Page 37 of Of Storm and Emerald
“Shit. Wait, are you just going to stand here and watch?” Aiden asked incredulously.
Daemon’s smirk was the only answer, as he directed his attention back to the training field and the two women upon it.
“When round two starts, you may both use the weapons you possess. Also, Your Highness, since you now possess magic, you may now use it.”
“What?!” The woman with black hair screeched, throwing her arms in the air.
“Ser Aeron, I don’t think that’s such a great idea,” Auraelia chimed in.
“Whether you think it’s a good idea or not, it’smytraining pitch, and what I say goes. Got it?”
The women nodded, and grumbled a short, “Got it,” in response.
“Your Highness, you need to learn to wield your magic in combat, and we both know she is one of the last people that you would ever intentionally hurt. So, you can andwilluse your abilities. But keep in mind, she gets hers in a fortnight.”
Both women grinned at that, and it was then that Daemon realized who was opposing Auraelia on the pitch.
“Fuck, is that Piper?” It seemed as if he and Aiden had come to that realization at the same moment.
“Would you shut up?” Daemon hissed through his teeth.
Aiden threw his hands up in surrender, as they both turned their attention back to the two noble women who were about to come to blows.
“Rule number four: First one knocked out of the dirt, loses.”
When both women nodded in agreement to the rules, the man in charge of the exercise called for fighting stances, then raised and dropped his arm, signaling them to begin.
As the women circled each other, gauging when and where to make their first strike, Daemon took the opportunity to take in this side of Auraelia. The few times that they interacted, she was either in a ballgown or naked and writhing beneath him. So, this was a new side. One that he relished the sight of.
Her hair was pulled away from her face into a series of braids. There was a large loose one down the middle and two smaller and tighter ones down each side of her head, then they were all joined together in a braid that fell down to her waist. Her outfit was simple but accentuated all of his favorite places.
Her black corset was more casual than he had previously seen her in—or out of as the case may be—and the way it cinched her torso made her breasts swell over the top. The crisp white of her tunic was a stunning contrast to her sun kissed skin, and her black leather breeches formed to the luscious curves of her hips and accentuated the fullness of her backside. Her boots stopped above her knee and had a small heel with laces that ran the entirety of the shoe.
How in the hell does she fight in heels?
She even had a dagger sheathed to her thigh. Every inch of her was intoxicating, but seeing her block blow after blow, all while countering with strikes of her own, sent all of the blood in his body south.
“Round two, ladies…fighting stance…begin,” the man bellowed.
With round two starting, Daemon descended the rest of the stairs. But instead of heading to the stables, he walked toward the training field.
“You’vegotto be kidding me…” Aiden huffed behind him from the bottom step.
“You go on ahead. I’ll catch up.”
Daemon monitored his pace. Even though he was eager to see the look on her face when he showed up, he didn’t want to distract her to the point where she lost.
Coming up to the pitch, he went to stand next to the man in charge. A man, who from a distance looked large, but the closer he got to him the more he realized how much of an underestimate that was. Though he seemed to only be an inch or so taller, his size was intimidating. His arms were the size of tree trunks, and he did not look pleased to see Daemon standing there.
Daemon extended his hand, “Prince Daemon of the Sapphire Isles.”
The man’s eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of his title, throwing Daemon for a loop. He withdrew his hand, running it through his hair before he crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall.
“And you are?” Daemon prodded as he watched the women continue to spar. Neither woman had drawn their weapon yet, and it seemed as if his reluctant companion was growing frustrated.
“Ser Aeron, Commander of the Queen’s Army,” he finally responded in a curt tone.
“Ladies, if you don’t follow the rules, you’ll be mucking stables. I don’t think her majesty would appreciate the smell of equine shit filling the council chambers this afternoon. Auraelia, that goes for magic too.”
