“Put me down! C’mon, Senan. You’re getting me all sweaty!”
“Good. Maybe it’ll teach you to keep your head instead of throwing a tantrum.”
A flailing heel slams against my shin. My grip loosens, and he manages to wriggle free. Wily little git. He throws himself down on the marble and rips a water flask from the pile with a curse.
Biting back a smile, I fall beside him and give his ear a flick. “You shouldn’t use that sort of language.” It may be inevitable with all the time he spends training with the foul-mouthed guards, but still.
He side-eyes me. “You curse all the time.”
“Yes, but you’re far better than me.” I lock his head beneath my arm, dragging him in for a sweaty hug.
“Ew! Let me go!”
“Make me.”
The little heathen needles his bony finger right into my side. “That hurts, you little shit.” I let him go with a hard shove.
He jabs his finger at me, a victorious smirk on his lips. “Language, Senan!”
“Oh, fuck off.”
He laughs so hard, he falls onto his back. I lay down beside him, my skin baking under the sun’s unforgiving rays. My magic stores swell like my lungs as I inhale a deep breath. After healing Allette, heaven knows I need it.
Every time I think of those wounds ravaging her skin, a fresh swell of rage rises like a fiery tide. The House Master got off far too lightly. At least this session has given me an outlet for all this pent-up anger waging war within me.
I can’t wait for training to end so I can return to my room and spend what little time I can with Allette before being forced to leave once more.
What if I can’t convince Leeri to call off the wedding? Am I really going to marry her? If I had that antidote in hand, I’d steal away into the night and escape to some far-off kingdom. But since that can’t happen yet, I must bide my time. Play my role. Hope that I can convince Leeri that she’d be better off without me.
Rhainn stretches his legs where he leans against the armory wall, surrounded by swords, maces, and axes, with a book in his hands. When the king ordered him to attend training, I doubt this is what he meant. I cup my hands around my mouth and shout, “You’re next, Rhainn!” Maybe the princess will see him training and fall desperately in love with him instead.
The thought makes me chuckle. Rhainn is about as coordinated as a fish out of water.
He doesn’t spare me so much as a glance. “Pass.”
Kyff sips from his flask, his eyes trained on my torso. “I’ve been thinking of getting a tattoo,” he says, bringing my attention back to him.
I hook a second flask in my fingers and twist the lid free. “Oh yeah? What do you want?”
“A pink lily. For Mum.”
I should discourage him. I really should. But the idea of him wanting our mother’s favorite flower somewhere on his skin makes my heart swell.
He scrubs his wrapped hands against his trousers. “What do you think?”
“That depends.”
“On?”
“Whether or not you’ll let me get the same thing.”
Kyff’s eyes light up like I told him I’d buy the puppy he has always wanted. “When? Tomorrow?”
“Gods, Kyff. Are you trying to get me killed? You can get a tattoo when you turn eighteen.” Maybe I’ll give him one as an eighteenth birthday present.
Except…if things go to plan, I won’t be around to see him turn eighteen.
If things don’t go to plan, I may not be around at all.