Chapter 1
Castien
Steel whistled, wind grazing the hairs of his arm. A single inch closer, and the sharp tip would have opened his throat. He needed to move faster.
Castien slid sideways, sweat beading on his forehead as he focused on his opponent. “Is that the best you can do, my Queen?”
Glittering green ice stared back. Perhaps taunting the Queen wasn’t the most intelligent idea at the moment.
“This isn’t a game, Escort,” she said in her cold-as-steel tone. Another elegant slice cut the air. Her feet shifted slightly on a heel. Each of her motions was calm and casual.
He was panting.
“Oh – my mistake,” he breathed, struggling to keep his balance as he dodged a swing at his face. Could she not aim at his face, though? “Of course not. It’s just–” He brought his sword up barely in time to deflect the next strike. His left-hand dagger clashed with hers. Step to the right, bend the knee, duck.
Righting himself, he said, “Seems like you're toying with me. Have I truly improved so much, or is your reputation at risk at the hands of a simple courtesan?” He quickly glanced at the others in the training circle. While they weren’t in the military wing, plenty of Inner Circle guards and servants were still watching them. On a good day, half of them cheered him on. Today, they winced at his off-kilter stance.
Anais’ eyes flickered; if he didn't know her so well, he might have missed it. “My reputation of playing with my prey, you mean? Wouldn't want to scare you off, pet.”
Her cool tone was distracting, and he almost blocked with his bracer. Octavius had just recently broken him of that habit; it’d be embarrassing to request yet another replacement so soon.
But she never called him ‘pet’ except in court.
Receding a step and letting her blade slide off his, he raised a brow. “Anais?”
Her voice snapped, as did her sword. “Focus, Escort. If swordplay interrupts banter, you'll be embarrassed. If banter distracts swordplay, you'll be dead.”
He grunted as her blade whispered uncomfortably close to his stomach. Shredded clothes were slightly less embarrassing than sliced-up bracers. Slightly. “I'm fairly certain your words could kill me just as well.”
A corner of her lips twitched. There she was. His lips split into a grin.
“Ah!” He yelped as the tip of her sword drew a red line along the back of his hand. A few moons ago, he would've dropped his weapon. Today, he sidestepped, smacked her sword, then came up and in through her guard.
Her foot gave an inch. Steel crossed with steel, and their faces were a breath apart.
He had been so close to striking her. Closer than ever.
Approval glimmered in her eyes. Anais nodded. “Well done. But go for the kill next time – every time. Corpses can't fight back.”
They disengaged and began the dance again.
Her movements were always so effortless, so natural and graceful. His clients had once complimented his performances in much the same way. Years of practice were behind every flexof a muscle, every tight turn. A dancer’s – a fighter’s – reaction time was faster than thought. All of that took dedication. Work.
Gods, but she was beautiful.
The flat of her blade smacked him on the ribs. He winced and clutched his side.
She sighed. “Damn it, Castien. If I hadn’t turned my blade, you’d be cut in half. I can't spar with you if–”
He lunged.
Now.Soon. Now!
What?
His sword arm wavered. Halfway through the lunge, the world seemed to snap back into focus. He hesitated, lost his balance, and the blade fell from his hand. Blinking hard, he stared at the weapon. His hand shook.
Anais sheathed her sword and rushed to his side. “Cas! Is it the dizziness, again? I'm sorry, I should have noticed–”
