Page 27

Hawthorne

The Witch Queen soars across the world at night like a phantom, seeking the hearts of children to keep her blood magic powered. She can sense when a child is out of bed, for their blood pulses faster in their veins. She will smell them out, then swoop down from the sky and steal the child away in the night. She takes them back to her gothic castle, oozing with all the rotten blood that she has spilled, and they never see their families again.

Velmaran Book of Children’s Stories

When Laurel appears the next morning, I’m surprised. She usually makes up an excuse to avoid seeing me multiple days in a row. I instantly jump out of my seat to greet her, but my eagerness has her shying away. So I pull back, remembering her insistence that nothing can happen between us.

Her words had flayed me open. Standing there, hair flying wildly around her face, expression open and vulnerable—I finally saw the real Laurel, finally saw the female behind the Witch Queen persona she wears so easily. But just as quickly as that delicate window had opened, it slammed shut again, and I was left reeling. I’ve never—not even once —told someone I had feelings for them. And Laurel had me practically begging her to acknowledge the heat between us. Sure, I’ve had lovers, females and males who I’ve been interested in, though not in a long time. Once I needed to rely on my charm to get secrets out of others, my own ability to lust and desire had dimmed. Somehow, without ever really trying to seduce her and everything that’s happened between us since I arrived, we became allies. Tenuous allies, but allies nonetheless.

Conflicting emotions course through me as I consider the situation. On the one hand, I’m… proud of myself for gaining a true alliance without pretending to be interested in her. In fact, our alliance only formed once I finally opened up and showed her the vulnerable male beneath the flirty winks and smirks. At the same time, I care more deeply than I want to admit about her rejection, even if I know she’s right. I’ve achieved what I set out to do—we’ve become allies in the search to uncover my father’s secrets. It’s unimaginable, impossible, considering the history between our kingdoms, and yet we finally achieved some kind of truce. That should be enough for me. A relationship beyond allies and tenuous friends would complicate the situation too much.

Laurel takes a seat next to Silene on the sofa, and the two laugh at something. I can’t keep the genuine smile from my lips at the two of them forming a fast friendship, and I huff out a quiet laugh at the idea that Laurel thought Silene and I were really a couple, even though she had no reason to believe otherwise. They continue their conspiring, and I observe, happiness washing over me in warm waves. Even Fionn seems to warm to the Queen, his own expression light as he greets her. I clear my throat to interrupt their whispers.

“Laurel, how do you take your tea?” I ask with all the princely charm growing up in Velmara has given me. I pour the steaming liquid into a ceramic mug, waiting for her response.

Silene snorts, but Laurel responds, always one to hold on to etiquette. “As much cream as there is tea, and no sugar.” I prepare the tea for her, then pass it her way. “Thank you,” she says before taking a sip, and I can’t keep my eyes from tracking her lips as they purse around the edge of the cup. The warm liquid makes them deepen in color, and she runs her tongue over her bottom lip. I’m transfixed by the movement, my mind imagining that tongue in other places, doing other things…

“So,” Silene says with a twinkle of mischief in her eyes, breaking me out of my lust-addled haze, “what are you two getting up to today?”

“Training,” we both say simultaneously, and it sounds conspicuous even to me. Fionn’s eyes widen, and he smirks, while Silene bubbles with laughter.

“Hawthorne insists my light sparring skills need work,” Laurel answers awkwardly.

“I believe I recall telling you to call me Thorne after last night ,” I retort back, unable to keep the sensuous innuendo from my voice, trying to get under her skin. Laurel blushes, and intense male satisfaction puffs up in my chest. As I stare at her with a smirk, her blush deepens, and my skin heats at the way it brings out her eyes. I’m overwhelmed with a desire to make her blush again and again. My body moves toward her instinctually before I clench my fists, determined to shut down this attraction to her. There’s no need to woo her. We’re allies now, and while I haven’t admitted the full truth about my father to her yet, she’s clearly committed to helping me uncover what he might do with the thayar stores. Not to mention, at this point I’m pretty sure she doesn’t practice blood magic anyway. The plan to seduce her is no more, so I will end this incessant flirting with her.

“Last night?” Fionn asks with mock surprise. Laurel’s blush deepens, and I can sense her desire to smother the insinuation going on.

“Oh, we just shared our deepest darkest secrets. Thought it made sense for her to call me Thorne after that,” I say to relieve her distress.

“A day like yesterday will bring that out, I suppose,” Fionn says somberly. The mood instantly darkens.

“Twenty-four died in the attack,” Laurel says softly. “Hundreds more were injured.”

We all sit quietly for a moment, unsure of what to say. Fionn surprises me when he takes Laurel’s hand and squeezes it, before adding, “We all did what we could, Your Majesty. Even more would have died if Silene and I hadn’t been there. And we were only there because you’re doing everything you can to stop this violence. You shouldn’t blame yourself, like I can see you’re doing.” I think I see her wipe a tear away quickly, but she hides the movement so well I can’t be sure.

“Yes, well,” she says. “ Thorne has agreed to convince the rebels to stop attacking citizens. To focus their efforts on the palace and on me.”

“And that is why we need to train,” I add before Fionn and Silene can object to the plan. I may not agree with it, but I feel the need to defend her now that we’re with others. “What are you two up to today?” I ask them.

“We have a few sub-committee meetings this morning,” Silene answers cheerily. Only she could get excited by the endless bureaucracy of the Thayarian government. “We don’t have any plans for the afternoon, but, well, we thought…” she trails off, looking to Fionn.

“We thought we might go down to the merchant district and help however we can. Move families out of destroyed homes, clear rubble, whatever needs to be done,” Fionn finishes for her.

Laurel swallows. I want to reach for her, but I don’t. “That’s very kind,” she says softly. “I’m sure they can use all the extra hands. But… when will you contact the rebels next? Have you agreed to any future meetings?”

“We can stop by the granary and see if there are any messages for us. The rebels were going into safe houses at the end of the attacks. They may be quiet for a few more days before we hear from them,” Silene answers kindly, keenly aware that Laurel is clearly struggling to wait for the next meeting. Laurel only nods and downs her tea.

When we finish breakfast, I go to grab the two cloaks I wore yesterday to keep warm in the frigid northern air, but Laurel stops me. “We can use the training room here today,” she says. “It’s getting too cold to go elsewhere. I think with the magic we’re practicing, I should be okay to stay here.” I hang the cloaks back on their hooks by the door, secretly relieved not to spend the next several hours freezing my ass off. “We can also walk there, if you like,” she adds.

I give her a wide grin. “You are willing to be seen in public with the likes of me ?”

“The palace is hardly public,” she retorts. “But yes, I think we can be seen walking the halls of the palace together. Plus, there’s something I want to show you.”

I’m more than intrigued and gladly follow her out the door after saying goodbye to Silene and Fionn for the day. She leads me up several flights of stairs to a hallway of the palace I haven’t seen yet. We walk to the end, then Laurel stops before a set of double doors, grinning brightly. My heart practically stops at the warmth of her expression, the genuine smile that lights her face from the inside out.

“We’re almost to the Winter Solstice,” she says, mischief in her eyes. “If you think it’s cold now, you’re going to turn into an actual glacier when Abscission begins.” I raise my eyebrow, unsure what she means. “The deciduous plants in Thayaria hold on to their leaves much longer than elsewhere, because of the magic here. They do eventually die off like everywhere else, but for a much shorter period. On the shortest day of the year, the Winter Solstice, they drop their leaves, and the kingdom enters a frigid cold. Everything is dreary and gray for about two weeks, and we call that Abscission. But after the two weeks, the biting cold lessens, and the plants re-bloom.”

“And what does this have to do with the roguish gleam in your eyes?” I ask, excited and terrified for whatever she’s going to show me.

“Well… like I said, you don’t have a very strong cold tolerance. None of you do. So, I have a… sanctuary, of sorts, for you.” With that, she throws the doors wide, and a wave of warm, almost tropical air hits me. It’s a balm against a cold I didn’t even realize I felt so deep in my bones. I walk through the doors into a room filled with lush, exotic plants. Neon pinks, bright reds, and lime greens fill the space, tucked away under a clear dome. The flowers are unlike any I’ve ever seen, even here in Thayaria, and ivy that’s different from what grows along the rest of the palace walls lines every surface that’s not already filled with a tropical plant.

“What—what is this?” I ask.

“It’s a greenhouse, kind of. It’s older than our archives, so we don’t know a lot about its origins, actually. I know that water from the nearby hot spring is pumped into here, but there’s some kind of spell work even I can’t decode. All we know is that it’s self-sustaining, always warm, and has plants that don’t grow anywhere else in the Four Kingdoms. It’s a delightful mystery.”

The humid air tickles my neck as I walk farther into the domed solarium. There’s a salty dampness that comforts me, and I laugh. “This is amazing, Laurel.” She blushes, and I take a step toward her, wanting to close the distance between our bodies.

“I thought you might want to come here to warm up after Winter Solstice,” she says softly, her voice almost a whisper. Bright green eyes stare up at me from dark lashes, almost shy. When I take another step closer, she freezes for a moment before pulling back, vulnerable expression gone. “All three of you, I mean. Silene and Fionn, too. You’re all welcome to use the space whenever you’d like.”

“Thank you, truly,” I say, then bow low, my hand fisted over my heart. “This is—it’s extremely thoughtful.” The longer I spend in here, the more it reminds me of Eastern Velmara, where my mother and her people hail. The humidity and lush vegetation are so similar to that oasis, it’s like I’ve aerstepped to my maternal grandfather’s estate. A twinge of sadness roils in my gut at the small reminder of her. It’s not unpleasant, a cross between nostalgia and longing, but it makes me ache with how much I miss her. Even though we only spent a decade together of the three and a half centuries I’ve been alive, the grief at losing her has never left me, never will leave me. I can still picture the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled, can still see the exact way her mouth would purse when she was trying to pretend to scold me but wanted to laugh.

“Are you okay?” Laurel’s soft voice pulls me from my walk down memory lane. She’s so perceptive, this female who pretends to be so fearsome and emotionless. Her small, delicate hand lifts, like she’s going to reach out and touch my arm, but just as quickly as she considers it, she clenches the hand in a fist at her side. I give her a real smile.

“Yeah, just remembering. This place reminds me of Eastern Velmara.” She swallows, and I follow the movement with my eyes.

“You can come back here whenever you want. To—um—remember.” Her words make her cheeks flush with embarrassment, and I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me.

“Thanks, witchling. I’ll keep that in mind.” We stare at one another in awkward silence for a beat too long.

“Well, should we head to the training room now?” she asks stiffly.

I nod, burying my frustration. She keeps doing this. Opening up, letting me glimpse the warm and vulnerable female beneath her icy exterior, before building her walls back up. It’s aethers-damned frustrating. Even if we don’t give into the heat between us, I still want to build a friendship with her.

We walk side by side down and then back up more flights of stairs, to the training room. As soon as we enter, she stalks around the room in a circle, concentrating on something.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Building a protective shield of aether around the room. It’s just a precaution in case… in case my control slips. I’ve never trained in the palace before. I want to make sure there’s something to stop my magic from getting out.” She returns to her slow walk, brows furrowed, and I study her full figure.

Aethers, she’s beautiful. That dark hair paired with her creamy, plump skin makes me want to bite her, to wrap her up in my arms and never let her go. Her curves do something to me that no one’s ever done before, and I wonder not for the first time what it might be like to see her naked. To see that heated expression she gives me when she’s challenging me on her face while her breasts sway with her attitude. She’s so confident and strong. And yet, there’s a softness to her, a sadness, that’s hard to ignore.

Something nags at me as she makes her third layer of wards on the room, a feeling about her that won’t leave me be. Then, it hits me— she’s afraid of her own magic . The realization shocks me, and I nearly laugh. The formidable and ferocious Witch Queen—feared across kingdoms, her name whispered out of concern it will conjure her, infamous for her supposed nefarious and terrible magic—is here making a shield around herself in case she loses control. The single most in control channeler I’ve ever encountered is afraid she’ll lose control practicing simple sparring drills. The very fact that she can somehow build a shield of aether around us is a show of expert control.

I grieve for her. This wonderful, beautiful, insanely powerful female has been convinced she is some thing to be feared, rather than some one to be celebrated. As much as my father is envious of my power, he always sought to elevate it, even if only for his own gain. But while he memorialized my aether-blessed light and water magic through the streets of Velmara, he also spun a tale about Laurel that made her into a nightmare. Whether a small part of her believes him, or cows from her magic for her own reasons, I don’t know. But she’s afraid what she can do if unleashed, and I vow to change that for her.

Laurel finishes her warding and returns to the middle of the room. She must notice my staring, because she says, her tone filled with sass, “What?”

My lips twitch. “Nothing, just observing. Let’s get started. Before you do any actual channeling, I want you to watch me. As you’re watching, visualize yourself displaying the same power. Light channeling is the hardest for a reason. You have to believe the light can slice through objects, or it won’t.”

I drag the two massive pots filled with plants from the corners of the room to where we’re standing, then close my eyes and focus on the powerful current of aether pulsing all around me. I hone that focus into the light with practiced ease, then pull it to me as an orb, making sure I extend out the movements that are so second nature to me so that they are easy for her to track. Then I guide the orb to lengthen into a sword-like shape. It splits, and I have one in each hand. I go through a series of exercises to warm up and show her how to manipulate the light. And, if I’m being honest with myself, to show off for her.

She tracks my movements, a hungry look on her expression that eliminates all trace of the slow and patient teacher in me. It’s replaced by a need to show her how powerful I really am. The light swords spear across the room in a fast beeline, then fly back into my hand. I whip them around me in fast slices and parries. One expands into a shield for an instant before it shrinks into dagger form, lightning fast. Then actual lightning-shaped spears slam into the ground, shaking the room. In an instant, all the light pulls back into a single sword, blinding in its intensity. I swing it toward the planters, slicing them in half with a sizzle.

Laurel’s eyes are wide in awe, and I find heat rising to my own cheeks. “How was that for a party trick, witchling?” I ask her with a wink.

She recovers, a smirk rising to her own lips. “It was… sufficient. Though I could have done without the property damage. ” She gestures to the planters, and I give her a sheepish shrug.

“Sufficient,” I scoff. “It was brilliant, and you know it. I know you can’t do those tricks.”

“Fine,” she admits, putting her hands on her hips with that attitude I was just fantasizing about. “Yes, it was impressive. Happy?” She gives me a mocking smile.

“Elated,” I say with the deepest and most sensual voice I can muster, and she shivers. “Now it’s your turn. Try to create a sword, split it into two, then make one of them a shield before turning it into a dagger. Don’t worry about speed, just focus on form for this first try.” Her brows furrow in adorable concentration, then she moves through the motions effortlessly, if slowly. “Excellent!” I clap my hands. “That was great technique. Now speed it up. Do the drill as fast as you can.”

She creates the two swords again, but the light fizzles before she makes a shield. She tries again. Over and over, she attempts to move through the motions quickly, but the light always disintegrates before she can form the next shape. She stamps her foot, and my lips twitch.

“You have too much control.”

She huffs. “ Too much control? Please, enlighten me how expertise and control can somehow hinder my abilities.”

“You can make the forms slowly because that allows you to concentrate on keeping the light contained. But to shift between forms, you have to let go a little. There’s inevitably a moment between forms where the light exists outside of your control. The mastery comes in letting it go for that fraction of a second, then pulling it back to you.” She looks distressed but only nods slowly. “Take another moment to visualize yourself doing the motions. Believe you can let go and still be able to pull the light back.”

She closes her eyes and tries again, and this time she makes the shield, but falters when trying to make the dagger. She lets out a frustrated grunt and opens her eyes.

“That was good. Excellent really,” I encourage. “It took me years to move between forms, and it’s only taken you half an hour. It’s amazing progress. Keep trying.”

She practices for another hour. I give her encouragement along the way, gently nudging her to let go of the tight hold she keeps on her magic. By the end of the hour, she’s able to whip through the forms quickly.

“Okay, let’s try slicing through something. Er… sorry about the planters,” I say, realizing there’s not much more in the room for her to practice on. In an instant, the planters have been restored, as if they were never broken in the first place. I look up at Laurel, and she just shrugs.

“The benefit of control ,” she coos with a smirk, and my blood heats at the subtle challenge she offers me with her gaze. But then she shudders, and her expression turns worried. “Uh, don’t tell anyone about that. Please.” She must realize she’s displayed yet another ability not connected to a conduit, but I don’t press her on it. Internally, my mind is whirring. What is her power? What conduit could possibly produce that result?

“Your secret’s safe with me, witchling,” is all I say though, motioning for her to continue with training.

She takes a deep breath, then raises a sword of light above her head. In an impressive swipe downward, she slams it against the planters, but nothing happens, the light dissipating as it reaches them. She looks at me with confusion and frustration.

“I told you, you have to believe the light will slice into it. Do whatever meditative shit you need to do to believe that.”

“Meditative shit?” she asks, eyebrow quirked.

“You know, your whole speech you gave me about thinking about the properties of water and light, and how they’re part of the same fabric of the world. Or whatever you said. Just think about how the light is the same as the planters, so it can slice them apart.” She only stares at me in challenge, hand propped on her hips again, then snaps her fingers. The planters slice in half again, but without her touching them.

“Like that?” she asks with a grin. Then she snaps her fingers a second time, and the planters are restored.

I roll my eyes. “Do it with the light,” I chastise.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t watch. Go practice your own meditative shit in a corner.”

I give her a mock bow. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

We practice in silent companionship for another hour, running through our own drills. When my stomach grumbles, I walk back to her in time to see her decimate the planters before restoring them instantly and decimating them again. I give her a slow clap. She turns, blushing again. “I told you not to watch.”

“I wasn’t watching till just then. I’m hungry. I need a snack.”

At that exact moment, a knock sounds on the door, and Laurel startles. She crosses the room and opens the door to a human woman holding a tray of steaming food, the smells wafting into the room. She takes the tray from the servant, who murmurs something quietly to Laurel. Laurel squeals in obvious glee.

“Thank you, Sarah,” she tells the woman, beaming. “You’re too good to me.” The woman bows, then Laurel closes the door with her foot and turns to me. “I didn’t realize how long we’d been here. Thankfully, I told Sarah to bring us lunch today, so you can have more than a snack.” I grunt, then take the tray from her and walk it to the small table in the back corner before setting out the plates and cutlery delivered with the food. Laurel picks up her plate, but I steal it out of her hands with a smirk.

“What was that screech about?” I ask as I dish out food for her, gesturing with my hands to find out which dishes she wants and how much. I enjoy serving her.

“It was not a screech,” she snaps back light heartedly. “It was an expression of joy .”

I laugh hard, and she slaps my arm. When I recover, I ask, “And what were you expressing joy over in such a screeching manner?” She rolls her eyes.

“There’s a tavern and inn in Echosa, where you entered Thayaria,” Laurel explains. “The owner’s wife Mara makes the absolute best chocolate cake. She’s in Arberly, helping her sister clean up their family’s bakery after the attack, and she brought a cake to the palace for me. Sarah made sure we had two slices on our lunch tray.”

“You and your chocolate cake,” I mutter as I hand her a plate. She sticks her tongue out at me, and the expression is so adorable I can’t help myself as I lean across the table into her space, then whisper in a husky voice, “And will you be sharing this cake with me?”

“Not if you continue to underappreciate it,” she retorts. She licks her lips, and the motion ties me in knots. I reach for her hand, wanting to thread her fingers through mine, but she pulls away.

Fuck, stop hitting on her when she doesn’t want it. I reprimand myself for the millionth time, vowing to keep our relationship friendly. It’s not like I need a romantic complication in my life right now anyway. Or ever, for that matter. I fill my plate with the steaming rice dish, then groan at the delicious Thayarian food.

She nods at the food I just ate. “It’s one of my favorites. Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” I tell her absentmindedly, and I mean it. I would confess any secret to her, tell her any information, even if it meant exposing myself and risking my safety. I’m not sure when that switch flipped on in my brain, if it was ever off at all.

“Why is Fionn so affected by yesterday’s attack? Not that we all aren’t, but he seems to be taking it harder, or more personally, than us.” Her question surprises me. I pause for a moment. Of course she noticed Fionn’s struggles. Nothing slips by her watchful gaze.

“Fionn wasn’t born noble or wealthy. He’s a commoner. His parents owned a fishing business. His mother was a powerful water channeler, who would sail out and catch fish for his father to sell at the Floating Market. Because of his upbringing, he cares deeply for everyday folk.”

“You mention his parents in the past tense. Did something happen to them?”

I nod as I meet her penetrating gaze. “The specifics are his story to tell, but they died in a terrible accident around the same time his power manifested. Since he was orphaned and possessed the most powerful metal channeling ability in a millennium, my father brought him to live in the palace as a companion of sorts for me. He said I needed someone who matched my power to train with, and that the death of our mothers would help us bond. But it wasn’t Fionn’s choice. He had family, an aunt and uncle, who had taken him in. They were forced to give him over to the palace.”

“That’s terrible,” she says, and I see genuine empathy in her eyes.

“It is. And we hated each other at first. He hated me for what I represented, and I hated him for his resentment of the only life I’d ever known. I found him arrogant, and I’m sure I was unbearable.”

She laughs, and it makes my blood sing. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“No, I’m sure it wouldn’t.” I grin at her teasing of me, loving the way we so effortlessly shoot barbs at one another. “But over time, we realized we had a lot in common, and our friendship bloomed. We’ve been inseparable ever since. Fionn entered the Royal Guard, and I immediately appointed him as my personal guard. He was with me when I found my mother’s journal and has been with me for every terrible thing my father’s ever done. It creates a bond.”

“I feel the same way about the Chair of my Council of Advisors. Nemesia, who went to Velmara as your counterpart. She’s been my best friend since birth, really. Her mother was my parents’ Captain of the Royal Guard and General of their armies, so we were raised together.” I remember that the Thayarian General had died early in the war, before Nemesia was appointed to the role, and I feel guilt at my connection to the loss of Nemesia’s and Laurel’s parents. Could Laurel ever truly forgive me for my father’s sins? Will she ever be able to look past all that I represent?

“You must miss her,” I say softly, and her eyes sparkle with tears for a moment, but she clears them before they fall.

“Yes. It’s been difficult without her counsel.” And just like that, her mask is back in place, the window into the real Laurel slammed shut. She changes the subject quickly. “What’s next in our practice drills, oh great instructor?” she asks with a teasing tone not reflected in her eyes.

“Well, now that you’ve mastered the basics that most light channelers learn before they’re twenty, we’ll start some more advanced drills.” I smirk.

“You said it took you years to learn how to do that!” she protests.

“It did, they just happened to be years when I was very young.” She only rolls her eyes, but this time, there’s a grin on her face that even she cannot shutter away.

“You’ve mastered the basic forms and moving between them,” I explain once we’ve finished our lunch. “Now we spar. Fighting is a dance. You need to shift between forms on instinct. And all that shit I told you about believing the light can slice through things? Forget that. I don’t want you nicking me.” She rolls her eyes. “I assume you’ve been taught to fight with weapons? I haven’t actually seen you use anything but magic to defend yourself.”

“I was raised as the heir to a throne, forced into a war at twenty-years old, then lived in fear of another war for three hundred years. I know how to use a sword,” she snaps back. I give her a half-smile to hide my own horror at her response, my grief for who she’s been forced to become.

“Then use everything you’ve learned, but just make the weapons out of light. Light sparring is better and different, because you have every type of weapon at your disposal. A long sword can instantly become a dagger when the fighting gets close but can morph into a shield when you need it.”

She nods, then creates a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. “Let’s get started, princeling,” she teases, and a primal instinct washes over me, excited to spar with her. But the excitement that heats my core differs from the jolt of energy I feel when I spar with Fionn or Silene. It’s a challenge and a soothing caress all at once, like there’s something I’ve been waiting for, and it will finally click into place when we spar. I conjure a sword and dagger of my own, then launch myself at her.

She blocks me with her sword, then swipes her dagger, demonstrating competent weapons wielding. But I’m better and faster. I spin, easily avoiding her slice and moving behind her. I wrap my arm around her waist, then hold my dagger to her throat. Her ass brushes against my upper thighs, and I breathe heavily with the effort of keeping a respectable distance between us.

“You should have shifted your sword into a shield to block,” I whisper into her nape, and she shivers. “It would have allowed you to use my momentum against me. Plus, we’re trying to develop instinctually shifting between forms. Don’t rely on the weapons as they are. Morph them into what you need.” I release her, instantly feeling the absence of her in my arms, and she stalks away, her own deep breaths making her breasts lift in a rhythm that draws my eyes. I forcefully wrench my gaze to her face, which is fixed with determination.

“Got it. Ready for another round?” she asks, eyes bright.

I lunge again, this time with my dagger, trying to bring her into a fight at close quarters so I can touch her again. She lets me get the dagger inches from her midriff before her left hand makes a small shield and forces me back. Her other hand swings her sword toward me. She’s taken control of the fight, and my cock twitches as I imagine her taking control of other situations. But I don’t intend to let her keep the upper hand for long.

“Good,” I tell her as I spin out of the way, conjuring two swords in either hand. I feint with one arm, and when she blocks with her sword, I bring my other arm around in a wide arc towards her left side. She instantly forms a shield in her left hand to block me on both fronts. “You’re getting the hang of it! Ready for me to move faster?”

“Faster?” she gasps, incredulous.

“This is nothing,” I tell her with cocky confidence. “Next lesson—don’t let your opponent see the weapon you’re going to use until it’s too late for them to block.” I spin again, lunging for her with no weapon in either hand. When I get close, I conjure a short sword. She avoids it by spinning away from me, but then I send orbs of light that resemble throwing stars toward her. Her eyes widen, and one of them hits her square in the chest.

She stumbles, hand going over her heart. She’s panting, and her eyes look up at me in confusion. “Why didn’t that hurt?”

“Light can just be light. It doesn’t have to wound. I didn’t put enough concentrated aether into it to hurt you. But you sure thought I did, didn’t you?” I ask with a snicker.

“Bastard,” she mutters.

“You need to shield faster. Now you won’t make that mistake anymore.” I wave my hand toward her. “Again.”

We continue sparring for hours. She gets better but still isn’t shifting fast enough to keep up with me. After what has to be the hundredth time I catch her off guard, she yells in frustration while I still have her pressed against my body. This time, I have to release her quickly, not wanting her to feel how her primal roar affects me.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. I’ve been doing this for hundreds of years. You won’t master this in an afternoon. Plus, most people you’d be fighting won’t actually be able to change their weapons out with a thought. They’ll be stuck using the same thing they start with. Metal has its own challenges, but fighting another light channeler is infinitely harder.”

“Then why aren’t you using real weapons?” she snaps, clearly annoyed.

“Because I can tell the light not to hurt you if you don’t shield or block quick enough. I can’t do the same with a metal weapon. This is the safest way to train.” She only huffs. She knows I’m right but doesn’t want to admit it. “Let’s take a break. We’ve been going for hours. You must be exhausted.”

“And you aren’t?”

“Hate to break it to you, witchling, but I grew up training with Fionn. He’s the only one who can really tire me.” As if my words conjured the bulky male, he and Silene enter the training room.

“Damn right,” Fionn says smugly. “Thorne here tries so hard to beat me, it’s cute.”

I roll my eyes. “I can beat you sometimes.” Fionn only huffs a grunt. “Should we give Laurel here a demonstration?” I ask, and he smiles wide. Two swords from the training rack fly across the room into his hand.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he says, then barrels toward me.