Page 38 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

Skylar studied him, a newfound understanding dawning. “You’ve always been like this, haven’t you?” she asked softly. “Even when we were children?”

Arye’s lips quirked in a humorless smile. “Yes,” he admitted.

The honesty in his admission struck her. She reached up, almost unconsciously, and patted his head gently. His hair was soft under her fingers. “Well then, I’ll do for you what you’ve always done for me,” she said softly, her eyes crinkling at the corners with affection. “Keep your humanity intact. We’ll anchor each other. That’s what friends are for, right?”

Something flickered in Arye’s eyes, but it was gone before Skylar could decipher it. She swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how close they were standing. “We should probably send someone to find those noblewomen from earlier. Offer them some coin for their silence.”

Arye’s lips curved into a mischievous smirk. “Are you asking me to bribe witnesses, Duke Anathemark? How scandalous.”

Skylar narrowed her eyes, looking at him expectantly.

“I’ll take care of it.”

A thought struck Skylar, and she looked at him sharply. “You didn’t already send someone to kill them, did you?”

A slow grin spread across his face, a hint of that earlier darkness returning. “Not yet.”

Skylar couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from her chest. It was inappropriate, she knew, but the absurdity of it all suddenly struck her as grimly funny.

Shaking her head, Skylar walked over to the weapon rack. The familiar smell of oil and steel filled her nostrils as she ran her fingers over the hilts of various training swords. She picked up two, testing their weight. The leather-wrapped handles were smooth against her palms, worn from countless hours of use. She tossed one to Arye, who snatched it from the air with practiced ease. The blade flashed as it spun into his grasp.

“How about we relieve some stress the old-fashioned way?” she suggested, falling into a fighting stance.

Arye’s eyes lit up with anticipation, his lips curling into a predatory grin. “I thought you’d never ask.”

They circled each other slowly, muscles tense, gazes locked. Skylar made the first move, lunging forward with a quick thrust. Arye parried easily, the clash of steel on steel ringing out. He countered with a slash that Skylar barely dodged, the wind from the passing blade ruffling her wig.

“Getting slow in your old age, Duke?” Arye taunted, his voice laced with amusement.

Skylar snorted, feinting left before striking right. Her muscles burned pleasantly with the exertion. “I’ll show you slow, Your Highness.”

They fell into a familiar dance, blades clashing in the night air. Skylar reveled in the physical challenge, the way it pushed all other thoughts from her mind. There was only the next move, the next parry, the next strike.

The sound of steel meeting steel echoed through the training ground, punctuated by their heavy breathing. Skylar’s muscles ached from the intense activity, sweat beading on her brow and trickling down her back. She could feel her bindings digging into her chest with each labored breath.

They were evenly matched at first. Arye had more raw strength and precision, but Skylar was faster, her reflexes honed by years of compensating for her smaller frame. But as the fight wore on, Skylar found herself tiring. No matter how skilled she was, she couldn’t match the sheer power of a man in his prime forever.

Arye pressed his advantage, his attacks becoming more aggressive. The whistle of his blade through the air grew louder, more frequent. Skylar realized she was on the defensive, barely managing to withstand the sheer force behind each of his blows. Her arms trembled with the effort of holding her sword steady, the impact of each strike reverberating through her bones.

“Getting tired?” Arye taunted, a wolfish grin on his face. His chest heaved with exertion, but his eyes were alive with the thrill of combat. “Ready to admit defeat?”

Skylar gritted her teeth, refusing to give in. She feinted left, then spun right, her blade whistling through the air. Arye barely managed to block the strike, clearly caught off guard by her maneuver.

“Not even close,” she shot back, a defiant grin on her face. Her lungs burned with each breath, but she embraced the pain. “I could do this all night.”

They continued their deadly dance, neither willing to yield. Skylar’s world narrowed to the jarring impact of each parry, the burn in her muscles, the fierce joy of combat. Finally, she could forget about her lies, her fears, her uncertain future. She was able to be truly herself.

But fatigue was taking its toll. Her movements became slower, less precise. The weight of the sword in her hand seemed to increase with each passing heartbeat.

In a second of distraction, Skylar lost her footing on the uneven terrain. Arye seized the opportunity, pushing forwardwith a powerful thrust. Skylar stumbled backward, her heel catching on a root. She fell, her sword clattering to the ground.

Before she could recover, Arye was on her, his weight pressing her into the packed earth. His blade rested lightly against her throat, a silent declaration of victory, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies.

Their faces were inches apart, both of them breathing heavily. Skylar could feel the rapid rise and fall of Arye’s chest against hers, could see the beads of sweat on his brow. Her heart pounded, and she wasn’t sure if it was from the exertion or their proximity.

“Yield,” Arye said, his voice husky and low.

Skylar met his gaze defiantly, a grin tugging at her lips despite herself. “Never,” she breathed, acutely aware of every point where their bodies touched.

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