Page 51 of Ruby & Onyx

If only my magic would allow me to shoot daggers with my eyes, then I could avoid this absolute embarrassment. Out of sheer stubbornness, I raise up again, tighten my core, and lift out of my shoulders before bending my elbows and… “Gods!” I yell before collapsing again.

He squats beside me, lowering himself to meet my gaze. “Alright, how about this? Either you admit defeat now, or we can talk about what happened on this rooftop after the banquet.”

“You don’t make the rules here,” I snap at him.

We can’t have that conversation, not now. Not when I already look weak.

“Actually, I do. Besides the fact that I am the prince and soon-to-be ruler of this kingdom, I am also your teacher, which you so forcefully demanded of me. So, you do have to follow my rules. What’s your choice?”

Damn this man. I can give it one more shot. What could go wrong?

Well, besides an embarrassment that cuts so deep, I can never look him in the eyes again. If that happens, I might as well march down to the king and refuse the marriage once and for all. And if I admit defeat, then my pride will be too wounded to keep training. Either way, I lose.

So, here goes nothing. I get in position and mentally beg the gods for the strength of a thousand warriors. I bend my elbows a little… a little more… and don’t fall. Once I reach nearly ninety degrees, I slowly push back up… up… up. And, miraculously, I complete the movement.

Rather than compliment me or acknowledge the feat, he says, “again.”

“Oh, come on. I did one push-up! That’s enough for today! Let’s move on to some actual fighting.” Why can’t he let me have even one victory?

“Fighting requires strength. Strength which you just proved to lack. If you’re not willing to put in the work, then we may as well end our lessons here.” The earnestness conveyed in his eyes makes me think that he may not be taunting me just for the hell of it. He may actually want me to succeed.

And, gods damn it, he may be right.

I push past my pride, shoving it down as far as it will go, to say, “Okay, tell me what to do.”

* * *

My muscles feel like jelly by the time we’re done. Olly had me doing circuits of push-ups on my knees, lunges, squats, sit-ups, and sprints until I nearly collapsed from fatigue.

Now, in the dining room, the feast laid out before us seems like the only bright spot of this day, even though my sweaty thighs are sticking to the seat. As I scarf down a hot biscuit slathered in jam, I abandon all efforts to maintain manners. He sits across from me, wordlessly conveying some sense of personal triumph and amusement, but I refuse to acknowledge it. Instead, I focus my attention on the buttery biscuit.

“Based on your reaction earlier, I assume you’ll do just about anything to avoid talking about what happened on the roof last week?” He says, stopping me mid-bite. “Come on, are you embarrassed or regretful? I can’t tell.”

Well, at least I didn’t imagine the whole situation. He’s acknowledging that something happened that night.

When I don’t respond, he leans his elbows on the table and whispers, “I walked away because you had been drinking, and I didn’t want to take advantage, not because I didn’t want you.” The lines of his jaw tighten, making my heart race faster than a band of galloping horses.

“You could have spoken to me before escaping to the border,” I say.

“That wasn’t my choice.” He pauses, clenching his hands into fists. “No, that’s a lie. I could have come to you first, but I chose not to. I was embarrassed.”

“Why would you be embarrassed?” If anyone deserves to be embarrassed, it’s me. I misread the situation. I leaned in. I wanted more.

“You’ve made it clear that you want nothing to do with me. Again and again, you shoot down my advances. But in that moment, you seemed to want me. And it made me feel… I don’t know, hopeful. Then I smelled the alcohol on your breath, and I feared that your decisions were not your own. And if it wasn’t your sober-minded will to be with me,” he stops to choke back a breath. “I don’t want you to hate me, Radya. I want you to want me, to want this.”

There it is.

The gods-honest truth.

The full weight of his words washes over me as I contemplate how to respond. In situations like this, where emotions are laid bare, my mind turns into a black hole. I don’t know how to convey the depth of what I’m feeling. Words slip away until all I can feel is the racing of my heart.

Say something, Radya. Anything.

The seconds creep by in heavy silence as his eyes bear into me, pleading. I take a deep breath in through my nose and out through my mouth.

Finally, I whisper, “You’re afraid? But you’re always so confident.”

His head falls into his hands for a moment before he looks back up at me. “There’s a difference between acting confident and being confident.”

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