was his favored weapon, and I’d never fought against one like it before.
I moved my gaze from the ax to its owner, who was still watching me with that self-assured and smug look. Now that I could see Rook properly, and not covered in serpent’s blood, I noted that he was quite young, probably only a handful of years older than me. His eyes were not as iridescent as they had been yesterday, but the shocking blue was only accentuated by the deep golden brown hue of his skin. Sweat gleamed on his stomach in the sunlight, the muscles there contracting with every breath he took.
His lips curled into a cruel grin as though he’d noted me taking in his state of undress. “I started without you, I hope you don’t mind.”
“It’s fine,” I replied lightly, “I wouldn’t want you to have to face me when you weren’t adequately warmed up.”
“I’m certain I have much to fear with your skills, princess.” He scoffed as he said it.
“You certainly do,prince.”
His eyes flashed when I said the word. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?” I asked, holding his gaze. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
“You don’t know a fucking thing about me.” His voice was a low snarl.
“And you don’t know a fucking thing about me,” I replied. “But I can tell you, I’m not fucking afraid of you.”
“That is a shame. You Fae do make such a sweet little squeaking noise when you run away from a fight.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Which the Fae just so happen to do rather regularly.”
“Not this Fae.”
“Oh no?” He leaned down over me, trying to use his height and sheer fucking size to intimidate me. “And what sets you apart from your sniveling, pathetic kin?”
I swung my fist, my knuckles screaming in protest as they connected with his cheekbone that felt like fucking steel. I didn’t let my pain show though, because the look of surprise on Rook’s face when he turned to face me sent a thrill through me, better than any healing tincture.
“Rage,” I replied through gritted teeth. “I’m not fucking afraid of you.”
“You fucking should be.” He rushed at me, reaching out to grab me with both his hands, but I ducked out of reach and spun away from him. Standing behind him, I kicked him in the back, sending him stumbling forward, but my kick wasn’t enough to incapacitate him. He turned on me, and with a lunge he’d grappled me, knocking me to the floor.
“Well now,” he said, leering down at me, “thought you’d get one over on me, hmm?”
I bucked underneath him. “Get the fuck off me.”
“Not so easy tonot be afraidwhen I’ve got you pinned to the ground.” He lowered his face to mine, baring his teeth in a grin. “Your move, princess.”
