MATURE FANTASY** He is a predator who thought he captured an ordinary girl... but her mind is sharper than any of his claws.
Ariana lives in the shadow of her monstrous father in a world barely held together by a treaty. Until her lands are invad...
Ups! Tento obrázek porušuje naše pokyny k obsahu. Před publikováním ho, prosím, buď odstraň, nebo nahraď jiným.
Ups! Tento obrázek porušuje naše pokyny k obsahu. Před publikováním ho, prosím, buď odstraň, nebo nahraď jiným.
The sword glinted as it scraped against the whetstone; the edge perfecting with every pass. There was something therapeutic about the sharpening of a blade, the rhythmic movements of the act. The repetition of it brought forth comfort. I felt more relaxed, as if the sharper the edge, the smoother it cut through the grime of life, leaving behind a peaceful purity.
Fire from the hearth provided both light and warmth for the small room while I worked on the blade. I always sharpened my own swords ever since my father taught me how. As a king, the responsibility of keeping my weapons sharp didn't need to fall to me. Though I never asked anyone else to do the work. Not that I did not trust others to do the task. I trusted them to do their best, but I knew I could do better myself. And so I always did.
"You actually ever use any of your blades?" Iver asked from the open door while he leaned against the frame. Edmond peered into the room from beside him.
"I admit it is not terribly often that I resort to using them. But better to have them ready in case the need was ever to arise," I answered without breaking stride.
Edmond turned to Iver as if waiting for his next words. That act alone gave away that my brothers conspired to come to me. Meaning that they were also not going to be easy to get rid of.
"You are teaching your Bavadrin to fight?" Iver's grey eyes narrowed, rimmed with curiosity. And there it was, the true reason he found me.
"She is not my Bavadrin," I grumbled.
"Of course she is. You control who interacts with her and keep us at bay..." He smirked.
Edmond ran a hand through his golden hair. "You know Erik, he has a point."
"I always have a point, brother," Iver stated casually.
Jorn grunted in disagreement from somewhere in the hall, earning a searing glance from Iver. The three of them then funneled into the room without invitation. Iver took a position in front of the hearth, casting a long shadow, making it nearly impossible to continue my work effectively.
"You mind? I am in the middle of something here." I turned to view all three of them.
"Please, continue. It won't bother us." Iver remained standing in front of the fire, placing his hands in his pockets.
