He pulled his sword from its sheath and took his stance against Enid.
I took a seat in one of the chairs that lined the far wall under the weapons and stared as Marren and Enid fought. They moved so fast, they blurred together which made for a difficult time discerning their moves. I paid careful attention to the way both of them would move right before the sword cut into them or blocked the attack with their own. They fought with more skill than I thought was attainable, and yet, neither one faltered. Neither one panted, blinked, or missed a step, giving off the impression I was even more inferior and imperfect. I was ashamed for accusing Marren of having any imperfections before. He was right, that one night, when he called me blind. I just didn’t understand how true that statement was and the number of ways in which it was so.
Their swords clanked together and locked at the hilt. Marren broke free first and said, “Who’s hungry?”
I shook my head, at a loss of words and followed them across the corridor to the dining hall.
When dinner was done, Enid excused himself to go run around the property lines to look for any signs of our pending company and any more attempts by the Cyrs. After witnessing the perfection of Marren sparring with Enid, it brought a whole new weight to the air and being alone with him, making me seem feeble and unnecessarily fragile.
“Come on,” he said, holding his hand out to me. I took it and stood with him. “We still have training to do before the night is out.”
“You want to kill me,” I muttered.
“I would never do anything like that.”
“Sure you wouldn’t,” I retorted, trying to ignore the purr of his words.
He stopped, turning to stand in front of me. He slid his hand down the side of my face. His breath poured over me, sending warmth rippling through my body.
“Uwoduhi nigohilv gvgeyu.” He pressed his lips to mine, making my knees go weak. I wrapped my arms around him to prevent my legs from giving out on me. He picked me up, pulling my legs around his waist, and carried me to the ballroom. I groaned my displeasure with his lips being pulled from mine. He let out a chuckle. “We have work to do. Can’t be all play.”
“How do you know fighting isn’t play for me?”
He raised his eyebrow at me with the look that held both intrigue and surprise. He cleared his throat. “Uh, I guess we’ll deal with that as time allows.”
Pulling his sword out from its sheath, he held a stance toward me. I sighed and did the same. “Remember—”
“Anticipate and respond accordingly, I understand.”
He smiled with a show of pride then took his attack. I jumped back, sucking in a breath and letting it out through my pursed lips, relieved I missed that one.
“Good. Now keep it up.”
“Be gentle,” I teased.
“I didn’t realize such a word existed in your vocabulary,” he said, teasing me while making another attack that I blocked.
He attacked again, and I deflected, only for him to attack me over and over again. I struggled to block each and every one while remembering to breathe. He backed up and held his sword in front of himself, taking defensive steps to the left. I followed his movements, keeping the short space between us, waiting for him to attack. When he didn’t, I took my chance and lunged.
He twisted out of my way. I almost lost my footing and found myself wrapped in his arms with the side of his blade to my throat and his breath in my ear. I closed my eyes, pushing the intensity of my body’s reaction to the back of my mind.
“You didn’t respond accordingly.” He panted his words.
I peeked at him from the corner of my eyes. “Nor were you anticipating.”
I nodded my head toward my weapon. He gulped, realizing it was a stagnant match. I experienced his surprise and giggled triumphant as he released me.
I heard him swing his sword with my back turned. I swerved out of the way, twisting to counter his blow coming immediately after. His swings came harder, forcing me back a little more each time until my back pressed against the wall. He disarmed me with the flick of his wrist, then tossed his sword to the floor then pushed me, holding my arms to the side. He kissed me hard then said, “I’m not the only one that didn’t anticipate.”
Before I could say anything, he pulled away and walked to his sword. He slid the toe of his boot under the blade right after the hilt and ejected it into the air. I ran to mine, sliding to the floor on the side of my leg and gripped the sword as I passed. I twisted myself up and braced for his attack. I struggled to deter his attacks without getting in any of my own.
Our swords became locked at the hilts. His gaze reached through to my very soul. He blew a kiss between the crossed blades. I smiled, then kicked him in his gut, breaking free of his block. He fell backward to the floor not expecting my reaction. I climbed on top of him, pinning his wrists to the floor with the rest of my waning strength.