No, she is a better fighter than I imagined she could be, given her lack of experience ... Interesting. I’m still considering this fact when I’m called to duel Cleo. My delightful former instructor. I’m so distracted by my surprise over the Wildling’s fighting that Cleo manages to get a hit in—slicing down my arm, my blood pouring to sand below. The flash ofpain is enough to get my head back in place, and I best her in seconds. She grins at my injury.
Fucking Cleo.
I dig my sword in front of me and wait, because I know who I’m dueling next. I watch her tentatively walk forward, as if she didn’t just defeat Grimshaw.
Best to get this over with quickly.
I swipe my sword deftly, thinking it’s over—
But it meets steel. I frown. A sound escapes her parted lips and ... why am I looking at them? She deepens her stance, meeting my force with her own.
I push back against her. She adds another hand to her grip, then presses toward me. I respond with a quick jab, irritated, wanting to be away from her distracting lips and the song in my head as soon as possible—
Metal against metal. She blocks me again.
She swings her blade, and I stop it, studying her more closely. Studying the differences from the last time I gazed upon her. Because this ... this isdifferent. This isn’t the poised ruler, sitting with perfect posture at the table, or the carefree ruler, singing on her balcony.
No. This is a different side to her.
Her full top lip is curled back in a snarl. Her eyes are narrowed and gleaming with focus, and those eyes—
Green. Her eyes are green.
And I never thought a color could send a chill down my spine, until two green eyes pinned me in place, and made me forget my name.
Made me forget my crown.
Made me forget her blade, just inches from my heart.
Because that green ... it’s the green of my favorite place. That beach I escape to in my dreams.
And I have a sinking feeling that she’s about to fill all of them.
No.
What am I thinking? Have I lost my mind?
I grit my teeth as I lunge forward, and her footing falters. At my next approach, her arm shakes. Good.Great. She’s tiring.
Let’s get this over with.
Hit after hit, she weakens, until it’s time for my last strike. I make my final move—
And she blocks it with brutal strength, leaving me stumbling forward.
I blink. She tricked me. She’s been storing her energy. She was pretending to be tired out.
And I fell for it.
I stumble back, barely blocking her blows, the arm Cleo cut to tatters on fire. I’ve lost a lot of blood. My strength is not what it’s been since the blue began spreading. She pounces at me, sword in the air, a second away from ending me.
She’s going to beat me. That thought gives way to a surprising mix of awe and anger.
Then, she falters. It’s subtle, but I’m studying her so carefully that I catch the slight change in her expression. And I see her adjust her aim slightly lower—instead of leaning into the blow, she loosens her grip on her sword ...
When my metal meets hers, her sword swings wildly away, before clattering against the ground, pushing up sand. She faces me, unarmed, her chest heaving.
The Wildling let me win.
