Page 50 of Ruby & Onyx

He places his hands on my hips and uses just enough force to turn me to face him. The silver crown on his head tips askew as he bends down to kiss me. He’s hungry, desperate even. He’s searching my lips like they’re the only thing tethering him to this world. And for every bit of carnal desire he shoves my way, I return it tenfold. We tangle together, taking each other in with every strained breath, until he finds the strap of my dress and delicately slides one side over the tip of my shoulder. There’s a knock on the door, but he ignores it in search of the other strap.

Louder now, the knocks continue.

He presses his forehead into the top of my head, inhaling the lavender scent of the oils I bathed in earlier.

The door flies open and, peeking over his shoulder, I see a young man marching through the doorway, halting before the crackling hearth. He’s young, scrawny, and masquerading as someone confident.

Neither of us moves.

His pale blue eyes wither as he sputters, “My king, they’re here.”

Light seeps into the room as I slowly wake. In a decision that I now deeply regret, I slept with curtains open to allow the light to wake me in time to meet Olly. Moose groans before nuzzling his face underneath the pillow, clearly resenting my choice. First light came too soon.

What was that dream, and why can I still feel the touch of his hands on my body like a phantom embrace? It was lovely and familiar, so unlike my usual nightly terrors. And this isn’t the first time that face appeared in my dreams, yet I can’t recall who he is.

I shake it off, leaving the memory to fade away into the place where all dreams go to rest.

* * *

When I reach the top of the spiral staircase, I see Olly sparring with an invisible enemy. His sword slashes through the air with such sharp movements that the air whooshes against each slice. I wonder how many lives he ended with these carefully choreographed movements. How many have met the tip of his blade?

“You’re late,” he says without so much as looking in my direction, continuing to cut the air in half.

“How could I be late when the sun is barely over the horizon?”

He stops to place his sword back into its sheath. As he turns to face me, I notice that hardly a hair is out of place. The only evidence of exertion is the single bead of sweat gliding down his brow. Is that the sign of a warrior or of a man who only started moving when he heard footsteps? “The enemy won’t wait for the sun to rise to attack.” He moves to stand at attention.

“If that’s the case, then you should have been more specific. First light implies that the sun has already risen, not sooner.” I wasn’t aware that irritating me this early in the morning was on the agenda, but shame on me for not expecting it.

“Agreeing to meet at first light means that both parties are present when the sun first breaches the horizon.”

“I wasn’t aware that this was going to be a lesson in semantics.” Rolling my eyes hardly seems like a strong enough gesture. There are a few choice words I’d rather hurl at him instead – prick, asshole, arrogant bastard…

“See to it that you’re on time, or else your only lessons will be in semantics.” His crinkled eyes and closed-lip grin are making his face look very punchable right now.

“Fine, where is my sword?” I see only the one held behind his back, and I don’t see how we can share a sword while sparring.

“Slow down, Princess. We’re just getting started. Why don’t we see where you are physically? Drop and give me fifty push-ups.”

I only have myself to blame for this. I do want to learn to fight, honestly, but attempting to do push-ups in front of the cockiest man on earth can only end with me cowering in a heaping pile of embarrassment. And yet, if I don’t do them, I would have to admit how weak I am. Neither option seems particularly appealing, especially as I look up at that smug face of his. At least giving the push-ups a shot might preserve some inkling of my pride.

“You can do a push-ups, can’t you?” His critical stare squashes me like a bug.

“Of course, I can do a push-up, just give me a second.” Why did I lie? He’ll see through it the second I try – and fail – to do a single rep. I drop down to my knees and get into position, calling upon the power of my fragile pride to help me.

“On your toes, Princess.”

“If you call me Princess one more time, I might just shove you off of this rooftop.”

“Fine, on your toes, my strong and gifted warrior.”

“I’m not yours,” I say, shooting him a look of displeasure before lifting my knees into a plank position, pulling my shoulders back, squeezing my core, and then bending my elbows… a little… a little more… I come nowhere close to ninety degrees before collapsing onto my belly. I grumble, “It’s been a while. Give me a minute.”

“Take all the time you need to admit that you need to start with the basics. We’ll scale it back and work from there.” I don’t need to turn around to know that he’s mocking me. Why did I agree to this? I could be back in bed, dozing away, but instead, I am here with the most insufferable prince in history. Not that I’ve known any other princes.

Come on, Radya. I lift into a plank and try to lower the rest of my body, but once again I fail, slamming onto the ground with a thud.

Olly claps derisively slow. “Radya, you’ve given it a shot and failed, so why don’t you suck up your pride and admit that this is difficult for you?”

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