Panting, I winked back into sight. We'd begun the battle well past afternoon, and now the sun was beginning to cast streaks of pink and orange and purple.
“Out of curiosity, how are you able to fight me when you can't see me?”
Dark brows compressed in a brief line, the most emotionhe’d displayedtoday. “Sight is theleastreliable sense, girl. Your training is deplorably basic for the daughter of a High Lord.” The toneless quality of his voice warmed to something closer to long-suffering weariness rather than a void of emotion. “Though I'll admit your potential is pleasing.”
“Why should you be pleased?”
His answer was to attack, but this time he pulled off his metaphorical glove. Only an inch—that was enough.
The weight of his power warned me he was capable of so much more.
Hard pressed to defend myself, I gave ground. He moved fast, his movements spare, wasting no energy. He pressed me to elicit the response he wanted, without pulling his blows, none of them fatal—but each of them a lesson in pain. I suffered from a half dozen minor injuries as he methodically beat me into the ground.
My head snapped back as the hilt of his sword crashed against my jaw.
“More?” he asked.
I tasted blood in my mouth and spit it out. “Chivalry is dead.”
His eyes glowed, the blue finally swirling to life. “I beg your pardon. I did not realize it waschivalryyou wanted from me.”
The Prince stalked forward, skirting the distance I'd been trying to inch between us. I needed a few moments to recoup, but he refused.
“Take my offer, Aerinne.” Nothing remote about his voice now.
Spilling my blood roused the shadow beast, and the great black wings unfurled.
ChapterTen
“No.”
He halted and glanced up at the sky. “My amusement is diminishing. I had hoped to relearn the taste of wine tonight. Though I recall Baroun's preferences are deplorably plebeian.”
“Sorry to keep you from your red.” I doubted he was a white kind of guy.
What did he desire. . .other than the subjugation of Everenne's Low Fae, and the Lords of the High and Low Courts kneeling beneath his boot?
“It is not an apology I desire from you.”
I lifted my blades.
The High Lord's mouth thinned as he let me attack, eyes a flat grey. I refused to return to Faronne without every bone in my body broken from trying. I wouldn't kneel at my mother's grave and confess weakness.
Return victorious or on your shield.
An apt sentiment,Darkan said,if oneunderstandsthe nature of victory. You only think you know what you are fighting for.
A line of fire grazed my sword arm. I ignored the pain and my dark angel, sheathing my long dagger and shifting the sabre to my left hand so the dripping blood didn't threaten my grip.
I panted, my breaths harsh and acid with the nausea of forcing myself to remain on my feet. The moon peeked over the horizon. Dimly, I realized Numair had won the bet. If he was alive.
“Enough, Aerinne,” the Prince said, expression now concealed by the encroaching night. His eyes still glowed.
“Stop. . .saying my name like that.” I swayed.
“Like what?”
“Like you know me.”
