Chapter 13

Senka

The sun was high in the sky when we assembled on the training grounds, a motley crew of ladies more accustomed to silks and satins than the stiff, chafing leathers that now encased their bodies. The air smelled of dew and steel, an odd perfume that was a balm to the fluttering in my stomach.

"Gods help us," a lady to my left muttered, tugging at her leather cuirass with a grimace. "Who knew becoming Empress would require such barbaric behavior?"

I had to stifle a laugh because, personally, fighting leathers were far more comfortable than any gown could ever be. I could move fluidly, without the fear that my…assets might fall out of one of the many slits and dips in my thin silk.

I hung back as the ladies rushed out to the training grounds, scanning my surrounding's with a predator's eye. I noted the guards stationed above us on the terrace, the falcon still perched on a nearby tower, and several spectators watching from windows.

I strode forward, letting the confidence born from years of surviving the darkest days and coldest nights seep into my every step. Even the Tonne watched, their gazes lingering with a mixture of confusion and something akin to admiration. I held my head high and my shoulders back, knowing I was being studied and judged.

As Wolfe"s golden gaze traveled slowly up and down my body, a rush of warmth shot through me. Every inch of my skin tingled under his intense scrutiny. His eyes held a heat that was highly inappropriate for a lady"s guard to be gazing at her with. It was a dangerous look, full of want and need, impossible to mistake for anything else.

I should have looked away. I should have lowered my eyes demurely or searched for the prince among his men. But I couldn"t tear my gaze from Wolfe. The air between us crackled with an annoying tension, drawing me closer to him against all reason.

What did he want from me? Was it just sex? I could do just sex.

I narrowed my eyes, trying to read the thoughts in his head and failing miserably. The man was as solid as the stone that built this castle. The tension between us had been building for years—a palpable force that we couldn"t ignore forever. And as I looked at him now, I could feel it crackling in the air, threatening to burst at any moment. Something was about to give, and I wasn"t sure if I was ready for it.

But I wasn't here for Wolfe and those bright, lust-filled eyes. I was here to woo the prince and convince him too keep me around for a while longer.

Ripping my gaze from his, I joined the other women as they clustered together in a tight group, as if huddling together was going to save them from what was about to happen.

I finally locked eyes with Bazaan, and it took me a moment to realize that his piercing sunset eyes were not actually focused on me, but rather past me. My stomach clenched as the realization dawned.

Wolfe and I hadn"t been as discreet as we thought.

The two men stood in a tense standoff, locked in a battle of wills. I swiveled my head back and forth between them, feeling like a spectator at a knife fight.

A slight smirk played at the corners of Wolfe"s mouth, and there was also a hint of smugness in his stance that was impossible to miss as he crossed his arms over his chest. Meanwhile, Baz"s usual cold glare seemed even more frigid than usual.

"Pick one opponent and one ally," the Master-at-Arms commanded as he stormed into the center of the arena, gesturing to the line of the Tonne warriors standing at attention, blades glinting dangerously.

The Master was possibly the largest man I'd seen in my entire life. I could tell he was a god-blood immediately. His eyes glowed an unnatural violet color, and while not every god-blood had outward signs of power or unnatural physical traits, some of the most powerful were impossible to mistake.

His dark skin shone in the evening sun, and his bald head was slick with sweat after a day of training. His face was hard like stone, and his eyes held not a single shred of sympathy for these poor, defenseless ladies.

Two warriors entered the grounds carrying a pail of practice weapons between them, and distributed them to the ladies one by one. One by one, the ladies stepped forward, selecting their adversaries with the hesitance of deer approaching lions.

Their hands trembled upon hilts, grips uncertain, and stances awkward. Whispers scurried across the grounds like leaves caught in a gust.

"Senka, you"re with me," Rosalind called out, her voice slicing through the murmurs.

She stood across from me, her long hair pulled back in a tight braid, similar to my own. Her stance was grounded, and in her grip, the sword seemed an extension of her arm—a deadly dance partner she had long been acquainted with.

She and I wouldn't be fighting each other. We'd be fighting as a team against a trained warrior.

The ladies dispersed, Rosalind and I shoulder-to-shoulder as we surveyed the Tonne, who fanned out, chuckling amongst themselves at the looks of dread on the nervous faces.

I approached the man of my choosing, and Rosalind followed without questioning my choice. He was a large man with a thick scar through his left, milky white eye. He looked to be about ten years older than either of us, but he was hardened, like all warriors were.

"Ready?" He asked, not unkindly. His voice was gruff and scratchy, and he looked us over with assessing eyes, as if he were trying to decide who was the bigger threat.

"Always," I replied with a smile. A real smile. One that met my eyes today.

The sword in my grip felt like an old friend. It was lighter than the steel I normally carried, no doubt purposefully since I doubted most of these women would have the strength to lift a real one without months of practice.

It wasn't their fault that they were so lacking. They were born to be gentle and demure, not fierce and deadly. Most had likely been sent to the citadel for refinement and book learning, not combat training. The few females that graced the guard were often from low-born families, some of them undesirables with moderately useful blessings.

We began circling each other, the sound of our boots scuffing in the dirt. Then, with a suddenness that left some of the other ladies gasping, we clashed.

My blade sang against his, a high-pitched ring that spoke of strength and precision. Each strike I delivered was calculated, a whisper of motion that betrayed no effort, no strain—only the deadly grace of a predator well-versed in the art of killing.

Rosalind joined the dance, her blade slicing against the guard's in time with mine. Her footwork was practiced and clean, and I couldn't help but be impressed.

All around us, the other ladies clashed with their chosen opponents. But my attention was drawn to the golden-haired beauty beside me, whose name was Lily, and could easily pass for a princess. She fought bravely against a young guard, but her sword fell from her hand with a pained wail after just one strike.

I shifted my gaze to Prince Baz, who stood as motionless as a statue with his arms crossed over his broad chest. He scrutinized each lady as if they were insects under his mighty shoe.

Around us, the sounds of struggle crescendoed. Some women flailed and faltered, their swords little more than clumsy extensions of their uncertainty. Rosalind and I, however, moved with a synchrony that surprised me.

When I met her eyes again, they were shining with excitement, and as the warrior stumbled back a step, I laughed, unable to keep it in.

The man blinked, his eyes flickering with surprise, before a smirk crept its way onto his face. He straightened himself, a glint of excitement in his gaze.

Perhaps he had signed up for an easy challenge, only to be met with a worthy opponent. As we continued our dance, doubts began to form. How had Lady Rosalind acquired such skill? I knew without having to look that Wolfe would be watching her more closely than ever.

"Enough!" The command came after what felt like both moments and eons, and we all paused, chests heaving, bruised egos perhaps more battered than flesh. Well, for some anyway.

The Master-at-Arms sneered, his gaze sweeping the group of ladies, but sharpening on Rosalind and myself. He managed a single nod. A nod of reluctant respect.

"Only two of you possess any sort of skill with a blade," he spat, his words dripping with disdain. "This will not suffice for a potential Elysian Empress. She must be able to defend herself at all times, in case her guard proves unworthy. The display I have witnessed today is nothing short of a fucking disgrace."

A hushed whisper spread like wildfire among the gathered crowd. It wasn"t their fault. It was the fault of their negligent fathers, who failed to educate their daughters in all aspects of life.

"I want you all to witness what we expect of our next Empress," the prince said suddenly, stepping forward. The master bowed his head, letting Baz step past him as he looked us over. "Lady Rosalind. Lady Senka. Step forward."

We moved as if pulled by a string; the power and dominance in his princely voice a palpable thing.

"Show your competitors what they have to look forward to should they decide to continue. Should they survive tonight's culling."

Tonight's culling.

The words fell ominously over the hushed training grounds. Tonight, more than one competitor would be eliminated and sent back to their families to be married off to someone else. I almost felt bad for whoever it was. Probably Lady Lily.

Rosalind and I broke apart, heading in opposite directions. There were ten paces between us before we faced each other again.

She was smiling, her eyes glinting with excitement that mirrored my own. I could almost feel Wolfe's disapproval. I was walking a dangerously fine line. If I showed off too much skill, I might mark myself as an imposter or stir up just enough curiosity for someone to look into my past.

Steel sang through the silence as my blade met Rosalind"s in a clash that sent sparks dancing into the air. Our eyes locked, a silent understanding passing between us—the others might have come to this training ground to prance and preen for royalty, but we did not.

I wouldn't pretend to know her reasons, and she couldn't know mine, but somehow, I realized I trusted her to keep it to herself.

"Better watch out, Senka," Rosalind teased, her voice light despite the weight of her sword. "I might just steal your thunder."

"Oh, you can certainly try," I retorted with a smirk, parrying her next move with a fluid turn. The sound of our laughter rose above the din of clanging metal. "Is this a duel or a dance?" I asked, breathless but beaming as I dodged a particularly cunning swipe.

"Can"t it be both?" she shot back, and we shared a moment of genuine amusement, even as we continued to test each other"s defenses.

Prince Baz stood aloof from the chaos, his arms folded over the chest of his dark attire, the epitome of regal indifference. Yet, there was a twitch at the corner of his lips—an almost smile.

"Your Highness seems entertained!" I observed out loud without turning to look at him, focusing instead on Rosalind"s next attack.

"Perhaps he appreciates the artistry of a balanced fight!" Rosalind quipped, spinning away from my counterstrike.

"Or maybe he"s never seen beauty in battle before," I mused aloud, though a part of me wondered if Prince Baz saw anything beyond the potentially useful tool in me—a thought that nipped more sharply than any blade.

Rosalind pretended to preen and curtsy as she spun away from me. I laughed, and something deep inside my chest seemed to loosen.

Baz"s eyes, like a blazing sunset, locked onto mine with an intensity that could shake the foundations of the earth. They had seen the brutalities of war, but in this moment, they were fixated on our spectacle with a glimmer of enjoyment.

It was a small victory, but one that filled me with pride and an odd sense of satisfaction.