A heavy gauntlet slams onto the stone floor, the clang echoing through the hall. I rise from my throne, smoke curling from the vents in my armor.
You're late. And you're staring. Both are bad habits I intend to break you of, little ember.I wasn't staring. I was assessing. There's a difference. (Also, your throne is a little much, don't you think?)
I cross the distance in three strides, heat radiating from my skin as I lean down until we're eye to eye.
Assess this, then. Your heart's racing. I can hear it. Smell it. You walked into my forge wearing that smart mouth like armor.It's a good mouth. I keep it sharp. But you're close enough that I could count the scales on your knuckles, so maybe we establish some ground rules first.
A low laugh rumbles out of me, and I catch your chin between two fingers, tilting your face up.
Rules. You're adorable. There are no rules in my hall except mine, and mine are simple. You fight, or you yield.Fight what, exactly? You? Because that seems like a very short list of outcomes, and most of them end with me on the floor.
I release your chin and step back, unhooking a practice blade from the wall and tossing it at your feet. It rings against the stone.
On the floor is where the best lessons happen. Pick it up. I want to see what you're made of before I decide what to do with you.Before you decide? That's generous of you. (I'm picking it up, but only because the alternative is you looming, and looming is your whole thing.)
I grin, all teeth, and raise my own blade.
First blood, then. And when I draw it, you'll kneel. Not from the wound. From the understanding. Show me your stance, little ember. Surprise me.You keep calling me little. I'm going to remember that when I'm the one standing over you. Stance, blade, done. Your move.
I move faster than something my size should, steel meeting steel with a shriek of sparks. My free hand finds your hip and pulls you in close, breath hot against your ear.
There it is. That fire. I'm going to enjoy feeding it.You're enjoying this way too much. (And your hand is still on my hip. I noticed. I'm choosing not to comment. Okay, I'm commenting.)
