Page 84 of To Scale the Emerald Mountain

My irrational fit of jealousy instantly dies, and I pull my composure back in.

“It will give your mate a semblance of hope knowing you got jealous of me calling him attractive.”

“Do not tell him that!” I snarl.

Kraeston shakes his head, laughing, and beckons me down the stairs that lead into the pitch as the sounds of fighting die. “Alright lads, fix yourselves, or go find a Healer.”

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, my eyes glance timidly towards Alec to catch him guzzling water from a glass bottle—his neck working with each pull.

Pushing down my own swallow, I force myself to look away.

Kraeston walks to a rack of weapons and begins inspecting an impressive assortment of staffs.

“I’m capable of choosing my own weapon,” I shoot and walk towards the rack.

Weighing a couple of different options, the fire of Alec’s stare prickles the back of my neck; that gentle tug in my stomach pulls at me. My muscles work of their own accord, and our gazes meet for a brief second. Longing burns clear in his dark eyes, but he tames his expression and nods at me once before leaving.

“What happened to his shoulder?” I dare to ask Kraeston after I’m sure Alec’s gone.

Kraeston smiles at me fondly while I stretch. “You should ask him yourself.”

My eyes roll as I walk to the center of the ring with a weapon that’s comfortable, nearly identical to the one Locane made for me at the country house in Brhadir.

Not Locane. The thought hits with a twist in my gut.

He never made that staff at all. Alec had all of that there for me. I shove the thought from my mind and shake my head at Kraeston. “I’d rather not.”

He’s facing me in the center of the ring now, preparing his stance. I do the same, practicing a basic spin to get my hands acquainted with the weapon.

“I know you’re angry with him, Elly—and rightfully so—but you should talk to him.” Kraeston comes at me with a lazy jab that I quickly smack away.

“You’re not even trying,” I deflect and catch him with a strike on the shoulder.

Kraeston pretends to be wounded before smiling at me. “We’re just warming up, Elly. You need to build your stamina back up before we really fight.”

He swings a strike, matching the one I just used. I quickly block overhead, the wood clacking against each other loudly.

Moving with swiftness, I come at him with a cross strike. Kraeston matches it with one of his own, determining my movements before I make them.

Maybe I’m the one who’s not trying.

I attempt to throw him off with a quick spin behind my back before coming at him, but he quickly blocks me.

I throw the staff in frustration, already prepared to give up this fruitless endeavor.

“You’re out of practice, Princess. It’s been months. Don’t be hard on yourself,” Kraeston tells me as he hands me water.

“It hasn’t been months, it’s been a few days. And I had no problem besting—“ I cut myself off abruptly, “my last opponent.” I try to recover the slip, but the damage is done. I expect Kraeston’s expression to turn gentle again, but he merely shakes his head.

“That doesn’t count. You weren’t in control and were unwillingly riding the coattails of that insane dark magic. Besides, Locane’s a shit fighter. Always has been. If that’s all I had to trainwith, I’d decline in skill too.” Kraeston takes another swig of water before smiling at me. “But don’t worry, Elly. We’ll help you get back to where you need to be.”

I suspect he doesn’t only mean physically.

“Where is he?” I ask, my eyes cast down.

Kraeston searches my face for a moment. I don’t expect him to answer, but he does. “He’s in the dungeon under the palace. Heavily guarded and dripping in iron.” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “He won’t get you again.”

I angrily shake off the gentle touch. “I don’t want your platitudes.”