Page 69 of Claimed By the Fae Lord

But as I stood on the training grounds, watching Raina push through another one of Brahm's relentless drills, I had to fight the urge to step in.

"Keep your damn guard up!" my father barked, his voice echoing off the trees that bordered the grounds, and Raina, looking like some fierce winter spirit with her white-blonde hair sticking to her damp forehead, obeyed, her violet eyes narrowing in concentration.

"Come on, Raina! Hit back harder!" I shouted, though my encouragement came out more gruff than I intended.

It was the third day of what Brahm calledtoughening up—a euphemism for hellish torment designed to break even the most obstinate warrior. He'd warned us he would knock some fucking sense into us, a phrase that sent a familiar shiver down my back.

The Drótinn’s tactics were as unforgiving as the frozen landscape of the Ledovik Mountain range. Father’s stance had always been to break down his warriors until they were too physically exhausted to resist, then mold them into something better.

I’d finished my workout already and had been waiting for the Drótinn’s order to keep going. He’d never forget about me so I suspected he wanted me to finish before Raina.

I watched as she moved with a grace that belied her exhaustion, parrying blows from the practice dummies that swung at her from all sides. She didn't let up, didn't show a flicker of weakness, even as her breath came out in ragged pants and her limbs trembled with exertion.

"Again," Brahm commanded, and she complied without hesitation.

My admiration for her grit was undeniable. Raina wasn't just some delicate frost nymph; she was determination incarnate, her body tight and talented, still holding curves that the added muscle only served to enhance.

Gunnar's words aboutwedded blisstaunted me, and I found myself half-tempted to press her against the nearest tree. I had an urge to mark her flesh, as if staking my claim could somehow rewrite the past.

I shook the thought away, focusing instead on her movements. The way she pivoted on the balls of her feet, spear slicing through the air with precision. How each drop of sweat that traced the line of her collarbone seemed to catch the dying light, turning her skin into a canvas of shimmering effort.

Watching her like this was such an inconvenient turn-on. It made it hard to remember why I’d carried such animosity towards her.

“Fucking temptress,” muttered under my breath, knowing full well she couldn't hear me over the clatter of wood against wood.

She charged forward, stabbing the dummy square in its straw-filled chest with enough force to topple it over. A triumphant smile flickered across her face, quickly smothered as she reset her stance, ready for more.

"Enough." Father's voice cut through the air.

Raina dropped her arms, panting, her gaze locked on the fallen dummy as if she could will it back upright for another round.

"You worked hard today," he told her, though his praise was as sparing as ever.

Raina nodded, too winded to speak, but the fire in her eyes spoke volumes. I knew that look, though I’d only seen it a handful of times.

He called out for me to approach and I jogged closer. “You three have two more rounds. Everyone else can go.”

I caught Gunnar’s eye and his mouth curved. How many times in our younger years had we been told by the Drótinn that we had two more rounds and everyone else could go?

Mirrelle and Raina were already back at it so I walked over to the first station and drew my blade. I’d need a long hot soak after today.

Sooner than I realized, twilight began throwing long shadows across the training grounds, a stark reminder that we were the only ones left. Gunnar's absence was nearly as noticeable as his presence; for once he’d been excluded from the extra hour of exertions.

"Another round?" Mirrelle asked, her voice low but not lacking its usual edge.

"No," I said firmly, almost relieved. "We're done."

Raina was silent, a statue carved of ice and resolve, her silky hair catching the last rays of sun like a halo in the encroaching dark. She secured her spear, her movements deliberate, before turning her violet gaze upon me.

"Why didn't you tell me about Blómhaus?" she blurted.

It had taken her three days to ask.

It had taken me a year to come up with an appropriate response, knowing someday someone other than my brother would solicit an admission from me. Only, now I couldn’t find the words.

I shrugged, trying to match her casual tone with my own, failing miserably. "Didn't think it'd matter. It’s just a house."

Technically, I had thought that. And technically, I still did, unable to think of Blómhaus as what I’d wanted it to be when I’d drawn up the plans.

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