Page 43 of The Crown of the Last Fae Queen (The Heartless and the Wicked #4)

They both circled each other. Kolfinna ignored the many eyes that were on them—her guards, Blár, Vidar. She tried to home in on Agnarr. He was standing rather loosely, but his gaze was alert, scanning her body for any sign of an attack. The air thickened with the mana he exuded.

She launched at him, fist raised. He sidestepped easily, but she continued to send a barrage of punches, her footwork clean as she stepped into his personal space.

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk becoming increasingly frustrating.

Her knuckle grazed his cheek, and her mouth curved, but then she was flying backward, her back slamming onto the ground.

She blinked up at the sky.

What the ? —?

Her stomach throbbed and she pushed herself into a sitting position.

Agnarr was grinning widely. “I thought you were planning on using your powers on me, little girl?”

Oh, this man was infuriating .

Kolfinna leaped to her feet; her healing powers were already working with each passing second, her breathing returning to normal. She raised her fists into a fighting position, and shadows cloaked her arms in seconds like armor.

Agnarr chuckled, unimpressed. “I won’t even need to use my powers against you.”

“You talk too much,” she snarled, lunging at him.

They exchanged blows, one after the other.

Her shadow armor spread to cover the rest of her body, and whenever he punched her, the blow was softened and her shadows licked out toward his skin, leeching his mana.

He cursed and backed away while she only drew nearer.

She grinned ferally, matching his initial energy, as his smirk faded.

“Harder than you thought?” she taunted.

“You—” He ducked one of her attacks, and kneed her in the stomach. She nearly doubled over, but she twisted and raised her hand, a beam of light shooting from her palm.

Agnarr swore loudly, a streak of blood smearing his shoulder. He blinked down at the wound, and she retreated, breathing heavily. Shock coursed through her system at the sight of his blood. It dribbled down his arm and dotted the sand.

“Sorry—” she began, her panic rising. This was a spar. She wasn’t supposed to actually hurt him.

Agnarr threw his head back and laughed. She flinched at the booming quality of it, before those sharp green eyes were trained on her again.

They glinted like cold emeralds. “You have an affinity for light magic,” he said with a slow grin, his attention flicking over to Vidar, and then back at her. “Interesting.”

He sprang toward her and she yelped at his terrifying speed.

She barely could dodge his attacks. Kick, punch, jab.

Her thighs felt like they would burst from how quickly she had to move to avoid the attacks, but even then, she couldn’t dodge them all.

He landed blows on her shoulder, face, and stomach, seemingly unfazed and unbothered when her shadows hooked onto him.

A final kick to the back of her ankles sent her falling backward, light firing from her hands in her panic. She landed on her bottom, eyes wide, feet throbbing, and her breathing labored.

She jerked her attention to her guards, her chest seizing tightly at her last attack.

Had they gotten blasted by her magic? But a quick glance showed that they were unharmed, though one of her wayward blasts had struck a section of the fortress, charring the spot.

She instantly found Blár’s eyes on her, and her heart skipped a beat at the pride that shone in them.

Agnarr laughed at something, ripping her gaze back to him. He had his hand on his hip, that wild grin of his pasted on his handsome, punchable face.

“If you train more, you’ll become unstoppable,” he said, surprising her.

“Do … you really think so?” She dusted off her pants and climbed up to her feet. She tried not to stare at Blár—to not think too much about how his eyes had gleamed. She wanted to show him just how strong, how fierce, she had become.

“I am many things, Princess,” Agnarr said smoothly, bringing her back to the moment, “but a liar isn’t one of them.”

They both moved into another fighting stance and fought each other again.

Kolfinna fell into a rhythm of sparring, her feet moving agilely and her magic sparking off her body naturally.

Sweat dribbled down the sides of her face and made her clothes stick to her body like a second skin, but she found herself grinning at how much she had improved in the past hour.

Sure, Agnarr still wasn’t using his power, but she could feel the vast difference in her abilities already.

He kept telling her about her weak spots.

Her mistakes. And she found that he was, shockingly, decent at teaching.

“I have a question,” she asked, dipping when his arm swung toward her.

“Right now isn’t the time for questions.”

She asked anyway. “You and Freyja are mates?”

Surprise flashed in his eyes, and then something else glimmered in them. Something possessive . “Yes. Why do you ask?”

“You don’t speak to her like you’re …” Kolfinna lifted her shoulder, and he took that opportunity to slam his fist into her. She careened backward, biting back a groan and a curse. When she righted herself, she grabbed her shoulder and glared at him. “That was a low blow.”

“We’re in the middle of a spar, Princess.”

“You—” she began, but Vidar clapped his hands, signaling their attention.

“That’s enough sparring for today,” the half-elf said. “I think you’re ready, Kolfinna.”

And like that, her mood soured.

Vidar held up a sword—she hadn’t even realized he had left to retrieve it. The D?d Svaerd appeared just as sinister as she remembered. Her mouth tasted of ash, and dread filled the pit of her stomach.

It was time to wield it. Again.