Page 13 of The Spare (The King Dynasty #2)

He's seated over on the bottom rung of the three tier bleachers in the sparring room, suited up in his own white fencing outfit, lounging with his legs spread and his elbows resting on his knees watching us closely. Mask next to his hip. Waiting.

Not to fight against me, I hope.

My heart beats wildly as Richard becomes more demanding with his attacks, showing me that he's used up the bit of fatherly patience he tends to exercise with me and is ready to declare a win.

Unfortunately the pure, raw energy emitting from Mason suffocates me and distracts me enough to make me panic, and I retreat until I step off the strip, forcing the coach to call a loss.

Richard pulls his mask off, breathing hard. "What a shame, Melody," he says, looking me up and down. "You almost had me. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. "

As if I'm about to spill my pain over not having a father all over the strip for everyone to see. No thank you. They'd probably go straight to Isobel and she'd find a way to dig even deeper up my ass than she already is.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, it's nothing. Promise."

Pulling off my own mask, I clock a wince pass Mason's face as I wipe the back of my glove on my forehead and roll my lips.

"You did well, Mel," Richard says. "You're getting faster. I just wish you'd learn to trust yourself a little more. Otherwise you'll be like your sister, and you see how hard she's fighting to overcome the perils of not leaning into her intuition. You don't want that for yourself."

Unexpected tears well in my eyes. The pain deciding it wants out after all. "I'm sorry, Richard. I just-"

"No need to apologize, butterfly," Mason interrupts, stepping to the strip and giving me a devilish smile that causes my tears to dissipate, my heart rate to pick back up, and my palms to go damp. "Because you're about to go again."

I snort. "Uh-huh. With who?"

"With me."

I scoff on a half laugh. "Yeah, right." I slide my eyes to Richard who's busy pulling off his glove, not paying us any attention. "Wait. Are you serious?"

In the three years we've been fencing, Mason has not come to a single spar between Richard and me.

"Hmhm. Serious as a heart attack," Mason answers.

"Put your mask back on." He shoves his over his head, adjusting his glove in a rough, sexy move that causes heat to curl low in my belly and my thighs to tighten.

Even my toes curl when he turns his head slightly to look back at me. "En guard!" he says sharply .

So sharp I know I'd better listen.

I chew my lip nervously, giving Richard a jerky nod of my head as he walks off the strip, bypassing the bleachers and going off with the coach, leaving Mason and I alone.

I pull my mask back on and take my place opposite Mason.

He inclines his head at me politely, and waits for me to reciprocate before putting his arm behind his back, the tell that he's skilled at the sport.

I bend my knees and raise my foil, holding my other arm up behind me as I take my own stance.

"Allez," Mason’s voice is sharp, in a direct contrast to how he stands there patiently; however, my feet cement in place as my nervousness paralyzes me to the point I can't move. He steps forward and flicks his foil, tapping mine in a couple warning raps that jar my wrist and wake me up.

I inhale sharply, flicking my foil back in a parry, taking a hesitant step forward and repeating the movement.

Mason doesn't retreat, only parries my flicks with his own.

Considering this a potential weakness, I lunge hard, flinging my arm forward in an attempt to poke his lamé, but he steps smoothly out the way and hits my foil so hard I feel the impact vibrate up my arm.

He tilts his head as I panic and step back a couple feet, not even resuming my stance.

"Stop running, Melody. This isn't track. Advance forward, or you'll step off the strip and forfeit a point. Come forward at me, even if you're scared. Even if you're doubtful. You can't ever know what you're capable of unless you jump in even while you're afraid. Now, en guard!"

I damn near chew a hole through my lip as I obey, sliding back into my stance and then slide into position.

"Don't hold back, Melody. Give me all you've got. Allez. "

I lunge forward, flicking and even laughing as we twist and turn around each other.

Though I'm not getting a tap in, I'm holding my own, and it makes me ecstatic. At just the last moment, I step forward when he hesitates for a second, and I tap my foil to his chest. He stops, his mask lowering to see the point sticking into his lamé.

My eyes widen in shock as I just stare, not believing I tapped him. His head raises, and with a flick of his arm he flicks my foil away, taking two steps forward and picks me up, hauling me against him on an excited shout.

I squeal, dropping my foil to the mat and laughing with real joy as he turns me around, joining in my laughter. Our masks touch as he lowers me to the ground, and it's only then I realize how intimate of an embrace we were just in. He puts a finger to my chest, keeping his mask pressed to mine.

"Have faith in yourself, butterfly," he says quietly.

I pull back, ripping off my mask and shoving my hair out of my face breathing hard. "I did it," I pant, feeling my chest tighten.

He pulls his off as well, giving me a wicked grin. "You did."

"I did it." My lips quiver as tears prick the back of my eyes. "I did it," I repeat in a thick voice, bringing my gloved hand to cover my mouth. The tears come unbidden as suddenly Karissa's daddy comment hits me full force.

For all my accomplishments and the things I want out of my life, I'll never have a father to share the highs and lows with.

No father to protect me, no broad chest to curl into when I need to cry or feel loved when the world is being nasty, and I just want to feel safe.

I sniff, trembling, trying to give Mason a shaky smile through the tears.

Mason's face falls at the sight of my tears .

"Mel?"he says, dropping his mask and his foil, pulling me to him not saying another word. He doesn't need to. He knows how I feel, just like I know how he feels. Things usually don't need to be said when it comes to the two of us.

I rest my head against his lamé and cry.

Cry for myself, and cry for the things that I want that I probably won't have.

And therefore, I have nothing to share with said 'father' after all. And the knowledge breaks my heart.