Chapter 5

Chapter

Five

Eleanna

S teel clashes against steel, our swords echoing the intensity of our training. Alexandru's silver gaze on me is like the winter frost that wraps around us outside in the courtyard.

Unrelenting. Harsh.

My muscles scream as I parry another of his strikes. He's relentless, pushing me further than I've ever gone before.

"Is that all you have, Eleanna?" he taunts, even as his sword demands everything within me.

"Hardly. I'm just getting started, General." I spin away from his blade and aim a strike at his midsection.

The cold air nips at my skin, but it's the ice in Alexandru's eyes that chills me to the bone.

I consider him and move in, circling too close for either to cause damage with a sword. Our breaths mist in the frosty air, mingling like specters in a struggle between war and desire.

A smirk plays across Alexandru's lips. "Taking a rest? Too much for you?"

"Testing your skill, General and finding it…wanting." I spin out and slash at him.

He blocks me easily. "You'll have to be faster than that, Eleanna." His blade sings in the cold air and I turn, narrowly missing getting hit and go to strike him again.

Alexandru manages to block, but the raised brow and slight nod sends me soaring. I know his look of praise. It might be slight, but he rarely hands them out so I clutch it tight as I renew myself for out faux battle.

With each crash of our swords, a spark of exhilaration ignites within me, a burning need to rise to the occasion, to meet his intensity with my own.

Metal on metal clangs, bouncing off the stone walls that encircle us. His instruction is relentless, a tough love that borders on infuriating, yet it awakens a fierce determination in me. With each parry and thrust, I find a rhythm, a counterpoint to his movements, our efforts a battle of authority and dominance.

"And what will you do when your opponent doesn't play fair?" he asks, feinting, a move designed to catch me off guard.

"Kill. Or torture then kill, I'm not positive."

The smile appears again. "I meant outside the bedroom, Eleanna."

He tosses his sword to his other hand and then comes at me, slicing the material of my corset. We both look down. A small knife is pressed against me, the blade flat, not there to hurt but to teach.

I shift in so I'm up against him. "So did I."

"Well then, I'll have to up the ante, fallen Queen."

I dodge as he goes to attack again, this time he lunges and I move, barely, the edge of his blade whispering past my face.

"I suppose I'll have to remind them I don't play by the rules either." I raise my sword, ready for the kill.

And he laughs.

But it fades quickly as matches and blocks each strike I make until it's not about combat at all. It's a battle of wills. Of sex.

Our training session becomes a show of moves and countermoves, similar to our complex relationship. Alexandru's relentless drive pushes me to my limits. This is more than preparation for the battles ahead. It's a reaffirmation of our connection, forged in blood and ice, a reminder of the strength we find in each other—even among the sparks of our scrimmage.

And I don't want that. He left me and now?—

"Focus. Don't be so eager to give in to my will. Fight me. Show me your fucking fangs."

I hiss at him and start to drive him with my sword, swing after swing, I put my own spin on it because there are times I can't lift the thing. Only the cruelty and my vision for the way feeds my will. That, and the need to bring him down. Punish, hurt. Take.

Worse. I want him to touch me not in the way of domination but out of something tender. And I lift the sword and deliver strike after strike after strike, a cry of war and blood and pain unleashing itself from my lungs.

I spot a rock and maneuver him to it, and he stumbles. But rights himself.

"Control that passion, that hate for me, Eleanna. Discipline. You have it. Use it."

I attack again and I hate how he reads me like I'm naked and bleeding, how he still knows me when I don't wish him to. Yes, we find strength in each other, but I don't have to like it.

"Maybe I want your head."

"Oh, I think I'd like that from you, sweet Eleanna." He blocks my move.

The fury whips through me and I counter attack. "Or a stake through the heart."

"One of your icicles?"

He suddenly attacks with such ferocity all my hate and fury and even laughter his words force on me channel into defense. I get in a couple of attacks, but words die away as our swords spark against each other in parry and thrusts, killer moves and lucky escapes.

When he slows to a normal pace for him, I'm sweating, my arms are getting stiff, the ache bone piercing and the sword now weighs the same as my throne. But I push on. I won't let him best me. I won't allow it.

"Your determination is admirable. Most would have faltered by now, my fallen Queen," he says after a particularly close exchange that nearly has me on my back.

"Most aren't queen of the Sagori," I spit out, catching my breath. "I will not be so easily bested. And stop calling me that!"

We circle each other, and his black hair frames his chiseled jaw, his leather clothes accentuating his muscular build. It's unwanted, annoying, distracting, this attraction I feel for my enemy…my friend?

That is not the right word. But his distractions are sumptuous outside of the training field.

"Keep your eyes up here, Your Majesty," Alexandru says. "Or are you too busy fantasizing about what lies beneath the armor?"

My cheeks warm, but I hide it with a scoff. "In your dreams, General Amanar."

The momentary pause in our sparring is interrupted by Nadia, who approaches with a tray of refreshments and cloths to wipe away the sweat. Alexandru nods in appreciation, taking a cloth and a drink. His attention momentarily shifts as Ivan enters the courtyard. The two men step aside, engaging in a hushed but urgent conversation.

"Your Highness." Nadia hands me a goblet. Her brown eyes flicker with concern as she leans closer. "Forgive my boldness, but...is it wise to entangle yourself with him, especially now?"

I take a long sip, relishing the cool liquid soothing my parched throat. Even the goblet weighs too much.

"Entangle?"

She toes a pebble. The snow's worn away here, some melted, and it hasn't snowed since we arrived. I don't know if it's an omen—of what I have no idea—or just the weather.

Nadia swallows. "I know you keep going to his bed chamber. He…you discarded him once."

I wait for her to continue, my silence inviting more of the words she might never have said if things were different. If Meredith lived. But now it's up to her to be both the quiet one and the bold.

"He might want more than you want to give."

"It's just sex, Nadia," I say. "A momentary diversion. And the only way he will consent to aid me against Catarina."

"The only way, my Queen? Surely you see there's more at play here," she presses gently. "The war with Catarina looms over us."

"I can handle him and the sex."

She nods but she's not done. "Word will get out. Even if you handle him and it is just as you say, I fear your union with Alexandru could be perceived?—"

"Perceived as what?" I ask sharply.

"A reunion. A refortification." She bites her lip. "Treason."

"The only treason is Catarina. I will sit on the throne again."

"Agreed," she says, taking the used cloth and folding it. "But they might think you are betrothed. Or worse. He is taking you for a fool."

I narrow my eyes at her and set the goblet down, ice slicing down my spice. "You mean he is using me for his pleasure? Fine. I'll use him, too."

"Queen El?—"

"I swear to you, once I reclaim my throne, he will be discarded."

Nadia's eyes soften, but there's a hint of sadness there. "Just be careful, my sovereign. Hearts are often more fragile than we think."

I pick up the goblet, down the dregs and set it down with more force than necessary. "Careful is for the weak. Now, leave us. I have a battle to prepare for."

Nadia bows and retreats.

I turn toward where Alexandru still speaks with Ivan. He glances at me, the forthcoming promise of more training—or perhaps more than sparring—etched in his heated stare.

I brace myself for whatever comes next, whether it be the clash of swords or the clash of wills. The line between the two blurs dangerously each day with Alexandru, and despite my stubborn resolve, I don't know what it is he wants from me, beyond being king, and though that will never happen, I forbid it, I find myself both dreading and anticipating the tension that electrifies the space between us.

Alexandru dismisses Ivan and approaches. The crisp winter air does nothing to cool the heat simmering at the sight of him. The tight leather gives him power that radiates, a raw sexual energy which seep down into me and I can't stop drinking him in. No man should look so good, the broad shoulders, narrow hips, all those highly defined muscles which speak of virility.

He is not a man to be crossed.

When we were training, I didn't take notice of what he represents, the power of him in his fighting clothes, the straps and buckles of the outfit, the leather, fingerless gloves which fit like a second skin.

I swallow.

It all fits like a second skin, from throat to glove, chest to cock, thigh to boot. He's arresting. And now the ice has been replaced by a blazing silver flame in his gaze, he crosses the courtyard, the snowy background, the white that clings to stone is a wild and stark contrast to the black-clad god that approaches.

And every step the intensity in his eyes, the vibration of power through him, grows and it's all for me. The tension, the energy, that look.

An involuntary shiver streaks down my spine.

"Shall we resume?" He gestures toward the open space with a devilish smile. "This time without weapons."

The meaning throbs deep within.

"Let's see if you can keep up." I drop the sword to the ground with a clatter.

We circle each other once again, poised for combat. My heartbeat speeds up and I tense.

"Remember, Eleanna, it's about anticipation. Predict your opponent's moves."

"Like reading your every thought?" I crouch and sidestep.

"Good luck deciphering the enigma that's me." He swiftly maneuvers behind me, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me flush against his chest. His voice drops to a whisper, his mouth against my ear. "Got you."

It's a moment from the past, playful and deathly serious. Sex and honey. The words reverberate and I close my eyes.

Radiating heat, he overpowers the chill of the winter air. His muscles tense as he holds me closer, one hand sliding up. He turns me and then his mouth meets mine with an intensity that sets my skin ablaze. The warmth of him seeps through my clothes, down into my marrow and I'm caught in a cocoon of desire and passion. I'm overwhelmed as I lose myself in his touch, unable to resist the fiery spark that ignites between us.

Unable to resist the heat and wetness of his tongue as it takes mine. I could sink down into him and give over to everything this kiss is and could be.

The passionate kisses spark a primal desire to give in to him completely. My mind reels with thoughts of conquest and surrender—and I want both. To be victor and prisoner. Slave and mistress. Conqueror and conquered.

His hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my throat and he scrapes his teeth on the mirror spot where I drank from him. He doesn't bite in, no. Instead, he licks, nibbles and sucks so the blood pulses up against my skin and his tongue.

My clit throbs as waves of pleasure spread over me. I'm not orgasming. It's transcending that, this pleasure. It's like religion and I want to worship at his altar.

I want to tumble to my knees offer him my wrists to tie. I want him to offer me his cock so I can suck it under his command.

But this isn't who I am—I'm no one's to dominate.

With a burst of strength, I shove him away, breaking the kiss. He stumbles back, surprise flickering across his face. I seize the opportunity and bend to retrieve my sword, its blade an arctic weight in my hand.

I lift it high so the point is at his throat. Dead center.

"Is that all, General?" I say.

For a moment he doesn't move, doesn't speak. If I were stupid, I'd say I had him, but he's not a feared and legendary general for nothing. He earned his standing. Every scar and loss and victory.

Alexandru moves so fast it's a blur of black and he brings his wrist up, buckles and straps facing me and he knocks the sword away as he spins out of its reach.

The corner of his mouth quirks up as he unsheathes his own sword. "En garde, my fallen Queen."

We resume our sparring positions, but this time steel sings against steel, a symphony of aggression and artistry. Alexandru's gaze never leaves mine, his every move a provocation.

He isn't holding back, or maybe he is. But compared to before? He's breathtaking and deadly and he knows how to play me, to lead me where he wants. To pin me how he wants.

And each time is like a mock, and my anger and frustrations flutter up once more. Worse this time, because I wanted more of him, his mouth, his cock, all of the things I shoved away.

"Focus, Eleanna. Your emotions are your downfall," he says.

"Or perhaps they're my weapon!" I feint left before striking right, my blade swift and precise.

It meets its mark, resting against the vulnerable column of his throat.

"Checkmate," I whisper triumphantly, allowing the edge to graze his skin. A bead of reddish-brown blooms like the first blush of dawn.

"Careful, love. Bloodlust becomes you," Alexandru murmurs, the vibration of his voice sending ripples through the air.

He doesn't push me away; instead, he holds my gaze, testing, tempting.

I lean in closer, lowering my weapon, and lick the drop of blood from his neck. His moan is low and guttural, a sound that resonates deep within me. The taste of him on my tongue—a potent mixture of power and vulnerability—is intoxicating, clouding my judgment with lust and an unsettling desire for more than just his blood.

"Eleanna..."

My name's like a spell, binding us in this dangerous game we play. And for a heartbeat, I forget the war, the throne, the need for dominance. All that exists is the man before me and that undeniable sexual chemistry which threatens to consume us both.

I allow my sword to fall into the snow, my breaths shallow as I meet his gaze. The silver in his eyes gleam like moonlight on a still lake.

"Shall we retire to my chambers?" he asks softly, barely audible against the winter wind that howls around us.

If I was smart, I'd say no, tell him we must renegotiate the deal. But that's a foolish thing to do. If I renegotiate now, I run the risk of him turning his back on me and letting me face Catarina on my own. I risk losing…this.

Without breaking eye contact, I nod slowly, and the weight of my decision settles between us like a leaden blanket. We are no longer general and queen, enemies bound by duty and destiny. Are we ever when we enter the bedchamber? But it feels different.

Here, in the solitude of the courtyard, we're drawn in partnership by a hunger that transcends time and reason.

We cross to the door, fingers brushing, sending sparks flying through the frosty air. Every touch, every glance builds my burning need.

Once inside his bedchamber, Alexandru closes the door with a soft thud, enclosing us in a world of our own making.

He leans against it, gaze roaming over me and I stand, lost. "What are you planning to do to me?"

"Nothing."

Panic wells, not triumph. I want…I need… I swallow. "At all?"

He nods at me. "Strip. Then on your knees and take me in your mouth.

I start to protest, but the hum of desire in me overtakes and there's something compelling about doing what he commands. Something dirty and thrilling. I'm a queen. Not his servant. I'm going to turn the tables. One day. But right now, I pull off my clothes and then I start to get down.

He straightens, comes up to me slowly. "You would crawl to me?" he asks. "Tell me, did I unleash a need in you? An urge? Do you like being dominated?"

"Keep your enemies close and then you can kill them."

He laughs and stops in front of me. "You've no idea how much I want my cock in your throat, how much I want you to swallow me down. I want to play, explore all your fantasies and desires. I want you any way I can get you, but you went down too easily. So maybe I'll deny you your extra fun. After all, you've threatened to kill me a lot today."

I glare up at him as he starts to unbuckle and unstrap the leather. He peels off each item, dropping them to the floor and my insides buzz and my clit throbs with each thud.

His cock springs free and it's thick, long, the perfect tool for fucking, and I can't help it, I defy his words. Or maybe I follow them, the haze in my head is hard to push through and the only thing there that shines with clarity is him.

I wrap my fingers around that shaft and I start to pull, sliding my hand up and down, taking the skin so he groans and thrusts into my fist.

Then I close my mouth around the head.

He is salt and lifeblood and leather. He's smooth and hot and steel. I try to suck him down, to work my tongue over him, under the sensitive head but he grabs my hair and eases me back, his breath coming out as a hiss.

"No." He takes me hand from him and pulls me up to my feet. "Not yet."

His lips catch mine in a passionate kiss, filled with the raw energy of our connection. Our tongues intertwine, exploring each other with a fervor born of necessity and desire. In this moment, there is no war, no throne, no enemies—only the undeniable pull toward something real and terrifyingly beautiful. The raw energy of our connection courses through me, and my heart pounds wildly in my chest.

I don't know what game he's playing, what thing he'll spring on me, but this is something I can give myself to, at least for a little while. I'm not even sure I could stop it.

He traces the edge of the skull and raven tattoo on my calf. It's a sharp reminder of who I am, mistress of those beautiful, intelligent birds, vampire queen, what I stand for, but during the passion of our lovemaking, it feels irrelevant.

Then everything changes. Alexandru smooths my hair, and he descends on my neck, sinking his teeth into my flesh, biting down with a force that sends shudders of pleasure and pain coursing through my veins.

I cry out, pushing up and into him, wanting him to finish what he started when he sucked without breaking my skin. I want him to drink my blood.

He doesn't, he comes back to my mouth and kisses me hard, a violent kiss that's tinged with my blood. And he moves me back, pushing me down and I hit the feathery softness of his bed. Alexandru lands next to me.

His kiss changes as he pushes a thigh between mine, and the violence turns soft, beguiling, almost romantic. And for a moment my mind flares with an old memory when he kissed me like this so long ago and I thought it meant an unbreakable connection, one that transcended the physical.

Now I take it for what it is, seduction, pure and simple, but I go with it. How can I not? It's as compelling as drinking blood.

Alexandru rolls me to my back on the silk sheets. He pins me down, his dominance arousing me even more. He whispers in my ear, "You belong to me now, Eleanna. There is no turning back."

I moan softly and surrender to his touch, allowing him to take control even as I want to fight. He explores every inch of my body, his hands leaving trails of fire in their wake.

Our movements become increasingly intense, our hunger driven by the knowledge that this is not just about pleasure—it's about power, control, and supremacy.

He urges me on to him and thrusts up into me. An illusion of the one who has the control, but he has hands on my hips, and moves me, so he can plunge in deep, so he can rock me against him, my pleasure points expanded.

I lean down and kiss him as we fuck, and soon there's not control, he rolls me again, pinning me slamming into me as I dig my nails into the back of his neck, his scalp and I bite and lick and suck his lips, his chin, neck, ear. And finally, we just stare at each other as the intensity shrinks the room to us and the bed, I start to come apart.

My orgasm sweeps in, almost destroying me and he grips me tight as he groans coming, too.

As we come down from the high of our orgasms, we lie entwined in a tangle of limbs and blankets. Our breaths mingle in the chilly room. Even though the fire inside has died down, I feel warm, safe, and cherished in his embrace.

"I want you, Eleanna," he says.

"You just had me."

But he speaks as if I didn't say a word. "I've burned with desire for you through endless nights, and now, with you here with me, I vow never to let you slip away. Not now, not ever."

So, he likes fucking me. I know that, just like I know he wants it again and again. A wicked smile curls my lips. "My desires match yours, Alexandru."

"You, not just this."

"Alexandru, this intertwining of our fates is nothing more than mere physical hunger..." I pause, letting the weight of my words hang in the frosty air between us.

He smirks and sits up. "We shall see, my fallen Queen. Just as I'll be the one to vanquish Catarina, so too will I claim victory over you, Eleanna. But understand this"—he leans closer, his breath a warm caress against my cold skin—"it's not merely conquest I seek but a partner worthy of my deepest lust and, indeed, my love."

I freeze. Not love, he doesn't, if he ever did. This is lust speaking, nothing more. We don't like each other at our cores. "You don't love me."

He shakes his head. "I mean it. You're mine, Eleanna. My woman, my lover. No one else dares to lay a finger on what is rightfully mine."

His words send a shiver of fear through me, even as they ignite a flame that roars through me.

I push against his chest and sit up, glaring. "I belong to no one, Alexandru. I am the queen of my own desires."

Yet as I speak, there's a tremor in my heart, a fluttering sensation that threatens to disrupt the walls I've built around it. A warmth that has no business being there, spreading despite my best efforts to smother it. I won't have it.

He's the most dangerous man I've ever met.

I rise from the bed and reach for my clothes scattered across the floor, each movement deliberate, refusing to reveal any hint of the turmoil brewing inside. The cold bites at my skin, but it's nothing compared to the chill creeping into the hollows of my chest.

Fingers trembling, I lace up my corset. The intricate patterns of the raven and skull tattoo on my calf are exposed in the dim light filtering through the window. But the sight of my family crest no longer brings comfort—it feels like a brand marking me for a destiny I'm suddenly uncertain of.

"Eleanna," he says, but I don't dare look back.

If I do, he might not be able to leave and he may see my feelings for him are morphing into something precarious, something alarmingly real. "It was nothing."

"Eleanna," he tries again. "Don't go."

"Save your breath, General," I say, cutting him off like a blow from my sword. This...what we have...it's just a passing treaty. Enjoy it while it lasts." The words are bitter on my tongue, but I force them out, cloaking my vulnerability in bravado.

With a swift motion, I tie my dark red garments, the fabric clinging to my curves—a shield of Gothic elegance. I glance at the mirror briefly, my bright blue eyes betraying a flicker of doubt before I steel them into resolve.

The last thing I hear is the rustling of sheets as I stride toward the door, my steps echoing with a steely determination that I have to muster. I know he watches me leave because the weight of his gaze hooks into me—an anchor trying to hold me back.

Nevertheless, I walk out and close the door behind me with a finality that echoes in the silence of the chamber. As soon as the latch clicks into place, something within me fractures, sending fissures through the fortress of my soul. And I know—I fear—that this time, it might not be so easy to rebuild.