As I walked back to the training grounds, the cool breeze slipped through the loose sleeves of my new outfit as I tried to steady my breathing.
When I reached him, he let his gaze roam over , his expression unreadable but sharp, a faint smirk teasing at the edges of his mouth. "Ah, there you are," he drawled, his tone smug. He flicked a glance toward the sparring field where a group of his soldiers were running drills, each one more imposing and lethal than the last. Finally, he lifted a finger and pointed to one of the warriors—a tall, broad-shouldered man with a steely expression and a well-worn wooden sword gripped in his hand.
"Since my mate—" he emphasized the word, his smirk deepening as he locked eyes with , "—doesn’t wish to spar with , the least she can do is entertain by showing so spirit." His gaze burned into mine, challenging , daring to refuse. "Go on," he urged, gesturing lazily toward the field, his voice laced with amusent.
I forced down the urge to roll my eyes, grinding my teeth as I stepped onto the training grounds and accepted the wooden sword from the guard’s outstretched hand. The weapon felt clunky, awkward, too light compared to what I was used to. I hadn’t sparred in what felt like ages, and I certainly wasn’t prepared for an audience, especially one as intimidating as the Lycan King himself. I could feel his gaze on , that smirk of his probably widening with each step I took.
The warrior opposite was already in position, his grip firm and his expression coolly confident. I could tell he was holding back a grin, probably finding it laughable to be sparring with soone as unskilled as a half-shifter. But I didn’t let his smug expression get to . I squared my shoulders, eting his gaze with as much steel as I could muster, my fingers tightening around the hilt of the wooden sword.
He made the first move, stepping forward with quick, calculated steps, his sword raised. I barely had ti to block, bringing up my weapon just in ti to deflect his blow. The impact jolted up my arms, and I stumbled back a step, the force of it stronger than I had expected. But I gritted my teeth and steadied myself.
We circled each other, each of us sizing up the other. I could feel the Lycan King’s eyes on , watching every move, every misstep. My opponent moved in again, swinging his sword in a wide arc that would’ve caught my side if I hadn’t managed to dodge just in ti. I ducked, rolling to the side and coming up on one knee, clutching my sword with both hands.
He ca at again, relentless, his strikes faster, more precise. I blocked one, then another, but each impact sent painful vibrations up my arms. I could feel my grip slipping, my palms growing slick with sweat. Just as I thought I had managed to find a rhythm, he swept his leg out, catching off guard and knocking off balance.
I hit the ground hard, the wooden sword slipping from my grasp and landing a few feet away. I scrambled to my knees, crawling toward the weapon, but he was already on , his foot pressing down on my wrist, pinning in place.
But I wasn’t done yet. With a sudden burst of energy, I twisted, wrenching my arm free and lunging for the sword. My fingers closed around the hilt, and I swung it upward, catching him off guard and forcing him to step back. I scrambled to my feet, my breaths coming in short, ragged gasps, my heart pounding in my chest.
For a mont, he looked surprised, but that surprise quickly faded. He ca at again, faster this ti, his strikes harder, more determined. I barely managed to keep up, each block costing precious energy, my muscles burning with the effort. I could feel the strain in my arms, the exhaustion creeping in, but I pushed it down, focusing on each move, each breath.
He swung low, aiming for my legs, and I jumped back, barely avoiding the blow. But the move left off balance, and before I could recover, he struck again, his sword slamming against mine with a force that sent it flying from my hands. I stumbled back, defenseless, my hands empty as he closed the distance between us.
Desperation flared in , and I darted to the side, grabbing the sword off the ground just as he brought his down where I had been standing a second before. My heart raced as I swung my sword, more out of instinct than skill, and he blocked it easily.
I knew I was losing; I could feel it in every aching muscle, every stinging bruise that was forming. But I refused to give in. I gritted my teeth, pouring every ounce of strength I had left into each swing, each block, each dodge. We were both breathing heavily now, each of us pushing the other to our limits.
Finally, he swung his sword in a feint, drawing in, and before I could react, he pivoted, sweeping his weapon in a low arc that caught off guard. I felt the impact on my side, the force of it sending sprawling onto the ground once again. My sword slipped from my grasp, and I lay there, gasping for breath, my body aching, every muscle screaming in protest.
He stood over , his sword pointed at my chest. I glared up at my opponent. But I knew when I was beaten. Slowly, I pushed myself to my knees, reaching out for my sword one last ti, my fingers curling around the hilt. I refused to look at the Lycan King, refused to let him see the frustration and anger bubbling inside .
But he wasn’t about to let off that easily. He rose from his chair, strolling over to where I knelt on the ground, his eyes gleaming with amusent. He extended a hand, almost as if he was offering so twisted version of rcy, his fingers hovering in front of .
"Enough for today," he said smoothly, his tone cool and dismissive.
I ignored his hand, pushing myself to my feet without his help, my breaths coming in shallow gasps. I could feel the eyes of everyone around us, feel their judgnt, their disdain. But I forced myself to stand tall, to et his gaze with what little pride I had left.
"Very well," I managed, my voice steady despite the pain radiating through . "If that’s what pleases you, Your Majesty."
He let out a low chuckle, his gaze lingering on , his smirk deepening. "Oh, it pleases , indeed."
I bit back the retort on the tip of my tongue, forcing myself to stay silent. Instead, I turned and walked away, clutching the wooden sword tightly, my knuckles white as I fought to keep my composure.
I felt a strange warmth wrap around as I walked, seeping into my aching muscles, soothing each tender spot where the warrior’s blows had landed. My steps slowed as the warmth grew, spreading through my body until the pain began to ease, the stiffness lting away.
I paused, turning slowly to find the Lycan King watching , his eyes narrowing slightly as he raised a hand. A faint glow traced the outline of his fingers, a magic I hadn’t seen him use before. The warmth intensified, focusing on the worst of the bruises, gently knitting together any minor injuries I had sustained during the spar.
It felt strange to be healed like this, an unspoken kindness from the sa man who had ordered into the fight. The Lycan King’s gaze held mine, a flicker of sothing unreadable passing over his features. Amusent? Curiosity? I couldn’t tell. But there was a glint in his eyes, sothing darkly interested, as though he were studying .
"There," he murmured, lowering his hand and breaking the spell. "Can’t have my mate bruised and battered, can I?" His words were soft, yet laced with that infuriating mockery he seed to enjoy so much.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," I replied, forcing the words out with as much civility as I could muster.
His smirk returned, broader this ti, and he inclined his head slightly, as if he could hear the forced politeness in my voice. "Of course," he said, his voice a soft taunt. "I wouldn’t want you broken. Not yet, anyway."
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