Page 67 of The Death King
“It’s old.”
“Can I have some new, non-ugly armor to wear?” She lifted her chin to look at me. “Something like that.”
“My servants will see to it. But for now, this is what you’re wearing.”
She took everything then sat on the windowsill, putting on each piece and taking a long time because she’d never fastened armor to her body before. By the time she stood up, she swayed slightly. “Shit, this is heavy.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“I don’t think I’ll get used to ugly male armor.”
I grabbed a sword and handed it to her.
She took it, her arm immediately dropping from the weight before she got used to it. She examined the blade in her hand, a two-handed gilded sword with an ornate finish. A ruby was in the hilt that was tarnished with age. She turned it over several times, admiring the weapon even though it’d been sitting in that closet for a decade.
I walked to the center of the room then unsheathed my blade. “I’ll show you the basics. Once you’ve mastered that, we’ll train.”
“Should I feel honored you didn’t pawn off my training on some poor soldier?” She gripped the pommel with both hands and tested the blade, slowly slicing through the air to watch the way it moved.
“You won’t fight like a soldier. You’ll fight like a dragonian—so I’m the only one who can teach you.”
Her body was lean and toned from working in the desert the last seven years, but she lacked the strength to handle her armor and the weight of the two-handed sword. My armorer would have to construct specific armor for her build and a weapon that could inflict the same amount of damage with a fraction of the weight.
Her forehead carried a sheen of sweat, and her dark hair clung to the nape of her neck. Her movements were stiffer than they’d been at the beginning of the training. It was obvious she was exhausted, but not once did she complain.
She carried the heavy sword back to the closet and hung it on the rack. Then piece by piece, absent-mindedly, she pulled apart the pieces of her armor and returned them to the rack for someone else to use. She didn’t look at me, too delirious to think about me at all.
“You weren’t bad.”
She slowly turned to me, like she remembered I was still there. “Not bad? I was a fucking joke.”
“For someone who’s had no training whatsoever, you picked up on it very fast—which doesn’t surprise me.” She processed information quickly and didn’t justify her shortcomings. Even if there was no chance of success, she worked hard like she might win. Her dedication was admirable. “When you have a more suitable weapon and armor, it’ll be easier.”
“How did you learn?”
“My father trained me.” I answered her question without thinking it through, sharing a piece of my story I’d rather hide. He’d trained me since I was a boy, wanting to teach me personally because he wouldn’t leave the task to an inferior. He wanted me to learn from the best and be the best—and that training was the reason I was still alive today.
“Was he an expert swordsman?”
The memory of his face always left me with a twinge of sadness. “The best.”
She watched me with her intelligent eyes, clearly wanting more but knowing it would be pointless to push it. “Then I guess I’m in good hands.” When she finished removing her armor, she stepped away, ready to return to our section of the castle.
I walked beside her, and together, we made our way in silence.
When we reached her bedchambers, she immediately walked inside without saying a word to me, closing the door behind her right away.
I didn’t know what I’d expected from her. We’d just trained for several hours. All either of us wanted was a hot shower and a good meal. But I stared at the door for several seconds before I walked past the guards and returned to my bedchambers. Once I was inside, I immediately dropped every piece of armor and returned it to the stand in the closet. My sword was left at my bedside, where I preferred to keep it. But instead of undressing, I stood there and looked at the front door, my mind down the hall with the woman who was probably in a hot shower. It only took a few seconds for me to walk out, move past the guards, and enter her bedchamber without knocking.
I heard the water running from the shower in her bathroom, so I undressed in the living room and left my clothes behind before I opened the door and stepped into the room that already had steam at the ceiling.
She was visible in the glass shower, just standing there with her eyes closed as the warm water cascaded down her flesh. The warmth must have felt nice on her aching muscles, so she stood there and absorbed it.
I watched her for a moment before I opened the door, the cold draft bursting through the crack and striking her.
Her eyes snapped open, and she looked at me as she gave a quiet gasp. “Fuck, you scared me.” She stepped away slightly, getting out of the water and up against the wall. “What the fuck are you doing?”
I stepped under the water and let it soak into my hair and run down my body. The warmth was nice on the flesh, nice on the engorged muscles underneath. “Thought I’d join you.”