Page 33 of Caged By the Lich

Olvaar was much better.

I watch him sit at his desk, drinking the tea that I learn helps replenish his magic. My eyes keep scanning over him, looking for signs he is hurt after the blast he took, but I don't see anything.

"Thank you," I blurt out, breaking the tense silence. My voice sounds small and uncertain in the large room. "For saving me, I mean."

Olvaar's eyes snap to mine, and I feel pinned in place by his intense gaze. He grunts, a noncommittal sound that could mean anything.

But I shouldn't expect more from him. And it's when those gray eyes swirl with purple and streaks of gold, I know that he actually feels more than he's letting on.

I've only seen them turn purple when he's touching me. Nearly kissing me.

And that doesn't help my jumbled mind, especially with the adrenaline of everything and the way I can't stop thinking about Lord Kravos. And words just start to spill out.

"I... I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't..." I trail off, cursing my suddenly clumsy tongue. Why is it so hard to string a sentence together?

"It was nothing," Olvaar says gruffly, but there's a flicker of something in his eyes that contradicts his dismissive tone. Is that... concern?

I clutch the blanket tighter, suddenly hyper-aware of its connection to him. "Still, I appreciate it," I manage, holding his gaze despite the urge to look away.

Olvaar nods curtly, but he doesn't break eye contact. The air between us feels charged, heavy with unspoken words and emotions neither of us is ready to acknowledge.

Instead, he leans back from his desk, running his eyes over me. "Why don't we take the day off?" He raises his eyebrows. "Go do something…that will relax you."

I don't argue, needing the time to clear my head. I leave Olvaar's office, my mind still reeling from the whole day. I decide to indulge in a long, hot bath. The warm water soothes my aching muscles and helps calm my frayed nerves.

Later, feeling refreshed, I wander through the fortress corridors. The sound of clashing metal draws me towards the training grounds. As I round the corner, my breath catches in my throat.

Olvaar stands in the center of the courtyard, shirtless and glistening with sweat. He moves with lethal grace, his muscled form flowing from one stance to another as he practices complex sword forms. The crimson sky casts an otherworldly glow on his blue skin, highlighting every ripple and curve of his powerful physique.

I find myself transfixed, unable to look away. His movements are hypnotic – a deadly dance that showcases both raw strength and fluid control. My eyes trace the line of his shoulders, down his sculpted back, following the play of muscles beneath his skin.

A small gasp escapes my lips as Olvaar executes a particularly impressive maneuver. His head snaps in my direction, those piercing eyes locking onto mine. Heat rushes to my face as I realize I've been caught staring. I quickly avert my gaze, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Enjoying the view, little rebel?" Olvaar's deep voice carries across the courtyard, a hint of amusement coloring his tone.

I force myself to meet his eyes, willing my blush to subside. "I was just... observing your technique," I manage, cursing the slight tremor in my voice.

"Is that all you were doing?" A smirk tugs at his lips, and my stomach flips.

I have no idea how to answer that. I stand frozen, caught between the urge to flee and an inexplicable desire to stay. Olvaar's eyes bore into mine, a challenge glinting in their depths.

He makes the decision for me.

"Join me," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument. "You should know how to defend yourself."

I hesitate, my heart racing. "I... I don't think that's necessary."

In two long strides, Olvaar closes the distance between us. His hand wraps around my wrist, firm but not painful, as he tugs me towards the center of the courtyard. The heat of his skin against mine sends a jolt through my body.

"Nonsense," he growls. "I won't always be there to protect you."

Before I can protest further, I find myself standing face-to-face with him in the sparring circle. Olvaar's hands move to my shoulders, positioning me. His touch lingers, leaving trails of fire on my skin.

"Stance is crucial," he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. He kicks my feet slightly apart, then places a hand on my lower back to straighten my posture. The casual intimacy of his actions makes my breath hitch.

I want him to touch me more.

Olvaar moves behind me, his chest nearly flush against my back. He takes my arms, guiding them through a basic defensive move. I can feel the solid warmth of his body, the strength in his hands as they manipulate my limbs.

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