Chapter 13: Cenric

Chapter

Thirteen

CENRIC

The sun peeks over the horizon the next morning, its golden rays bathing the training grounds in a warm glow as I square off against Liam. He has been my closest friend for many summers, ever since the day we marched off to war together. We stood side by side on that battlefield, and we've been fighting together ever since.

His dark eyes narrow in concentration as he circles me. Sweat glistens on his brow, matting his light brown hair to his forehead. His short beard can't hide the scar on his chin, a reminder of our first battle together.

"Come on, Cen." A grin spreads across his face as he taunts me. "You're not going soft on me, are you?"

I grunt and adjust my grip on my sword. The familiar weight of it grounds me, yet my mind keeps drifting to Everly.

Liam lunges forward, and I parry just in time. He's quick despite his stocky build. Where I'm tall and lean, Liam is compact muscle, built like a battering ram.

"Your head's not in it today," he says as he dances out of reach. "What's got you so distracted? Or should I say, who?"

I refuse to take the bait. Instead, I push forward, and he blocks me.

"It's that woman, isn't it?" he presses. "The one you brought into camp yesterday. Everly, right?"

I ignore his jabs and channel my frustration into my attacks. The muscles in my arms burn with exertion, but I push harder, each strike carrying more force than the last and driving Liam back.

"Whoa there, Cen." He laughs. "Touched a nerve, didn't I?"

His left hand, missing its pinky finger, fumbles with the hilt of his sword as he attempts to adjust his grip. I seize the opportunity, twisting my blade to send his weapon flying.

His chest heaves as he raises his hands in surrender. "All right, all right. I yield."

I lower my sword and draw in a quick, ragged breath.

A rueful smile tugs at his lips as he shakes his head at me. "You know, if you react like this every time I mention her name, you're in for a long winter."

I turn as Praxis walks toward us, his brown eyes dancing with amusement. "Looks like you've been put through your paces this morning, Liam."

The wind whips through Liam's hair as he retrieves his sword. "Your brother's in rare form today. Must be all that pent-up frustration."

It's almost comical to listen to Liam talk about pent-up frustration. He never goes a day without having a woman, while I'm much more selective. Lately, I haven't had time for a woman—much less time for one in my bed.

Praxis' attention shifts between us. "Is that so? Well, how about I give you a real challenge?"

"He's all yours, Praxis." I sheath my sword. "Try not to break him too badly. We still need him."

Liam rolls his eyes. "Your concern is touching, Cen."

My boots crunch in the snow as I head toward my command tent. Their grunts and good-natured taunts fade as I put distance between us.

As I approach my tent, my thoughts drift back to Everly. The memory of her standing at the camp entrance—covered in mud but still holding her head high—refuses to leave me.

There's more to her story than she's telling, and I intend to find out what it is.