Page 46 of Iron Beneath the Snow

Frostvein trained its daughters differently. Not as frontline warriors, but never as something fragile either. They were taught precision instead of brute force, efficiency instead of display.

Soren entered her range without warning.

No testing strike. No courtesy.

He simply attacked.

She caught the blow at the last moment, the impact running sharply through her wrist. He did not give her time to recover. The pressure followed immediately—not overwhelming, but deliberate, as though he were mapping her reactions rather than trying to break them.

She adjusted.

Shifted her weight.

Answered.

He stepped back half a pace.

Then came again.

This time, she read the movement in his shoulder before the strike fully formed, and their blades met cleanly, the crack echoing against stone.

A low murmur moved along the edge of the yard—not noise, but recognition.

He increased his speed.

She matched it.

The cold faded into irrelevance. Sweat gathered at her temples, her breathing sharpened, steadied.

He was stronger. That much was clear.

But more dangerous than that—he was studying her. Tracking patterns, noting repetition, testing the edges of what she relied on.

She saw the exact moment he recognized Frostvein structure in her footwork.

“Predictable,” he said quietly.

She exhaled, steady despite the strain.

“Only if you’ve already decided what I’ll do next.”

His expression did not shift, but the next strike came lower, angled differently.

She blocked too late. The force drove her back two steps.

At the edge of the yard, a few wolves shifted, ready to intervene if necessary.

Soren did not allow the movement at the edge of the circle to develop into interference. He closed the distance instead, pressing forward with renewed intent, and Eira met him just as firmly, no longer tempering her movements for the sake of control.

Whatever restraint had shaped her earlier responses did not disappear, but it hardened into something less accommodating, less willing to yield. Their wooden blades collided again and again, the sharp impacts carrying through her arms and into her shoulders, each strike demanding adjustment rather than hesitation.

“You fight like you’re protecting something,” he said, his voice steady despite the force behind his movements.

Eira stepped deeper into his range, forcing him to meet her at closer quarters instead of controlling the distance.

“I am.”

His next motion tested her balance rather than her guard. “What exactly?”