Page 60

“I’m quite certain I can’t do this,” Maeva wheezes, sweat pouring down her brow as she dry heaves.

“As you’ve mentioned for the last week. That line is getting old, Rosey,” I laugh.

She rattles off a number of indiscernible words that I’m sure curse me to a swift but painful end.

“Now, now,” Riordan teases, the rest of the Cadre jogging up. “There’s no need for such foul language from a lovely lady like yourself.”

She wheezes heavily, holding up an index finger. “Let me… catch my… breath, and I’ll… show you… how ladylike I am when… my fists connect with your face,” she retorts.

Virgil and Laisren combust into raucous laughter, to which Maeva responds with muttered curses. Riordan mimics her running form, followed by her wheezing stance, which only encourages laughter .

“Bloody brutes,” Maeva grumbles.

I stifle a laugh with a cough.

She turns her icy glare in my direction. “You must desire death today, Prince,” she snarls.

I shrug, winking once. “Only if it’s by your hand, my Rosey,” I tease. “But then you’d have the issue of finding someone else to train you. I suppose if you prefer Domhnall?—”

“No!” she interrupts, wiping her hands clean of sweat. “Let’s not dilly dally boys, as I am in need of an ice bath and wish for this torture to end.”

“To the courtyard!” Riordan yells.

Everyone, except for Maeva, makes the quick walk in record time.

The run for us is hardly what we would consider a warm-up.

When we’re training, we run twice the length, but I’m sure Maeva would slaughter us in our sleep if I encouraged her to do such a thing.

And I’m most certain of that fact as she drags her feet in protest. “One of you dimwits could offer to carry me,” she grouses.

“And miss this entertainment?” Laisren teases.

“You act as if you don’t know us at all, Mae-Mae,” Riordan laughs.

She groans, pouting her lower lip slightly.

“Please, Virgil?” she asks sweetly.

Virgil, the loyal protector that he is to Maeva, runs to her and picks her up without hesitation.

She squeals delightedly as she wraps her arms around his neck. “This is why you’re my favorite member of the cadre,” she grins.

Virgil doesn’t respond, but a small grin teases the corner of his mouth.

“He just wants to be friends, my arse,” I mumble under my breath.

“Oh, come on, mate,” Riordan calls. “She almost made it this time without a break to sit down.”

“I see where your loyalty lies now,” Laisren teases.

The tips of Virgil’s ears redden. “She said please,” he replies. “Unlike you blokes, my mother taught me to be a proper gentleman.” Virgil carefully sets her down, not unwrapping his arms from her waist until she is steady.

Perhaps I should make him run for lingering too long.

I clear my throat. “As much as I hate to ruin the fun, it’s time to get back to it, Rosey,” I say, my High General voice—as she calls it—taking over.

She whines even louder today, but nods her head as she grabs her assigned blade. “This better be bloody worth it,” she mumbles.

For the last eight days, we’ve trained ten hours a day beginning at dawn with a four-mile run—which I believe she hates the most based on how often she claims that she’s quitting. It’s then followed by several hours of sparring with steel swords versus our abilities.

“Remind me again why I can’t just summon my starlight sword?” She groans for the thousandth time in eight days.

“As I’ve explained,” I say in mock annoyance, “it allows you to refine your form while in combat. Your technique isn’t the worst I’ve witnessed, but your footwork and positioning are rather lacking. It needs to improve if you truly desire to best anyone in an actual battle of weapons.”

“Why wouldn’t I just use my ability if the situation is that dire?” she asks, yet again.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, breathing deeply.

“Because,” I say, “there’s no honor in using pure force, though in some circumstances, it’s necessary.

However, you risk draining your signet far too quickly, especially if a battle lasts for hours.

So you need to be skilled in hand-to-hand combat, as well as summoning your ability.

Hence why we start with hand-to-hand and?—”

“—move to starlight training. Yeah, yeah, but I need to know why ,” she says, as if bored.

I narrow my eyes. “Now you’re just procrastinating,” I reply.

She twirls a strand of hair as she bats her eyelashes. “Is it working?” she asks.

“No,” I deadpan.

She pouts. “I had to try,” she sighs.

“It’s a cute attempt, but it’s time to pair up,” I whisper.

“Virgil,” I call out. “You’re sparring with Maeva first today.”

By the glare he shoots in my direction, I know he understands this is the repercussion of helping her moments ago. Plus, whoever fights Maeva first usually gets the brunt of her anger, which occasionally ends in a bloody nose or black eye.

“Ooooooh, this is going to be good,” Riordan says, rubbing his hands together.

“If you’re not careful, you’ll be up first,” I scold.

Riordan throws his hands up, slowly backing away. “I don’t think Mae-Mae will be able to handle it if I’m first,” he teases.

“Oh, I don’t know… I did promise my fists an introduction to your face,” she jests. “Why don’t you come say hello?”

“Ahh, but it’s more entertaining when I play hard to get,” he says with a devilish smirk.

Holy Celestae, what monstrosity is she turning our training time into?

“That’s it! You’re up first, Riordan. Virgil, you can sit this one out until the next hour,” I command.

Virgil smirks as he punches Riordan’s shoulder. “Good luck,” he whispers.

Riordan murmurs under his breath, taking up his stance on the opposite side of Maeva, who looks far too eager for this joust.

I clap my hands once.

“Let’s begin.”