Page 27 of The Dragon King

Arvun chuckles, the sound keeping time with our descending steps. “I don’t think you have to worry about being left to your own devices tonight.” I almost stumble, my small human feet scrambling to catch on the next step as Arvun continues, “Being newly mated is intense, or so I’ve been told. He won’t be able to stay away.”

I duck my head, trailing my hand along the cool stone wall. Am I losing my identity? Will I forever be known as the King’s mate? Is that all I am now?

My spiraling thoughts and the winding stairs begin to make me dizzy, but we finally reach the bottom, and my mouth falls open as I cross the room.

‘Room’ is too simple a word. A giant space spills out before me. Columns of white and gold marble hold up the ceiling that stretches so far overhead, shadows obscure just how high this room soars. The stone floor spreads before us, occasionally dotted with worn carpets in what looks like different sparring areas. An apricot haired man moves through a warmup stretch far off to the left. A pair of people spar on a carpet further into the room. Their claw-tipped hands swipe with deadly precision, their colorful hair a blur with their movements. A rack of weapons glimmers to my right, and a sky-blue-haired woman sits on a low cushion, cleaning a row of blades. It’s strange to see weapons here. Dragons consider ourselves the weapon in battle, even in human form. My father raised me to believe forged weapons were beneath us. The woman’s eyes flick to us briefly before dropping back to her task.

Arvun must notice my lingering expression. “Some of us like to train with weapons, especially those of us who routinely go off world. We may not use them often, but it helps to be versed in how each feels and moves. Knowledge always gives you an edge.”

I nod. That makes sense.

Further down the wall, there’s an open chest containing wraps and gloves, along with salves and cleaning agents.

Despite the others in this room, the space is quiet, the clanking of steel, and the thud of punches seem muted as they get lost in the towering height of the room.

I’m pulled from my wandering observations by Arvun’s voice. “So, where do you want to start?”

I smile, excitement building. “What were you planning to do today?”

“I was going to work on blade drills, but since you’re here, wanna spar?”

“Hand to hand?”

Arvun shrugs out of her armor, the leather and metal thudding against the floor. “Oh, I knew I’d like you.”

I match her grin as we head toward a large rug. It’s worn, the pattern nearly gone in places where countless feet have shuffled over its surface. But it’s surprisingly soft under my boots, cushioning my steps from the hard stone.

I kick my boots off, flinging them to the side, and Arvun does the same. Crossing my left foot before my right, I pace in a slow circle around the edge of the rug, and Arvun mirrors me. I flex my toes, feeling strength carry up my calves, into my thighs, and stabilizing my core. My dragon strength is here, I just have to learn how to use it within my human form.

Arvun is giving me time. She’s watching me. She’s learning me … how I move, what my weaknesses are.

I prefer to learn by doing, so I dig my left foot into the rug, catching traction in the rough weave, and launch at Arvun. She smiles as she charges to meet me, and I smile in answer.

Our fists fly, rarely making contact at first. We each swing a few kicks, dodging and ducking. Before long, sweat beads my skin, sticking my thigh-length dress to me. With every pivot, every punch, every kick … I get more comfortable with my body, and Arvun loses her playfulness as she realizes she now has to concentrate against my attacks.

Power flows from my core as I land a punch to her ribs. I spin to avoid her roundhouse kick, but she clips me on the shoulder.

Around and around we dance. I lose track of how long we spar, measuring time in punches landed, in bruises forming from Arvun’s landed blows. Sweat drips from my skin, soaking into the rug, and Arvun’s silver hair has darkened to a metal gray with the sweat that plasters her short hair to her head.

With my next attack, I feint right, push left, and spring off the floor. My momentum carries me up her body, and I wrap my leg around her neck, throwing my body to the side and down. We spin, and I bring her to the mat, following my momentum to land kneeling on her chest. Her eyes are wide, but she smiles as she slams an arm between my thighs and flips me on my back. I land with a thud, but instead of following through with a punch to my gut like I would have done, she rolls away and jumps to her feet.

I do the same, and as we circle each other again, a slow clap pauses our movement.

I know it’s him before I turn, and when I do, there’s Kem, his skin blending with the natural shadows of the room as he stalks toward us. Wiping a hand down my face, my breath hitches for a whole new reason as I watch his muscled body approach.

Arvun bows. “Your Majesty.”

“Ziza figured you lost track of time down here. I told her I’d send you on your way when I came to fetch my Mate.” I swallow, managing to peel my eyes from Kem, looking around the large space. It’s empty, and the lack of windows steals any indication of the time of day. “The dinner hour has come and gone. Come, Tatha. Let’s let Arvun get to her wife.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Arvun. I didn’t realize it was so late. Please, extend my apologies to Ziza.”

Arvun laughs, hooking her armor over her shoulder. “I would have stopped our session had I wanted to. Ziza can afford to practice patience. I was having fun.”

I smile. “Me too. Thank you.”

Arvun moves toward the staircase. “My pleasure. I’d love to spar with you again, Tatha. Anytime.”

“I’d like that as well.”

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