And Evelayn intended to win.
They moved faster and faster, learning each other’s style, getting closer and closer to an actual hit. It was difficult to control her newly discovered power, to hold it at bay, to rely only on her speed and strength as she always had before her birthday. The blades were dulled so that they wouldn’t slice through the leathers they wore, but Evelayn’s body still sang with adrenaline, her blood pumping through her muscles as she twisted and lunged and ducked.
Often, her sparring partners were careful with her, holding back because they were nervous, afraid to hurt the princess. Those wins felt cheap, as if she’d been handed her victory.
But not today—not with Tanvir. He held nothing back, giving her the honor of fighting her as an equal. And he was good. So quick she could barely keep up.
She had to use all of her heightened senses to anticipate his attacks as they swung and lunged and swiped faster and faster and faster still. Though he nearly gained the upper hand, almost landing a killing slice against her ribs before she managed to roll away, sparring with him was intoxicating.
She did as she had been taught—channeling all the anger and hurt she’d had to crush when she’d woken for her morning run and found the note from her mother, and using it as a third, unseen weapon. She knew it wasn’t her mother’s fault she’d been called back to the warfront so quickly, but that didn’t lessen the frustration of her situation. Fueled by that anger, Evelayn forced herself to keep going, to move beyond the burning of her muscles that begged for a break. When Tanvir lunged forward yet again, this time going for a debilitating torso wound, Evelayn used his momentum to hook his arm, swing herself around his body, and drag her blade across his back.
“Point to Princess Evelayn!” Kel called out. But not a killing blow.
She moved to disentangle her arm, but instead, in that one moment of hesitation when she’d allowed herself a pause of triumph, Tanvir dropped one of his blades to grab her wrist, squeezing so hard it compressed a nerve that forced her hand to convulse and drop her own knife. Simultaneously, he wrenched her forward so he could spin her in front of him, his arm now firmly wrapped around both of hers, and then, so fast she didn’t even have a chance to struggle, his blade angled against her throat, ready to slit it.
A killing strike. Evelayn exhaled angrily even as her stomach sank.
“Lord Tanvir takes the match,” Kel announced unnecessarily.
But Tanvir didn’t move yet, his arm still holding her close and his blade still touching her skin, both of them breathing heavily. Her irritation at losing faded as she became aware of the heat of him pressing through her leathers, of a heady musk that suddenly colored his scent, sparking a responding warmth deep within her. A different kind than she’d ever felt before, it called for more, beckoned her to move even closer to the hard length of his body.
And then suddenly, he let go, stepping back. Evelayn stumbled forward, shocked at her own thoughts. Shocked that he’d beat her so quickly. Shocked that for a moment, she’d forgotten about her mother leaving, the war, not being able to shift, or anything beyond Lord Tanvir’s arm around her and his muscled chest and abdomen against her back.
“Can you tell me what went wrong?” Kel asked her.
Evelayn glanced at Lord Tanvir to see him watching her, his amber eyes hooded, clutching his daggers at his sides. “I lost focus for a split second when you announced I had taken a point and he capitalized on it.”
General Kelwyn nodded. “Any distraction—no matter how brief—can prove fatal on the battlefield, Your Highness. Whether you are fighting with your magic or with your hands.” He gestured for Dela to come forward so he could demonstrate how Evelayn should have avoided Tanvir’s attack.
The rest of the training continued on as normal, but Evelayn made sure to stay as far away from Lord Tanvir as possible. Of course her body had reacted to his nearness; he was one of the most attractive Draíolon she’d ever met. And yes, he hadn’t held back, hadn’t treated her like she was too fragile to give her a fair fight. And true, she’d forgotten about her grief and pain for a brief moment …
But none of that meant anything.
Did it?
AS THEY WERE WALKING BACK TO THE CASTLE TO CLEAN up for luncheon, Lord Tanvir fell into step beside her.
“Might I have a private word with you, Your Highness?”
Evelayn barely squashed the dismay that rose at his request. There was only one reason a male ever requested to speak to her in private. “I do not think I am properly attired for that kind of conversation.”
“I don’t see anything wrong with what you’re wearing …”
Evelayn stopped and faced him, allowing Kel and Dela to outpace them so they wouldn’t be overheard. “I’d prefer not to be—”
“I wish to apologize.” Lord Tanvir cut her off, saving her from the humiliation she would have brought upon herself if she’d completed that sentence: proposed to while I’m covered in sweat.
“Apologize?” she echoed instead.
“Yes. I never meant to imply that I see you only as only an extension of your crown when I said your authority supersedes your aunt’s. I merely meant to assure you that you were perfectly capable of choosing to do as you wished last night. I wanted to see you smile again. But I realize now that you might have interpreted my comment as a marker of interest in your power—your position—and not you. And for that, I am very sorry.”
Evelayn employed every bit of training she had honed to keep herself from staring. That he had so completely read her mind, that he somehow understood exactly what she’d been thinking—it was not only surprising, it was … a relief. That’s what made the tightly coiled muscles between her shoulder blades release slightly. Relief that maybe her first assessment of Lord Tanvir had been correct after all—that he wasn’t like all the other males who had sought her out.