My hair is tied in a messy bun and the sunlight has been warming my skin, but the sound of Erik’s voice slides over me like a cool breeze.
When I don’t acknowledge him, Erik continues, “What are you doing here?”
I turn around and raise a brow. His face is unreadable. I turn back around.
“You didn’t answer my message…” he says casually, leaning against the crate next to me.
I am still watching the next round when I shrug and pat my empty pockets. A twisted glimmer of satisfaction fills me when I realize he must be staring at my ass.
I’ll never know his true reaction because he still doesn’t shut up. “Imagine my surprise when I heard the words ‘Mer-bitch’ outside my door. I mean, what a title.”
I clench my fists at the name. The next round finishes, and everyone breaks for twenty minutes to get water or tend to wounds.
Our casual proximity turns awkward as the crowd dissipates. Knowing that everyone thinks we are sharing a bed makes me want to shove Erik away. This isn’t going to help the rumors. There is nothing keeping us in the same space, so why haven’t either of us moved? Some part of me expects Erik to be mad, to tell me to get below deck, but he doesn’t.
In the end, it’s me who leaves first. Or tries to, at least.
Erik’s hand darts out, grabbing my wrist. I stare at his fingers wrapped around my arm. He follows my gaze, dropping my arm like he’s been burned before saying, “I’ve been wondering when you would finally join in here. You couldn’t possibly be the Crown Princess and not have some sort of fighting skills.”
Without my phone, I feel helpless. I just smile back at him. Part of me hopes he will go back to his office, especially because I am up first for round two. The thought of him watching me fight feels uncomfortable—intimate, almost.
My luck is shit, though, because the twenty minutes end and Erik and I are both still standing in the same spot. When the man I’ve dubbed Henry walks by, I flash him a smile. I have high expectations for him now. Erik notices, and he frowns.
That reaction sparks something within me. Is he... jealous?
I turn the thought over in my mind as I get ready to fight again. This time, I’ve been put up against a man who is much more adept than Francois. This fight lasts more than twenty minutes instead of less than five.
Erik’s dark gaze remains on me the entire time. I feel the heat of his gaze when I duck, roll, and punch. He watches my form with blazing intensity. I wish I could stop the fight and scream at him, but giving Erik any more attention would only reinforce the crew's ideas.
My thoughts distract me, and my opponent takes advantage of the situation. He lunges and swipes my legs out from under me. Disgruntled, I land ass-first on the ground. My mouth connects with his forearm on the way down. The crowd cheers while I wipe blood from my split lip.
For the love of Fortuna.
The rage propels me to kick his gut with said legs, and pin him to the ground with my elbow pressed into his sternum. He isn’t hostile and smiles up at me while we lay there.
I let out a silent laugh. Erik passes me an alcohol wipe when I exit the ring, and I silently wish for him to go away. I’m getting tired, and he is so aggravating.
The remainder of the round passes quickly.
And then the next one.
Finally, we are in the fourth round. WhenPotential-Henrywalks into the space, I grin. Erik watches with a scowl.
After three grueling rounds, I’ve finally made it to the semi-finals. Only one more fight to go before I face their champion. I have no thoughts of losing now. Iwillwin. It’s no longer just a want, but a need coursing through me.
I ease into a fighting stance before Potential-Henry, the sweat from previous fights dried against my skin. Soreness makes me wince, but it’s not enough to stop me.
The man flashes me a charming smile when the counting is finished and then we are off. The other fights were fueled by my rage, but by now, the anger has cooled enough for me to enjoy the process. The other fights were therapeutic, this one is artistic expression.
We dance around each other, throwing calculated shots. Unfortunately for him, Potential-Henry doesn’t have my stamina. He slips up, and doesn’t protect his right side well enough. I duck under his arm, and bounce up inches from his face.
“Shit,” he whispers as his brown eyes widen, and I land a punch to his chest. He falls and holds his hands up in submission.
This time, the men grunt and cheer their approval. I can’t tell if it’s from actual acceptance or just because they know I am about to be throttled by Jeffery, the mountain of a man.
They announce another break and I notice Erik has disappeared. Part of me is grateful. His gaze is heavy and unrelenting, causing me to make mistakes.
Jeffery waves at me from across the boat. The medic is tending to the hulking man’s broken finger from his last fight. I analyze him. He has gotten more time to rest throughout the day, but I think that injury might just give me enough purchase to win.