Page 70 of House of Ydril

She gets up and comes a little closer, sending my heart racing. “Look,” she starts, looking away for a second, “I’ve heard the stories and I know how powerful you are.”

It makes me melt, hearing her say that. What the fuck is going on with me?

“And I won’t be stupid enough to refuse your offer,” she says.

My eyebrows shoot up, but she doesn’t give me a chance to react. She takes another step closer, her voice taking on a more serious tone. “But I have a condition. Outside of training, I’ll want you as far away from me as possible.”

Her words feel like a slap on the face, but I’ll be damned if I show it. I scoff. “No need to get emotional,” I squeeze out. “A simple thank you would’ve been enough.”

She takes a step back, her face twisted in rage. “You didnotjust say that.” She lets out a bitter laugh, but turns dead serious when she says, “Let me make myself crystal clear…” She practically gets in my face. “I know you’re probably not used to suffering the consequences of your own actions, but until you apologize to me for what you did at the Ball, I owe younothing, not even basic courtesy.”

By the time she’s done talking, I’m barely keeping it together. I want to tell her to forget it, I want to fucking rip into her for daring to say those things, my hands balled painfully into fists and my fangs aching for me to let them draw blood.

But I do nothing. “Tomorrow morning, at dawn” I say through gritted teeth. “Be at the training grounds.”

And with that, I turn on my heel and I leave her room, slamming the door behind me.

Chapter thirty-one

ThemorningafterProfessorMistila’s suicide, I wake up with a raging headache. It doesn’t really surprise me, considering I spent practically the whole of last night tossing in my bed. And I can’t remember any of it, but I have the strongest feeling that I’ve just been ripped out of the grip of some nasty nightmare.

It’s only after I drag myself out of bed that I remember why I set my alarm to ring at the crack of fucking dawn. I’m supposed to go train with him, right now, and I’ve no clue what to expect from that. I’m so apprehensive, I can barely stop myself from crawling back under the covers.

Then again, it’s not like I have any other choice. Training with Moswen has brought results, that’s for sure, but I’m still shit at combat in general. And I’ve no way of knowing what’s in store for me when the day finally comes, the day of the dreaded Third Round.

So I quickly get dressed, choosing long sleeves because it’s still chilly outside. And I make my way to the training grounds, the silence that’s still enveloping the world around me making me even more hesitant.

When I spot him, it surprises me to see he’s not alone. Max is there with him, the two of them standing by the benches, looking as if Faust is dictating something.

He doesn’t acknowledge me when I approach. Neither one of them does. I raise my eyebrows and I clear my throat.

Still, nothing. The Little Prince just keeps talking, making me stand there feeling like a fool. As usual, he looks breathtaking. But it’s also the most casual I’ve ever seen him. He’s barefoot, his sweatpants hanging loosely off his waist and his T-shirt revealing the curves of so many lean muscles.

“And I’ll see the Baroness some other day,” I hear him say just as he dismisses Max with a single wave of his hand.

Only when Max disappears does he turn to me, his face frozen in that indecipherable expression of his. I open my mouth to say good morning, because despite how annoyed he’s made me with his little display of power, I’m determined to make the best of this.

But he beats me to it. “Five laps around the grounds,” he commands in a voice that’s like a slab of ice as he goes to sit on one of the benches and whips out his phone.

Alright, I think to myself, I could use a bit of warming up.

I walk up to the track lines and I start running. Of course, I have to try to ignore the fact that he’s sitting there and that he can probably see my every move. But by the time I’m done with the five laps, I’m actually pretty proud of myself for how little I’m panting.

“Done,” I say as I walk back to where he’s sitting.

“Five more,” he replies. And the fucker doesn’t even look up.

Oh how I hate him. “Seriously?” I ask. But I’m determined to keep it civil. “Look, I’m already a good runner. I think there’s plenty of things I could do that wouldn’t be such a waste of time.”

He looks up and just stares at me for a second. “Five laps around the grounds,” he starts, making me think I’ll have to keep arguing with him. “And I want you casting magic the entire time.” He pauses before he adds, dragging out the words, “Without so much as slowing down.”

I roll my eyes. His attitude is childish and infuriating, but at least I’d be doing something. “Alright,” I say and walk back to the tracks.

I stop at the starting line, bend a little forward and break into a full sprint. After a couple of minutes of mustering all my determination, I try to use my Element Rune to knock over a straw man perched on the ground to my left.

It doesn’t surprise me when I fail. After all, I can barely manage doing magic when I’m standing still. But what surprises me is the way the act knocks all the air out of my lungs. It takes everything I have to keep running.

I try again and for a second, I think I’ve done it. The second straw man sways a little.

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