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Taly was halfway to the house when Skye came running after her.

“Taly—”

“Get away from me,” she said hoarsely.

“Would you just—”

“I said get away! ” Her voice rose to a scream.

Tears burned in her eyes, and she didn’t know if it was fury or grief. She’d wanted him to have a future, but now—now he’d thrown it away.

“Taly, please wait—”

For her. Without even having to ask, she knew he’d done it for her. Because her life had always meant more to him than his own.

Love always came with a cost, but what if that cost was too high? What if it wasn’t worth it?

Why was she the only one who could see that it wasn’t worth it?!

Skye finally caught up, snagging her by the arm. “Please.” His hands cupped her face, slid to her shoulders. His eyes were bright and pleading. “Please, just listen—”

She slammed her hands against his chest, her palms stinging. It was like hitting a brick wall.

He had lied. He had kept things from her. And maybe she had no right to her anger—not with everything she still had to atone for. But right now, with a hundred other worries crowding her mind, it was easier being angry.

So much more cathartic to scream and rage because it still wasn’t right!

Taly wrenched away. Skye snatched her wrists, whipping her around when she tried to kick at him. One arm clamped around her waist.

“You’re going to listen—”

Like hell— “Let me go,” she snarled.

“The Queen warned me—”

“I said, let go !” Then she stomped down hard on his foot with the heel of her boot.

Skye didn’t even flinch. Just exhaled a long, slow breath.

“Okay, Tink,” he muttered. “We’ll do it your way.”

Then he whipped her back around, stooped—

Taly let out an enraged scream as he flung her over his shoulder and strode into the house.

“I am not involved,” Ivain muttered as he passed them in the hall. “If they kill each other, maybe I’ll finally get some peace.”

Taly kicked, thrashed, and clawed at his back, but Skye’s grip held, his long-legged strides carrying them with grace and ease down the stairs to the training hall.

Where he unceremoniously dumped her in the middle of the sparring pit.

Her dignity was still sputtering, but her body knew what to do. She was back on her feet in an instant, teeth bared in a vicious growl.

Skye growled right back, “ There she is .” He looked half-wild, finally pushed beyond some unspoken limit, as he swung his cloak off his shoulders and hurled it to the ground.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get to the making-up part of this fight.

So, if you’re not going to use your words, use your fists. ”

He threw his breastplate to the side, his gloves, his vambraces. His shirt was stained with sweat and dirt, and he ripped that off too, leaving only his shinguards over low-slung leather pants.

“Well?” he barked and flung his arms wide. She gritted her teeth, staring him down from across the ring. “Come on, Taly. Take a swing at me. I know you want to.”

He wasn’t wrong. And since he was offering…

With a snarl, she swung—

Skye easily seized her wrist, twisting her around and snapping her back to his front.

“No magic.” The words were hot against her ear, the scent of sandalwood and suede washing over her. “No weapons.”

He gave her a hard push, grinning when she effortlessly found her feet, bringing her fists up in a right lead stance: her right shoulder slightly raised, her right hand poised to strike with her left held back as a defense.

“And since we’re a little more evenly matched now, you can hit me all you want—first to pin gets the win.” The smirk he gave her was pure arrogance and shadow mage smugness.

Hot rage pumped through her, and she bathed in the utter simplicity of it. How it managed to drown out everything else until something like calm settled over her.

This was familiar. The sparring ring. Skye. In her bones and her blood, she knew what to do.

“You’re going to regret that,” Taly said, sweet as poison. Then she stepped into her first attack.

Hooking a foot around his ankle, she gave him a shove that sent him stumbling back. It created an opening, and she went for it.

She was faster now, stronger, and he’d spent his entire life treating her like glass. Pulling his punches. Slowing his steps. That instinct was hard to unlearn.

That instinct was why he took half a heartbeat too long to regain his balance.

Why he didn’t see her fist barreling toward his face—

He dodged the first swing, but not the second. Jabbing at him from the left, her knuckles cracked against his cheek.

His head snapped sideways, and for one glorious second, he looked surprised.

She pressed the advantage.

Another strike—high, sharp, and aimed for his jaw. He blocked it, but barely. She spun low, swept a leg toward his ankle. He jumped back a step, and she lunged, driving her shoulder into his chest.

Contact. Real contact.

She went again—left hook, elbow, a sharp jab to his ribs that forced a grunt from his throat.

Her heart raged, finally loud enough to drown out the whispers. And Shards, it felt good . So much better than roaming the house like a ghost, desperate for any distraction.

Skye was grinning. A challenge burned in his eyes, edged with exhilaration.

No—more than that.

It was sheer, unrestrained delight that only sharpened with each jab, kick, and lunge he blocked.

They had never sparred like this. Never been able to. Ivain had taught her how to run away, defend but never engage. He’d taught Skye how to juggle her punches like she was made of glass.

But this—this was personal. As intimate as two people sharing a dance with the same rhythm. The same combination of instinct and training, every movement perfectly aligned with its corresponding breath.

She swung, but a sidestep let him dodge and grab her wrist in the same elegant sweep of motion.

A hand pressed into her shoulder, bending her into a check.

She struck at his knee and twisted back to jab at his face with an elbow—spun and managed to break his grip before landing two solid hits to his abdomen and a kick that he blocked with the wall of his arm.

He let momentum carry him through his next strike, but she scuttled back.

They were both panting. His smirk had faded, replaced by something sharper, more intense as they circled each other in the ring. He was sizing her up now, looking at her like a real opponent for once.

Damn that felt good.

She couldn’t help the giddy thrill that rushed through her. Or the spark of lust at the way his muscled chest heaved. Her eyes followed a bead of sweat all the way down his abdomen to where it disappeared beneath the waist of his pants.

He saw where her attention had wandered and smirked knowingly. “My eyes are up here.”

Then he stepped into her next attack. Her fist struck his shoulder, but he absorbed the blow, getting close enough to land a punch right to her gut. It knocked the breath from her. She barely had time to double over before he caught her, yanking her toward him.

In one swift motion, he trapped her arms behind her back and crashed his mouth against hers.

The kiss was brutal—more a clash of lips and teeth than anything tender.

And Taly… damn it if she didn’t moan, arching into him, desperate for more. It had been too many days without this—without him .

Shifting his weight, he pressed their bodies closer. Need sharpened, tipping into desperation. It would’ve been easy to let herself get lost in his taste, his scent…

With a snarl, she tore her mouth from his, jerking back and slamming her head into his nose.

Skye staggered back. One step. Two. She had just enough time to see the flash of heat and longing in his eyes before it froze over, and he launched into the offensive.

Taly was good. But Skye was better.

Bigger. Heavier. More comfortable in close combat.

It was a struggle to keep up. A struggle to stay focused. Because watching Skye fight—it was like watching an artist, one painting with motion instead of color, every muscle and movement perfectly precise.

He was herding her to the edge of the ring, where his gear was still in a pile. She glanced to the side. Barely half a second of hesitation, enough to keep her from tripping, but he saw the opening and took it, getting in close.

She had to twist to avoid the hand that grabbed for her, though it didn’t save her from the leg that swept out her feet.

Taly slammed into the ground. Sand cushioned the blow, though her body still barked at the pain.

He was on top of her before reflex could kick in, carrying her through the series of movements that would have led her back to her feet.

Instead, his weight pressed her into the ground, solid and unyielding. He wrenched both hands above her head, pinning them as she thrashed and bared her teeth in defiance.

But Skye just laughed at the venom in her eyes, the blind rage. Because he’d won. They both knew it. First to pin gets the win. That had always been the rule.

His breathing was heavy. Blood trickled from a busted lip, the wound already healing. But he was smiling.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you look when you’re trying to beat me senseless?”

Taly growled through her teeth, “Just call it and get off me.”

“No.” That smile turned wicked. Holding both her wrists in one hand, he trailed a finger down the space between her breasts, lingering over each button. “I’ve missed having you under me. I think I’m going to savor it. Next time, maybe try winning if you want to call the shots.”

She tried to wriggle her body, tried to kick. But they were chest to chest, stomach to stomach, with his hips settled solidly against hers.

“Yeah, keep doing that,” he said with a shudder.

She stopped, realizing the growing hardness wedged between her legs.

“If you’re nice,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the side of her throat, “I might give you a second go.”