Page 20 of A Court of Thralls and Thorns

Cordelle looked sick as he stepped back, his shoulders hunched, his face burning with humiliation.

Zander, however, was already moving.

He reached up, gripping the collar of his Flight jacket, and slid it off, revealing the snug, form-fitting combat gear beneath.

He didn’t look at me as he passed it to me, but he might as well have, because I was suddenly holding it with no real choice but to grip the expensive leather in my hands.

Damn him.

I tried not to notice how warm it was from his body heat.

Or that it smelled incredibly good—like crisp wind, leather, and something subtly sharp, something undeniably Zander.

But most of all, I tried not to notice the way he and Jax moved around one another, like two storms about to collide.

The air inside the ring was electric, thick with tension as Zander and Jax circled each other. Zander was cool, systematic, a blade waiting to be drawn. Jax, on the other hand, was coiled energy, his stance loose but deceptively sharp, ready to strike the second he saw an opening.

It was noble-born discipline versus street-honed instinct, and the entire training ground knew it.

Jax was the first to attack.

He feinted left, testing Zander’s reflexes, then lunged forward with a powerful right hook. Fast. Brutal. Direct.

Zander dodged, pivoting smoothly, as if he had been expecting the move. His body barely shifted, his footwork precise, and instead of counterattacking, he simply let Jax’s momentum carry him forward.

Jax caught himself at the last second, snapping around, and this time he didn’t hesitate.

He went in hard, throwing a flurry of punches—one, two, three.

Zander blocked every single one.

Not with brute force, not even with effort, but with complete, calculated ease.

The third strike, a mean uppercut aimed at his ribs, Zander finally caught. His gloved hand snatched Jax’s wrist in midair, twisting it just enough to stop the attack, but not so much as to break it.

A lesser fighter might have flinched. Might have hesitated.

Jax did neither.

He used the momentum against Zander, twisting his entire body and ramming his shoulder into the prince’s chest.

The impact was solid. A smart move.

But Zander barely moved.

The slight shift of his boots against the stone was the only indication he’d felt it at all.

Then, he struck back.

Not with wild punches or brute strength, but with surgical precision.

A single knee to Jax’s gut, enough to knock the wind out of him. A sharp elbow strike to the ribs, but as Jax tried to recover, Zander hooked his leg behind Jax’s ankle and took him down.

Hard.

Jax hit the ground with a sharp grunt, dust and sand kicking up around him.

It had taken Zander less than twenty seconds to end the fight.