Page 51 of Daughter of the Serpent

Despite the curl of nerves that bundled in her gut, she couldn’t help the undeniable draw she felt.

Her eyes greedily drank in the sight of him, as he returned the dagger to its place and he made his approach. His long limbs seemed to move with purpose, a certain energy rippling off him in thick intoxicating waves.

“I’ll teach you what I know, but only if you’re willing.” His jaw hardened as he came to a stop in front of her, and she swallowed. Despite his bluntness, his undeniably sharp edge, she felt her whole body ignite.

“You should know now, that your training will be grueling, and test you to your very limits…if you can’t handle me, then you might as well welcome death, for the gods will chew you up and pick your bones from their teeth come the trials.”

Sylvie’s spine went rigid, the heat that had summoned seconds ago quickly diminishing with his words, but she wouldn’t let him see the doubt twisting in her stomach.

Her chin lifted, willing herself to be strong, to not crumple at his harshness.

“I can handle it.”

His mouth twitched - whether in amusement or warning, shecouldn’t tell - but his gaze made her feel like he could see right through her.

“Good,” he said quietly, his body looming, burying her in his shadow. “You’ll need more than that attitude to survive what’s coming.”

She matched his stare, her knees clicking into place as the scent of wood and pine filled her nostrils.

“Now, let’s see what you're made of.”

Pulling his own wooden sword from his leathers, he fashioned it close, and she knew she would be a fool to think it would be any less dangerous than steel in his hand.

"Show me your grip.” His voice was low as he looked at her.

Sylvie nodded, her heart pounding hard in her chest as she lifted her training blade once more. Her fingers twitched on the hilt as she tried to remember how he had placed her hands, but she could sense his disapproval, etched into his expression without him needing to say a word. His eyes - those eyes of molton honey - squared on her ruthlessly, while his lips remained pressed in a flat line.

He tilted his head, stepping into her space, his breath warm against her skin. “You won’t take a single hit like this.”

His hand adjusted her grip again roughly, his fingers lingering just long enough to make her heart race.

Heat once again rose in her chest. Embarrassment, frustration, and something else she couldn’t quite place burned in her veins.

His intensity, his cold detachment - it both terrified her and yet sparked her alive.

“Now let’s work on your form.”

Stepping back, he took his wooden blade in hand, angling it outward. She watched as his body bent slightly towards the earth, digging in his heels. “Your stance is just as important as your grip.” His eyes met hers. “You must be able to hold your ground. If your foundation wavers, you’ll lose your balance at the first blow, and leave yourself vulnerable.”

He shuffled his feet, moving in graceful strides, all whilekeeping his eyes forward and blade arched. “When faced with an opponent, one should be able to move quickly, but also maintain their stance at all times.”

He demonstrated the footwork again, moving in an almost inhuman grace, his muscles coiled - ready.

Sylvie swallowed, tightening her grip until the worn wood bit into her palm. She planted her feet, mimicking what he had shown her, but she couldn’t fight the wave of uncertainty that seemed to overtake. She felt like one of the fumbling children she had seen practicing sparring in the village square, and even then she was sure they had more capability and instinct for the blade than her.

She looked up, meeting his steady gaze, searching for his approval but found none.

“Let’s put it to the test.” He nodded in her direction as he moved in. Slowly he raised his hands before they came to her shoulders, giving her fair warning before he gave them a firm push. Instantly she teetered, and she barely had time to gasp before she hit the ground, the breath rushing from her lungs.

Axel’s shadow loomed over her. "You’re too rigid.” He held out his hand. “Engage your muscles, but keep pliable.”

Frustration burned through her as he hoisted her back up. Brushing dirt from her palms she took position again, his words echoing.

His boot nudged at her feet, testing their firmness, his hand once more coming to her shoulders and giving a light shove. But this time when he moved in, she stayed planted, her weight adjusting to absorb the force.

"Better," he nodded, and her eyes gleamed at his approval.

Maybe she could do something right.

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