Page 64 of Crown of the Courtesan

“She is my business.”

He pivots sharply on his heel, his glare burning into me. “You wish to train? Yes?”

“Ash,” Valora protests, “she’s⁠—”

He pulls a steel sword from the weapon box, the clanking of metal drowning out Valora’s voice. He pushes it into my clenched palm. I can barely grasp it before he reaches toward his back and draws his own sword, the midnight blade reflecting its wine-colored hues in the harsh light.

I freeze.

Fighting him is the last thing I want to do, but it appears he’s giving me no choice.

My sword trembles in my grip; my palms grow slick.

Not waiting for a response, Ashland lunges without warning, his first blow nearly knocking me off my feet. I stumble, my pulse thundering. He’s not holding back.

This is no training session.

It’s an unleashing.

I don’t even attempt to strike at him. My only half-thought-out strategy is moving and ducking quickly out of the path of the ruthless blows—all my dancing lessons paying off with strained agility.

By some miracle, I deflect a few of his strikes, making my shoulder muscles feel as if they will rip out of my arm sockets. He increases his ferocity, pushing us away from where we started. Panic rises in my throat as I trip and fall to the ground, scraping my hands and knees against the flagstones. He could end everything in a single move—he could end me.

I brace, dread spiraling tightly in my chest as he allows me time to stumble to my feet. More sweat runs down my face as I ache from the strain of holding and swinging the heavy blade. If Ashland’s trying to make a point, he’s succeeded, like the bastard he is.

The whispers crash in my mind like a deafening roar until I can’t hear anything else.

He doesn’t stop.

And neither does the noise inside my head.

“Please!” I gasp, swinging my sword wildly. “Please, stop!”

Metal meets metal, but my desperation spikes as the two blades collide. An explosion of magic and sparks erupts between our bodies, sending both of us flying in an arc through the air. I land on a half-rotted hay bale while he crashes onto his back on the ground, his armor crunching and grinding beneath him. Smoke clouds the air and burns my nostrils as a hush falls over the courtyard.

Groaning, Ashland rolls over and slowly rises to his feet. With his hands outstretched, he searches for balance and growls, “What did I say about using magic?”

“I d-didn’t d-do it on purpose.” I clutch my ribs, my breathing erratic.

Valora steps forward and interjects, “Don’t blame the girl for your stupidity.” Her eyes flash to the iridescent pommel, and she lets unspoken words fall. “She’s a natural talent, same as her mother.”

“You flatter her when you know I used restraint. Talent is an overstatement,” he says, a cold edge to his voice.

The whispers return as a low hum. I’m dizzier than ever as I process their words.

He spits blood onto the ground and barks, “Get inside. We have a meeting with the commanders.” After rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck, he bends down to retrieve his fallen sword and sheathes it with one smooth slide.

Straw pokes through my dress, and my scraped hands sting. I force myself upright, wobbling as my ears adjust to the ringing from the explosion. My side hurts as I stagger after him through the arched entrance.

Despite my difficulty keeping pace through the castle, Ashland doesn’t slow his stride. My legs practically have to skip down the corridor to keep up with him until we reach the meeting room at the far end. He stops abruptly and opens the iron door to the chamber, where whiskered commanders sit around a long table.

I groan inwardly. Another kingdom, another group of men who will undoubtedly make everything uncomfortable. Or difficult. Or both.

Ashland pushes me through the doorway. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

My eyes grow wide.

He wants me alone with them?