No one had ever antagonized her like Oswald did. All the boys at Mather would have thrilled at the chance to spend the night in the same house as Celia. Not him. The Tatter boy was a cocky bastard. More than that, he was an idiot if he thought they had a chance against the Throcknell army. If King Balthazar wanted them dead, nothing would stop him. Their best bet was teleporting from one country to another, never staying in one place long enough to risk capture.
In any case, she was sick of Oswald having the upper hand, and she’d had enough of him berating her technique. Fiona was the athlete. Celia was better suited to designing an outfit than wielding a pike.
She glared at herself in the warped mirror, cringing at the blush that had crept over her chest. She didn’t like feeling so out of control. She didn’t like being terrible at things.
Her eyes flicked to a scarlet rose that wilted in a glass jar, and a smile crept across her face. Today, she would take back control. Why not focus on her strengths? So what if she couldn’t land a punch yet when she sparred with Oswald. Maybe she could disarm him in other ways.
She pulled off her dress, throwing it on the bed, and slipped into a pair of black leggings. Grabbing a thin black scarf, she tied it around the bottom of her bra. They didn’t have push-up bras in Dogtown, so this would have to do for a little extra cleavage. Finally, she rifled through her drawers until she found a black, snug tank top. Dogtown outerwear was all drapey and bohemian; this was meant as an undershirt. But she was an athlete now. A warrior.
And mostly, she wanted to look hot. This was how she could throw him off.
Stepping back, she surveyed her outfit in the mirror—a sleek black ensemble that emphasized her curves. Finding an elastic band, she gathered her long hair into a ponytail, then plucked a few rose petals from the dresser. Crushing them between her fingers until red juice stained her fingertips, she smudged the red dye onto her lips. She eyed herself again with an appreciative smile. I look amazing.
Brushing off her hands on her leggings, she strode out the front door, heading to Foxberry Field. She hurried along the meandering path, shielding her eyes in the morning sun.
Oswald leaned against a tree at the edge of a field, hands in his pockets, his blond curls ablaze in the sunlight. As she approached, his head turned. She caught the drop in his jaw as she drew closer. Good—her outfit had had the desired effect.
He glanced away. “Are you ready to train?”
He talked a big game, but he was just like everyone else from Maremount: a major prude. And that would only make it easier for her to throw him off guard. “Yes. But I still think this is a waste of time. If the Throcknell army makes it here, we should get the hell out. We can zap from one place to another, so they can never catch us. I really don’t want my head to end up on a stake in front of the castle.”
His icy gaze met hers. “This is our best hope to thwart the Throcknells. The werewolves will strike with us. We have a fire demon alongside. And we must only hold them off before we return to Maremount. Estelle will raise a veil. Your father’s army will be trapped without, and the King will have no defenders. I’ll clank him in the Iron Tower myself.”
She shuddered at the thought of Oswald coming face to face with King Balthazar. “Why are you so hellbent on locking him up?”
“Do you think he should remain free to rule us? To break Tatters, and let us rot in the streets?”
“Of course not.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Truly? Because if that’s so, you should want to fight with us.”
I don’t want to die. Was that such a terrible thing to admit? And yet, she couldn’t say it out loud. Not to Oswald. He’d think her a coward. “Why can’t you just leave Maremount behind?” From what she understood, he didn’t even have family there anymore. His sister was dead, and she was pretty sure his parents were, too.
He held her gaze. “It’s my home. It could be yours, too.”
There was something inviting in the way he said that, and she began to warm to the idea. “Fine. Make me into a soldier.”
He smiled. “Good. This will be a tougher session than you’ve had before. When we encounter our real foes, they won’t go as easy on you as I have.”
You have? “Don’t go easy on me, then. I told you. You can stop thinking of me as a princess.” She had a plan. She was going to strike first, when he wasn’t expecting it, when his eyes had shifted right where she wanted them.
He smiled his smug, irritating smile. “Whatever you like.”
She lunged, swinging for his jaw, but he ducked, sending her off balance. He brought his elbow down on her back—not hard, but it sent her tumbling to the ground. She could tell he was still holding back, but the lack of control infuriated her. From the ground, she kicked him hard behind the knee. He lost his footing for a moment but quickly regained balance.
She jumped to her feet, shielding her face with her fists as Oswald pummeled her arms. Definitely holding back.
“Hit me back,” he said.