"When did you become so accident-prone?"
I open one swollen eye and glare across my room at Leif. "This wasn't exactly an accident."
"No, it was stupidity."
I raise my hand in a crude gesture. My best friend returns it with one of his own.
"Hold steady, Elle," Ulric says. He tilts my head to the side and removes another tiny pebble from the scrape along my cheek.
Although I lost the fight, the soldiers in attendance gave me a round of applause as Leif and Ulric lifted me to my feet and escorted me to my room. Even if I never get to train, at least I've finally earned their respect.
Ulric applies a salve to the cuts on my face and hands with gentle fingers. The ointment sooths the sting but does nothing for my throbbing head. He straightens and gathers his medical tools from my table. "Continue to drink the tea; it'll take the edge off the pain and help with the swelling," he says, pointing to the cup sitting before me. "The rest of the healing will take some time. You fell hard on your hip, and it's probably going to hurt for a few days. But the salve will help make sure your lovely face is good as new."
"Thanks for everything; today would have been a bigger disaster if you weren't there." I smile up at him but just as quickly flinch from the pain.
He nods and heads for the door. "And don't worry; your determination outweighed your stupidity."
"Don't encourage her." Leif pushes off the wall and takes the chair across from me. He waits for Ulric to leave and asks, "So now what?"
I sip my bitter tea and breathe in its floral scent. "I train on my own and challenge Kyron again. Maybe I can use a spear next time and work the longer reach to my advantage."
"Micah is looking for you. It won't be long before the guards arrive and drag you back."
"Then help me with the limited time I have left."
Leif rubs his hand along the back of his neck and releases a long sigh. "My hands are tied, Elle. Maybe it's time to go home. You've met the soldiers looking for your father. You know they're the best."
"I have seen no such thing. Not once has anyone here spoke of him or gone on a rescue mission. They're not doing enough." I slam my palm against the tabletop.
"He's not their only priority, or did you forget we're at war?"
The needs of our kingdom come first is a lesson pounded and massaged into every fiber of my being. My wants can act as a hindrance to our people's betterment. It's the reason I've never put up a fuss about marrying Leif. My duty has always been at the forefront of my mind until my family was broken.
"I didn't forget, and he's my only priority, Leif."
We stare at each other, with our mouths set in firm lines. I'm not looking for his rational thoughts on the matter. This is a moment where I need my best friend—the boy who seeks big adventures and righting the wrongs in the world. I harden my gaze, willing him to admit I'm right, and he leans back, crossing his arms and not giving in.
A knock comes from the door, and Leif looks away. He walks across the room with an annoyed sigh and yanks open the door. His burly frame blocks my view, but the voice on the other side is unmistakable.
"I need to talk to her alone."
Leif opens the door wider to let Kyron in and gives me one last look. He isn't ready to succeed from his point of view on what the army is doing to rescue my father. But neither am I. More can be done; it needs to be done.
With a curt nod, he walks out.
Kyron places his hands behind his back, intertwining his fingers, and paces the small room. His boots make a steady beat on the wood floors as he watches every step. The jaw-length strands of his black hair shield his face, leaving me to wonder what his expression is underneath.
When the quiet becomes too much to bear, I say, "I want a rematch next week."
His shoulders shake with what I assume is a chuckle before he replies, "You're completely maddening."
"Are you denying my request?"
He stops and runs his hand over his face. His hair flows through his fingers as he brushes it back, and his gaze meets mine. "Yes."
"Fuck you, Kyron!" I spring to my feet and the pain in my leg flares, sending me into the edge of the table.
Kyron bolts across the room and pulls me to his side before I hit the ground. I grip the front of his jacket; the buttons digging into my palm, and I try to focus on the discomfort rather than the euphoria I feel in his touch.
"I'm all right, just a little dizzy," I say, continuing to use him as a crutch.
"You're lying."
"Don't read my emotions!"
"Then don't be so stubborn! For Statera's sake, I think you're concussed. I should take you to the infirmary."
"Please don't." The words leave my mouth so quickly I scramble to justify them. "Everyone saw me make a fool of myself today; I don't need them to know just how bad the damage is."
"You didn't make a fool of yourself," he says, helping me to my bed and pulling back the sheets.
I glare at the ceiling and grind my teeth while he removes my boots and tucks the blankets around my aching body. I hate feeling like a helpless child, but I put myself in this position. And I will do it over and over again if it means I finish what I came here to do.
"I was no match for you, and it was stupid of me to try without more training. But I can't train because I have to clean stables and feed chickens. Do you see the conundrum I'm in?"
The corner of his mouth ticks. "Even with a real sword in my hand, none of my opponents have fought as hard as you did."
"But it wasn't enough."
Kyron shakes his head, and apprehension rises within me as he walks away. I'm not ready for him to leave yet. It shouldn't matter to me; he is just a roadblock to getting what I want. The sooner he leaves, the quicker I can gather my bearings and concoct a new strategy. But I'm overwhelmed with the desire to have just one more minute in his presence—a chance to redeem myself.
Relief sweeps over me when he pulls a chair to the side of my bed and sits. He folds his hands in his lap, and I study the way his fingers separate and curl. I can almost see his power slithering over his light brown skin. It takes on the likeness of colorful and mesmerizing bursts of light. My body reacts as if caressed from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. I silently will his gift to come to me, but without a physical connection, it's just outside of my reach. My eyes flutter shut, and I try to find peace in the faint buzzing.
Kyron gently shakes my shoulder. "Don't close your eyes; you need to stay awake a little longer."
I rest my hand over his, and the rush of his gift leaves me breathless. My desire to submerge myself in his power is all-consuming. Our skin to skin contact invigorates and calms me, but mostly it makes me...I squeeze my thighs together and bunch the sheets beneath me in my hands. I want to jump into his lap and wrap my body around his, hoping it will ease the want that rose within me the moment he entered my room.
My past is sprinkled with moments driven by lust. The desire to touch and be touched. Boys have left me breathless and begging for more. But their mouths and fingers roaming my skin have never made me feel the intense need Kyron's gift evokes within me. The need to give and take until nothing remains but skin and bones.
I brush my thumb back and forth over his knuckles. The way he feels makes my lightheaded. I feel like I'm swimming through a hot spring and my words come out muffled as I say, "I can't figure you out. Sometimes you have me convinced you are one of us fighting for our cause. And other times, I'm not so sure."
He brushes away strands of my hair caught in the corner of my mouth. "It doesn't matter what I tell you, you are going to have to come to your conclusion about me on your own."
The haze surrounding my vision lifts a little, giving me a clear picture of him leaning in to talk with me. He is handsome—breath-taking, heart-stopping handsome. The scar above his brow and the one under his chin are minute imperfections that only add to his looks. And that power—warm, dark, enticing—I'm just as obsessed with it as I am his face.
"What are you doing to me?" I whisper.
"Nothing," he answers, his fingers twitching under mine.
"Kyron, if you are siphoning my p—"
"I don't take what isn't mine." His features darken with hurt, and he pulls his hand away from mine.
His words are a blow to the gut. They squelch my desire and violently pull my head from the clouds. I'm supposed to be the unifier—the queen who brings change and rules Khiros and Cyffreds as equal. Yet with no evidence, I've judged Kyron. Nothing he has done validates my preconceived notions of the Stigian. I've not witnessed him luring Lucents away from the safety of our kingdom or heard them speak of the heinous act I accused him of. If anything, he has proven over and over again that he is an exception to the rule.
I scramble to fix my wrong with the right words. "I didn't mean—"
"You did."
"I'm sorry, Kyron."
"I'm sorry as well."
I know he isn't apologizing for anything he did wrong, but for my inability to look past what he is. He has every reason to be upset. The only person here who has acted in questionable ways is me.
Kyron stands and heads for the door. I wish I knew how to make him stop, but I've done my fair share of speaking without thinking today. My lips fold between my teeth, and I bite down hard to hold back the emotion threatening to overwhelm me.
Kyron freezes in the doorway. He doesn't turn around and the tone of his voice is flat as he says, "If you're feeling up to it, you can start training tomorrow."
He doesn't give me a chance to answer, closing the door behind him.
After all the stupid things I said, he gave in. I don't deserve to train; I didn't earn it the way we agreed upon. This win feels cheap. And even if I could look past the fact I got my way despite my shortcomings, the hurt I've caused the general will overshadow my victory.