Chapter 14

ANA

Anticipation fizzed through Ana. Quinn waited in the courtyard, his presence a tangible warmth that spread through her. A playful zephyr tousled his blond hair, adding a hint of untamed allure. Her gaze dipped to his mouth, the recollection of their passionate moment sending a shiver down her spine. She yearned to feel that fire again, to press her lips upon the sculpted lines of his jaw.

The heat built in her core. She approached him with measured steps, a mask of calm concealing the storm within.

The memory of Quinn's touch and their stolen kiss had fueled her thoughts and dreams. The desire to continue echoed in her mind, a siren song against the backdrop of her anxieties. Yet, the mysteries of their mating practices remained a looming shadow.

His smile, warm and inviting, was a dagger to her resolve, torn between yearning for home and a growing attraction to Quinn. Could he read her emotions so easily? Did she give off a scent? Despite her efforts to suppress her rising passion, her body tingled with need.

"Are you prepared to train?" Quinn asked. Silver flashed over his eyes as she neared.

She nodded, clearing the lump in her throat. Under his watchful gaze, she picked up a sword, eager to respond to his instructions.

During his swordsmanship tutelage, every brush of his skin against hers sent shivers down her spine, his dominance and closeness a constant distraction. As he guided her hand, the contact ignited sparks that overshadowed her anxieties. Adjusting her wings, his breath whispered upon her neck. When he demonstrated an attack, his arms encircled her, the world dissolving into a haze of his touch. Released, she attempted to regain focus, her mind a tangled web woven from the heat of her desires.

"You're making excellent progress." He inched teasingly close. Without thinking, she leaned in, feeling the caress of his inhale against her skin. "Mmmm…" His hand cupped her chin, tilting her face toward his own. "We must continue." His fingers traveled up to her cheek.

Continue what? Confusion overwhelmed her. She needed to train, but she also yearned for him.

His voice, firm and commanding, guided her through parries and blocks. Her concentration fractured under his caress, his scent intoxicating. Frustrated, she desired a different kind of contact, for him to lay her on the grass, his touch more intimate. Yet, she remained mute, lost in the confusing haze of her desires.

He pushed her, testing her limits. Sweat trickled down her forehead as she fought to focus, but her body betrayed her, aching for his caress.

While her lessons progressed, hunger gnawed at her, and exhaustion weighed her down. She sat, her muscles trembling from fatigue. "I think I need a break." Ana wiped the perspiration from her brow.

As if on cue, the tantalizing aroma of sourdough bread, melted butter, and succulent roasted fowl made her mouth water. Tilda arrived, carrying a basket covered in a vibrant red cloth.

"I thought you could use a rest." Tilda smiled as she extended the basket.

"Thank you." Quinn accepted it from her. "You're very considerate."

Tilda pulled two small towels out of a pocket on her embroidered apron. "Would you be needin' anything else?"

"Nothing else." He grinned and grabbed the towels.

Ana shook her head. "No, but thank you so much." Her stomach rumbled, and she rubbed her belly. "I'm starving."

"My pleasure." With a bow, she turned and left.

Quinn set the basket on the ground and used one towel to wipe the sweat off his sun-kissed skin. Ana couldn't tear her eyes away, mesmerized, as she watched the fabric glide across his glistening chest. It moved down his chiseled abs, absorbing every drop of moisture. Her mouth grew dry.

Finally regaining her senses, she reached for the other towel, but with a mischievous grin, Quinn held it just out of her reach. Smiling back, she stood on her tiptoes, attempting to snatch it from his outstretched hand.

Their playful collision resulted in her body bumping against his solid, muscular frame. The moment their flesh touched, the electricity rushed through her. His arm wrapped around her, pulling her tight, his lips brushing her collarbone.

"I wish to assist you," he whispered, his warm breath caressing her earlobe, making her heart skip a beat. He lifted his head, his eyes sparkling with mischief, and he smiled. His fingers grazed her neck, the touch igniting a delightful sensation that spread through her senses.

With a feather-light touch, he stroked her face, causing her to gasp. His mouth inched closer.

He reached out and began to gently pat dry the exposed skin on her chest, his rub flaming the fire that spread through her body. As his wrist brushed against the peaks of her clothed breasts, they tightened in response. His nostrils flared as he inhaled.

Torturously slow, his hand moved below her top, dragging the cloth along her stomach. Each stroke sent delightful waves of pleasure coursing through her muscles, causing them to clench in anticipation. Standing before her, he continued the intimate ritual, running the towel down one arm and then up the other, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake, weakening her composure.

Overwhelmed by the sensation, she closed her eyelids and bit her lip, trying to steady herself. The towel inched its way down one leg and up the other, pausing on her heating sex. The mere touch caused her sharp intake of breath, and she snapped her eyes open, locking gazes with his intense, shimmering eyes.

He leaned his forehead against hers, seeming to forget about the towel. He groaned as he placed her hand on his chest. She could feel his tense muscles and racing heartbeat. Their lips drew closer, his breath warming her skin.

He pressed his mouth against hers, his tongue ravaging hers. She moaned as his hand explored her flesh. His hardness aligned perfectly with her, rubbing up against her clit and sending shivers of bliss throughout her.

A wave of desire coursed through her, yet her stomach rumbled. He pulled away, both panting as they gazed into each other's eyes.

"I can't have my lady starve, now, can I?" He kissed the inside of her wrist. "It would be my pleasure to satisfy my lady's needs."

His eyes transformed from a tranquil blue to a fierce silver, mirroring the intensity of his emotions. Their depths, like pools of liquid mercury, drew her in, captivating her completely. Disappointment washed over her as he turned away to retrieve the food. Removing the cloth from the basket, he laid it on the soft grass, revealing a spread of mouthwatering delights.

Meat with buttered sourdough, a variety of cheeses, and vibrant salads adorned the blanket, making Ana's mouth water in anticipation. Quinn gestured for her to join him, his eyes lingering suggestively on her figure.

"It looks delicious." Settling cross-legged on the blanket, she swept her hair back off her face with her fingers, the strands tickling her skin.

"It does," he said as he handed her a generous portion on a purple stone plate and a soft, black cloth napkin. "Though I would much rather partake of you," he added with a mischievous glint in his eyes, forking the succulent fowl. His gaze traveled up and down her body, his implications clear.

Caught off guard, she coughed, nearly spitting out her bite of salad. Her cheeks flushed with heat, and she quickly averted her eyes, attempting to regain her composure. The prince's laughter danced in his eyes as he continued to enjoy his meal.

"Tilda is a wonderful cook." He pointed toward the castle. "As well are the other gnomes. We're fortunate to have their assistance."

"Yes, you are. I don't think I've had a bad meal yet." She nibbled the cheese. Hard and salty, the flavor was similar to aged cheddar. "And Tilda's been a blessing since I… arrived."

"Does she put you at ease?" He leaned closer, his spicy scent raising her heartbeat. "Perhaps enough to make you wish to stay a bit longer?"

"I…a…." She cast him a sideways peek. She didn't want to be rude or give him false hopes. "From what I've seen, it's very beautiful here." Her gaze drifted over the picturesque surroundings.

"I see you're wearing my gift." He placed a hand on her ankle, startling her.

"Of course." She glanced over at him, warmed by his touch. "It was a gift from you. The least I could do was wear it." She smiled.

A grin played on his lips as he admired the anklet, or more likely, her ankle. "It looks lovely on you." Quinn slid his palm along her calf. He locked eyes with her, his glittering silver. "Shall we go on? Time is short."

His fingers traveled further up her thigh. A shiver followed.

She nodded, not sure what she'd just committed herself to. Then he withdrew his touch and offered a hand to help her up. The prince's demeanor abruptly changed from seductive to back-to-business.

"Now to flying lessons."

Her mouth instantly dried, and her tongue felt like sandpaper. A sudden nausea doubled her over, forcing her to kneel and place a hand on the ground to steady her careening world. Ana shook her head. "I'm scared."

"I understand your fear, my lady." Quinn stepped close and knelt next to Ana, placing his hand on her shoulder. "We shall proceed slowly." He rubbed down her arm. "My apologies for the pain this causes, but flight is essential if you want to escape from a juguai." Using a curled finger under her chin, he lifted her eyes toward his. "I shall not let you get hurt." He stood and held out his hand.

Haunted by nightmares and yearning for home, Ana clung to the hope of flight. Shaking hands grasped Quinn's, his unwavering support a beacon in the storm of her nervousness. He guided her to the castle walls, where ledges jutted out like miniature platforms.

"Relax," he chuckled, giving her arm a reassuring rub. "This shall be exhilarating. You shall wonder why you spent your whole life crawling on the ground."

The sheer absurdity of the statement cracked a smile on her face. "Well, you see," she replied, "flying as a human usually involves a large metal bird and a hefty dose of courage, neither of which I currently possess."

He laughed. "Point taken." He gestured toward the edge. "Deep breath, remember your training, trust the wings." He squeezed her hand. With a graceful leap, he took off, hovering and turning back with a flourish. "Your turn."

Ana stepped to the precipice, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The vast emptiness stretched before her, a dizzying invitation and a terrifying threat. She jumped. Gravity, a constant companion her whole life, tugged at her with an almost irresistible pull.

Yet Ana wasn't just Ana anymore. She understood the intricate network of muscles that powered each stroke, the precise angles that maximized lift, the delicate balance that kept her aloft. Trust wasn't blind faith anymore; it was a calculated risk informed by knowledge. Spreading her wings, she felt their membranes catch the air, no longer foreign appendages but trusted extensions of herself.

Fear and exhilaration still warred within her, but a new voice had joined the chorus – a voice that whispered, "You've got this."

With gentle guidance, Quinn led her through a series of exercises, each pushing her comfort zone a little further. The looming acrophobia soon overshadowed the exhilaration of flight.

But with each tentative step and leap, Ana challenged her fear. Once an enemy, the wind became a playful partner, lifting her and carrying her laughter. As her confidence soared, so did she, the initial terror replaced by a sense of belonging. This wasn't just flight; it was freedom, and she was meant to be soaring through the skies.

The days blurred into a whirlwind of training. Fighting and flying lessons tested her limits, and progress felt glacial. Yet Quinn's unwavering support bolstered Ana's determination.

Despite her mental resistance, her physical desire for him blossomed, chipping away at the walls she'd built. His patience and guidance fostered admiration. She marveled at his passion, the way his eyes lit up when sharing knowledge. His genuine care ignited a warmth within her, his belief fueling a fire she never knew existed.

Amidst the shared laughter and tears, the love developing for him became undeniable, radiating in her every breath. It also became obvious by his actions that their shared time spent together meant more to Quinn than him just teaching her. It was about building a bond that transcended words or actions.

However, the unknown remained a worrying specter. What secrets lay beneath his leather pants? How did their kind even mate? Reservations intertwined with the primal urges, catapulted her internal conflict. While a part of her yearned to rip off his leather pants and unravel the mysteries it concealed, she recognized the folly of such impulsiveness.

The next morning, Tilda whisked Ana to the bustling arena. Sunlight glinted off the arena's circular enclosure, a vibrant ring of reeds and vines. Inside, gargoyles battled with surprising ferocity. Ana gasped as a warrior recoiled, a red streak marking his chest. This wasn't the playful jousting she'd envisioned; it was brutal.

Multi-tiered benches overflowed with cheering gargoyles and gnomes. Dygo, the royal gothi, joined Ana near the grand archway. The clang of swords and roars of the crowd filled the air.

Dygo glanced at Ana, then gestured toward the ongoing bout and asked, "Would you like me to explain the competition?"

Ana's thoughts wavered as she questioned whether she wanted to delve into the details of the archaic match. She had entered martial arts tournaments before, but this level exceeded her experience. Yet, her curiosity piqued, she turned to Dygo and replied, "Yes, I'd like to know more."

"The combatants need five points to win. They accumulate those by drawing blood." Dygo pointed to a wooden board with mounted pegs.

"Rules of the duel prevent fighters from dealing fatal blows." He motioned toward the warriors as one nicked his opponent's arm. The crowd erupted in cheers as the announcer placed a red circle of wood on one of the pegs.

"This tournament requires a great deal of skill and control to inflict such minor damage. I would liken it to an art of proper technique." A fighter flipped back and avoided another cut, the audience gasping in awe, the sound of their applause filling the arena.

"So, there's no killing?" She cocked her head toward him and raised a brow.

"That is correct. We have a higher regard for precision… a demonstration of finesse as opposed to strength." He patted her hand. "It is poor form to damage an opponent excessively."

"But wouldn't the winner be disadvantaged in their next fight if they were injured?" Ana asked.

"The skilled combatant who ascends to the next level typically doesn't have many injuries." With a pointed finger, he emphasized his sentence. "When in need, ample time can also be given to the victor to heal sufficiently between bouts." He half-shrugged a shoulder. "We hold the ceremony during the period the moon is at its fullest, so each warrior can receive the full blessings of the goddess." With his palms facing upward, he raised his face toward the sky in a placating gesture. A breeze blew his peppered hair around his face.

"So…" She hesitated, the silence stretching between them as she searched for the right words, unsure if they considered it taboo. The idea of communicating with the goddess, assuming she existed, intrigued her. Maybe find out how and why she arrived here and who sent her. "You talk to your goddess? How do you go about doing that?"

He huffed, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "Yes, I was chosen to commune with our goddess." He turned to her. "One doesn't just talk to the goddess. She selects with whom she communicates." His words were curt, almost like her question had insulted him.

Perhaps the goddess's silence troubled him. Deciding to end the conversation, she swiveled back to the arena.

The resounding clash of metal reverberated. One fighter with impressive agility dodged his opponent's attacks. With a loud thud, the other competitor tumbled over the fence, eliciting a bout of laughter from Dygo. His hearty chuckle boomed through the crowd, intertwining with the cheers of the audience.

"The remarkable one is Luke. He is one of our most skilled warriors," Dygo said with a note of appreciation, his voice carrying over the applause of the spectators. "Luke has a keen insight and anticipates most moves. He swiftly counters, forcing his opponents to remain vigilant." With a nod, he expressed his approval of Luke's move. "They are not able to get a proper footing, leaving them open to strikes, which he mercilessly takes full advantage of."

Luke black locks were tied back into two braids. Deep blue eyes stared at his opponent, a fierce determination shining within them. He ducked a blow and then stepped in close, causing his adversary to stumble. Then, like a mosquito, he stung him with quick jabs until he got his five points.

Dust particles danced in the air, stirred up in their battle, teasing Ana's nostrils as it wafted toward the bleachers. She sneezed, then rubbed her nose.

"May the power of Fionnlaith, the goddess of the moon, illuminate your mind and guide your path." He pressed his fingertips against his forehead, followed by his mouth as he looked at Ana.

"Why did you say that?"

She tilted her head at him.

"You sneezed. I'm merely invoking the wisdom and blessings from our goddess." Dygo smiled at her, then nodded back to the ring. "As I was saying, Luke is arrogant, knowing his skills are nearly unmatched."

Watching in fascination, her unease transformed into an ever-growing admiration for these remarkable warriors.

When Luke was pronounced the winner, Dygo stood and clapped, the sound resonating through the crowd. The cheers of the spectators reached a crescendo, their voices blending in a symphony of excitement. The enthusiasm of gnome fans proved infectious.

They comically took off their shirts and twirled them overhead, showing their painted bellies, their laughter echoing through the arena. Some sang songs while others danced, sloshing around their ale, and the scent of alcohol filling the air.

Ana laughed at their antics until a movement caught her eye. Guignol drew near. She inched back in her seat, her body tensing with unease. He appeared to be heading toward her but later changed direction to the keep instead, it seemed, after noticing Dygo. The relief washed over her.

"If you shall excuse me." A muscle in Dygo's face twitched. "I must attend to the king." He stood and faced her, his gaze intense. "Enjoy the rest of the duels."

"Okay." She waved. "And thanks. I understand the competition better now."

He nodded, his expression unreadable. He dusted himself off and left, moving toward the castle.