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She charged at him. He dodged her hasty blow, then went for one of his own—calculating, cool, and precise. With his expression alone, Thicket knew he would land it—and that she would feel it deep in the soles of her feet.

Teeth gritting, she shed her sword from his, and lunged forward again. Marcellus shifted to block her attack, but she feinted, darting to the left at the last second.

Clang!

His blade crashed into hers. Thicket clenched her jaw. Marcellus leaned forward, chilled breath curling in the space between them. “Don’t let frustration get in the way. There is a fine balance between deriving strength from your emotions and being reckless.” He pushed her away, sending her stumbling back.

Thicket’s arms shook with the effort to keep her sword upright. She hadn’t beat him a single time since they had started sparring, which also meant she hadn’t gotten a single answer out of him. This was her last day before she would be expected to march to Sleeria, marking the start of her final battle with Lavender.

She wanted to make the most of it.

She wanted to win at least once.

Thicket examined his stance, searching for any openings. Rushing at someone as experienced as him wouldn’t get her anywhere, especially when her body was already at her limit. Four days was not nearly enough time to best Marcellus off pure skill alone. She imagined if he had wanted to, Marcellus could have knocked the sword from her hand within the first minute. She had gotten better, but not good enough to be able to stand toe to toe with him.

Thicket’s stance shifted as it dawned on her. Beating him with pure skill wasn’t the point…

The whole reason Thicket had asked Marcellus to train her to use a sword so she had options. It was never to replace her magic, which was the whole reason Marcellus had made it one of the contingencies.

If she wanted to beat him, she would have to be tricky, just as Lavender had been when she had bested Thicket.

Thicket adjusted her stance and tightened her grip. Marcellus’ eye latched onto the shift, muscles bunching in anticipation. Thicket dug her boots into the grass, summoning the remaining dregs of her strength to propel her forward. As she did, she whispered, doing her best not to let her lips move, “Vynt yt zel.”

Her blade collided with Marcellus’. He grunted as the force of her sword weighed his down. His breath hitched in surprise, noticing the ripple of air surrounding her blade, making it heavier than it should have been.

He twisted his sword, detaching it from hers and stepped back—only to trip on a mound of raised dirt.

Marcellus toppled off balance, falling to the ground. Thicket took her opportunity and swung down. Marcellus managed to shield at the last second. Thicket put her knee on his stomach and leaned forward, pressing her blade harder into him. “How was that?” she panted.

Marcellus nodded, face unsmiling but soft. “Better.” He grabbed the collar of her shirt and tugged her close to him. She yelped in surprise. “But not good enough.”

With one fluid motion he grabbed her ankle, propped his foot on her thigh, hooked his other foot around her other ankle, and pulled. Thicket lost her balance and her back hit the ground. Marcellus leaned over her, his sword angled above her heart.

He smirked. “I win.”

Thicket smirked right back. “Zel.” The ground around Marcellus’ feet rose up to his knees and solidified, locking him in place. She stood and brushed the dust off her pants before knocking the sword from his grip, sending it tumbling out of reach. She grinned, angling the tip of her blade at his throat. “Now I win.”

Marcellus stared at her with an expression she couldn’t quite place. Then, he laughed—laughed. It transformed his face, softening his otherwise sharp features, making him appear like an entirely new person. It took her a minute to shake away the sight and scowl. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” His lips were still spread into a smile—a true smile, not one of his taunts, making her heart stutter. “It looks like I owe you an answer.”

Thicket blinked. She had been so focused on finally beating him, she hadn’t stopped to think about what she wanted to ask him.

“Thicket!”

She whirled at the sound of her name.

One of the Dymrian horses galloped towards them. Elian waved from its back, grinning from ear to ear. Thicket watched him dismount, stunned. “Elian! What are you doing here?”

“Caspian sent me.” He wrapped his hands around her arms and looked at her as though she were the most impressive thing he had ever seen. “That was amazing!”

“Oh, it was nothing,” she said, ducking her head. “I kind of cheated at the end.”

“No rules were stated at the beginning of the match saying you couldn’t use magic,” Marcellus said, arms crossed. “You used every tool in your arsenal to win, as it should be in a real fight. To think otherwise is to put unnecessary limitations on yourself.”

Thicket pinched her lips, fighting the grin that came at realizing she had won. She glanced up at Marcellus. “Thank you.”

Marcellus’ mouth parted, looking momentarily taken aback. “You don’t need to thank me, Princess.”