Page 28 of Forcing Fate

The title of ‘Lady’ was granted at twenty-winters. That was not when most girls married, however. Life mates were often sought at a younger age, from sixteen to eighteen. Most girls within that age bracket flirted and tested their mettle against men, seeing who might make a good spouse.

If one made it to twenty-winters without a life mate, they were considered a spinster, which made no sense to me. Even if I were not destined to be a Dragon Rider, and only lived the average life span, I would never rush into a claiming. A life mate should be someone who I would enjoy spending my life with. How could I look at the boys in the school and think any of them were mature enough to appreciate growing old with?

I shuddered. I would take my duty as Dragon Rider over the drama and emotions that plagued other girls my age any day.

Willhelm stopped, and I glanced up, seeing we arrived at a training building. Within was a small company of third year cadets. There were perhaps twenty of them, all holding wooden practice swords and shields, gripped tight as if their life depended on them.

General Rafe strode calmly through their ranks, swinging a wooden shortsword nonchalantly. The Captain of the company stood off to the side, back rigid and jaw clenched. Wincing in sympathy for him, I looked at Willhelm, who nodded his goodbye, not willing to speak and break the soldiers’ concentration. As he left, I moved to the large open door. This structure, like so many others, had two immense doorways facing east and west. The breeze whipped through and caught the edge of my dress, lifting it off the ground, tugging it along.

A soldier glanced over, and in the mere blink of an eye, the General was on him. With a sharp thwack, the wooden sword slapped against the soldier’s temple. I cringed and gathered my dress in my hands, hoping it would prove less distracting.

The soldier spun to face the General and staggered a step back, trying to give himself space to think. General Rafe grabbed the shield and yanked it from his hand while the soldier tried to slash at him with the sword. General Rafe parried the blow easily and threw the shield to the ground, advancing on the man.

“Never take your eyes off the enemy.” His menacing tone sent chills down my spine.

He never talked to me that way. It was not a loud statement, but rather one that he growled so low it barely carried on the wind. Spoken in a voice that demanded obedience and threatened unspoken consequences.

I frowned, noting the dangerous glint in the General’s eye as he singled out the soldier. Backing him into a corner, the soldier’s gaze flickered to his comrades, but even they seemed too frightened to assist. The soldier’s back hit the wall, reaching his snapping point. He lashed out in fear, swinging his sword wildly.

I had no combat experience, but even I saw that he left himself wide open.

General Rafe, almost teasingly, batted the weapon aside before rapping on the man’s ribs with the flat of his practice sword.

“Dead,” he grunted.

The soldier crumpled in on himself, defeated and embarrassed.

General Rafe turned toward me, swinging his sword up to rest on his shoulder, flat edge down. “You distracted him.”

Fear tightened my throat. A sinister threat simmered in his dark eye. His iris was the deepest brown, like a tree in a shadowed forest. The first few days of my assignment with him, I thought it was entirely black, before I glimpsed it in the sunlight, seeing the light illuminate the warm color.

Not that anything about his gaze was warm.

How was it that when I was away from this man, I was fine? I had no trouble dealing with others, whether they meant me ill or not. How could he, with one glance, send my nerves scuttling away in fear?

He prowled toward me, slowly but purposefully. I could see it in his eye, and in his movements, he expected me to retreat as the soldier did.

Somewhere inside myself, I found the bravery, or stupidity, to lift my chin and stare him down. “I hardly take responsibility. If all it takes is a stray wind blowing a girl’s skirts to distract your soldiers, perhaps you could teach them to be more focused.”

The Captain choked, but I ignored him. I schooled my features into defiance, intent on holding his gaze. He came to a stop in front of me with complete disregard for my personal space—our chests a mere breath from one another. I was beginning to understand his tactics. He used his size to intimidate people, and once he had them cowed, he ordered them about like he was their better.

“If you weren’t here, they would be more focused,” he said lowly.

Courage or idiocy flooded my veins. I could hardly tell which. “Are we talking about them, or yourself, General Rafe? Am I distracting you?”

Something flickered across his face. Oh, I hit a nerve. I wondered if I should press my case, or let him be. This General got under my skin and pushed me to react with a rashness that I normally kept under firm control.

I pitched my voice low so that it would not carry. “In the mere moments you have talked with me, your men could have attacked you, while your focus was… otherwise detained.”

His hand shot out so fast I didn’t have time to even blink in surprise. He snatched my jaw between his thick fingers. My breath hissed between my teeth as fire licked my bones. This man had now stolen two touches from me. I had not given them. Touch was a woman’s to give. It was never for a man to take without consent.

The men shifted and murmured behind him, yet I could only focus on his dark, hateful glare. His fingers dug into my skin, but I didn’t fight it. He was stronger than I, and if he wanted to hold me, he would, regardless of my attempts. Despite the pressure, his grip was not bruising. It was as if he simply held my jaw to prove to me he could, as if he knew it was not proper, and this was something he could take from me to humble me.

I refused to let my glare waver for even a moment, though every nerve in my body screamed for me to run or fight. I gripped my dress so tightly that my fingers ached. Still, I made no move to push him away. It was as if we fought for dominance like common dogs.

“Your mending is on the table,” he drawled, not taking his eye off mine.

“Did you damage your clothing from midnight rides in the dorms?” I asked, working my jaw against his grasp, daring him to respond. “Sneaking under cover of darkness, tossing cadets out of their bunks like some brute?” The words slipped out of my mouth, urged on by the fire in my veins.

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