His shirt was completely soaked through. The fabric clung to his body, and he caught Asterin stealing glances at his muscles. No distractions, he thought, and attacked with twice the brutality to remind her of it. She retaliated with vehemence, nearly skewering him with her longsword, Amoux. Distantly, he marveled at her improvement over the last few years. Though Queen Priscilla had shown nothing but disapproval of Orion training her daughter from the very start, she’d allowed it, and Asterin had defied all of their expectations. Discipline, talent, and hard work fueled by the burning desire to impress her mother had honed her into a terrifying force to behold.
But even so, he was her mentor. Her Guardian. He had taught her how to throw a punch, how to hold a sword. When she fell, he was the one to lift her back on her feet and push her onward. Faster, harder, stronger. He knew her strengths better than the back of his hand and her weaknesses better still.
And he never hesitated to use them against her.
Asterin released a sharp cry as Orion lashed out with his leg, tripping her and sending her toppling. She caught herself on the cedar chest at the foot of her bed, scraping her arm, but her stumble gave him the perfect opportunity to lunge. Orondite, his own blade, shrieked through the air and met Amoux with an ear-shattering clang. The impact vibrated up to his shoulders. Asterin’s teeth gritted, back still braced against the chest. She lunged beneath his arms and rolled across the floor, Amoux nicking a chip off the bedpost. Too slow—he was already upon her. She barely managed to throw Amoux up again in time to deflect Orondite’s vicious arc. Orion’s biceps strained, keeping her down, but she managed to drag herself up onto one knee, and then the other, and then finally to her feet. She shoved him off and they circled one another, weighing, assessing, two predators sniffing out the other’s weakness.
Asterin dropped her guard slightly, leaving her right side wide open. He seized the opportunity, feinting left and swinging right.
That was his first mistake.
Triumph flashed across her features as he fell into her trap. He cut upward, expecting her to hook and withdraw, but instead she hooked and struck him thrice in succession, delivering each blow with blinding speed and merciless precision. His grip slackened in surprise, and she threw herself at him, a half-wild snarl erupting from her throat. Her sword sang toward him, and with the force of a dozen men, she swung.
His feet left the ground, his entire body flying backward, Orondite wrenched right out of his grip.
His head smacked into the vanity as he landed on his backside, and Orondite smashed into the wall, leaving a sizable hole in the plaster and taking down an oil painting along with it.
Asterin stepped forward, the ruby eyes of her double-headed wolf pommel glinting in the light of her victory. Wordlessly, she rested her blade beneath his chin, expression colder than the iciest of winters.
Orion shot her a feral smile, blinking the plaster from his eyes. “I yield.”
She withdrew and sheathed Amoux at her side, one hand outstretched. He grabbed it, letting her pull him to his feet.
Warmth spread through her emerald eyes as he placed a hand upon his heart and bowed. His entire head throbbed, he was covered in plaster, and he had never been prouder in his life.
Her face split into a mile-wide grin. A bubble of laughter escaped her lips. “Finally!” she said, punching her fist into the air. The rising sun cast her joy in a silhouette of gold. “I finally bested you.”
Orion shrugged. “About time. And only once, after nearly a decade.” But he laughed along nonetheless when she broke into a victory dance.
Then, as one, they turned toward the hole in the wall.
“Luna’s probably going to kill you,” he said sympathetically.
Asterin cringed. “Probably.”
CHAPTER THREE
Asterin was halfway through fixing the hole when Luna walked in and caught her red-handed with a bucket at her feet and wet glops of plaster dripping down the wall. “What have you done?”
Smiling her best smile while Luna stared in abject horror, Asterin edged toward the bathroom in case she needed to make a quick getaway. “I, uh, tripped.”
“You, uh, tripped?” said Luna, eyes wide with false wonder. “Into the wall? Through several layers of plaster?”
The smile stayed perfectly in place. “I … may have been sparring in my rooms.”
Her lady-in-waiting and best friend of ten years groaned. “Again? How many times must we go over this? What is it about not in your rooms that you don’t understand? What’s wrong with literally anywhere else?”
“It’s private here,” Asterin said, righting a stool that Orion had knocked over. “There’s plenty of room, and—”
A loud gasp interrupted her. Luna yanked her fingers through her honey-blond hair, rushing over to the fallen oil painting. “Asterin! This is a Van Ryker, for the love of the Immortals!”
“Oh, stop. I’ve already fixed the hole, anyway.” Smugly, Asterin threw the trowel back into the bucket, splattering more plaster onto the rug. “Oops.” Her work was far from flawless, but admirable, in her opinion—although Luna obviously didn’t think so. The girl shot her a fearsome glower and snatched the trowel out of the bucket and began smoothing out the clumps. While she worked, Asterin nosed into the closet and dug through a pile of clothes strewn on the floor. She emerged with Garringsford’s firestone.
Luna squinted. “Is that new?” The trowel skidded against the wall. “And is that blood ?”
Asterin discreetly rubbed out the dried specks with her sleeve. “Of course not. Our dearest Garringsford gave it to me. Supposedly, she wanted to watch me practice magic for the betterment of our soldiers, though only the Immortals know what her true intent was.”
While Luna gawked at her, Asterin strode to the other end of her bedchamber and yanked the drapes out of the way before flinging the windows open. A great gust of wind blew into the room, cooling the beads of perspiration slicking her skin.
She stepped onto the windowsill and leaned out, inhaling the crisp early spring air and sighing in contentment. Once, she’d had a lovely little balustrade balcony—until her mother had ordered its demolition after the guards kept catching young Asterin practicing handstands on the railing. So, dangling over the empty void as far as she could and straining to catch a full view of her beloved city had become her alternative. Sure, the four-story drop to the courtyard guaranteed a few broken bones, if not death, but the palace itself had been built upon a mountain in the center of the kingdom, a stunning plummet of sheer white rock rising a thousand meters above sea level.
At the foot of the mountain lay the city of Axaris, the jewel and capital of Axaria. Quadrants unfolded around the mountain like petals, dividing the city into districts—trade, entertainment, manufacturing, and business. The residential sectors encircled the quadrants in a ring, flush with greenery. Eight main roads carved through the districts like veins, each leading to different parts of the kingdom. And here, in the center of it all, a heart connecting everything to everywhere—the royal palace. Her home.