Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 123190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
I climb out of bed and dress in the leather pants and cotton top the maid laid out for me, but I can’t stop thinking about the memory. The horror of it. The violation.
No wonder she wants to kill him.
Misha is already in the training yard when I arrive for our session. The sight of him in his tight black shirt as he looks off into the distance pulls my mind from the dream for the first time since I crawled out of bed.
His muscles bunch and flex under his shirt as he spins a spear in his hands, fingers dancing deftly on the staff.
“Are you going to teach me how to do that?” I ask.
He tosses it in a pile with the others before spinning to look me over. “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to move this morning. How are you feeling?” His voice is low and husky, as if he just crawled out of bed himself, but his eyes are as sharp and keen as always—those russet owl eyes, always on the lookout.
“Not horrible,” I say. “I got a tonic from my handmaid before bed.” I would’ve preferred to make it myself. I could tell from the taste that it had lavender instead of willowroot, which I’ve found to be twice as effective at reducing muscle soreness.
“Good. Then you’ll be ready for more training.”
He moves closer, and the scent of him hits me. Like pine, rosewood, and something distinctly male. I want to lean into him, close my eyes, and breathe deeply until the horror of that memory clears my system.
“You still look like you’re half asleep.” He sweeps a rogue lock of hair behind my ear and his gaze snags on my lips for a beat before he pulls away. “Getting your blood flowing should wake you up.” He steps back as if maybe he likes touching me too much.
Me or Jas? I need to stop trying to figure that out. At the end of the day, it won’t matter.
I glance around the barren yard. “Where is my trainer this morning, anyway?”
“You’re looking at him. We’re working on hand-to-hand combat today.”
I gape. I am far too unsteady to spend my morning not just close to Misha but training-close. “What—why you?”
“Tynan’s unavailable. He’s leading my other sentinels in a daylong training exercise at one of our outposts.”
“Oh.”
He laughs, his eyes lighting up. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
“I’m not disappointed. I just didn’t expect to be training with you.”
He looks me over, slower this time. “Is that going to be a problem?”
“That depends. Do you have a healer handy? I know you’re very old, and I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”
He chuckles. “I think I can handle it.” He crooks a finger at me. “Come on, try to take me down.”
I glance at the body I’m in and then at him. “You’re twice my size.”
“All the more reason I’m a good partner to train with. Do you think your enemies are only going to send small females after you?” He crooks a finger at me again. “Just give it a try.”
My mind is racing in two directions at once. On one side everything I’ve ever learned about taking down an opponent that’s bigger than me, and on the other side trying to imagine what Jas knows about all this. I know her sister made her learn self-defense, so I can probably get away with most maneuvers, but—
“If you think that long in the middle of a fight, you’re going to end up dead,” Misha says. He lunges forward and in one swift motion grabs me, spins me so my back is to him, and loops his arms around my neck. “Or worse—find yourself at someone’s mercy.”
I immediately flash back to the dream and the feeling of having someone else control my limbs and force me to eat. Being trapped like this would make the princess lose her mind, so I flail and use all my strength to push out with my arms. He doesn’t budge.
“Stop trying to muscle it,” he says in my ear. “You’re too small. You’re not going to be able to overpower your enemies. Work smart. Get free. You keep telling me you’re not helpless. Now prove it.”
Fine. I grab his arms and turn my head to the side, yanking on his wrist and bending my knees to drop my body weight down.
“Good,” he murmurs, but I’m experienced enough to know he’s not even trying to fight me.
I throw one leg back, seeking the leverage I need—just enough to get my center of gravity behind him. Then I drop down farther, and he releases me. I throw my leg up to pull his legs out from under him. He hits the ground with an oomph as his breath rushes out of him.
“I’m not helpless,” I say.
I pull back, but he grabs me behind the neck before I can get far, hooking his leg around my waist and rolling our bodies until he’s on top of me.