Page 56 of The Witch Queen

“You must miss her,” I say softly, and her eyes sparkle with tears for a moment, but she clears them before they fall.

“Yes. It’s been difficult without her counsel.” And just like that, her mask is back in place, the window into the real Laurel slammed shut. She changes the subject quickly. “What’s next in our practice drills, oh great instructor?” she asks with a teasing tone not reflected in her eyes.

“Well, now that you’ve mastered the basics that most light channelers learn before they’re twenty, we’ll start some more advanced drills.” I smirk.

“You said it took you years to learn how to do that!” she protests.

“It did, they just happened to be years when I was very young.” She only rolls her eyes, but this time, there’s a grin on her face that even she cannot shutter away.

“You’ve mastered the basic forms and moving between them,” I explain once we’ve finished our lunch. “Now we spar. Fighting is a dance. You need to shift between forms on instinct. And all that shit I told you aboutbelievingthe light can slice through things? Forget that. I don’t want you nicking me.” She rolls her eyes. “I assume you’ve been taught to fight with weapons? I haven’t actually seen you use anything but magic to defend yourself.”

“I was raised as the heir to a throne, forced into a war at twenty-years old, then lived in fear of another war for three hundred years. I know how to use a sword,” she snaps back. I give her a half-smile to hide my own horror at her response, my grief for who she’s been forced to become.

“Then use everything you’ve learned, but just make the weapons out of light. Light sparring is better and different, because you have every type of weapon at your disposal. A long sword can instantly become a dagger when the fighting gets close but can morph into a shield when you need it.”

She nods, then creates a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. “Let’s get started, princeling,” she teases, and a primal instinct washes over me, excited to spar with her. But the excitement that heats my core differs from the jolt of energy I feel when I spar with Fionn or Silene. It’s a challenge and a soothing caress all at once, like there’s something I’ve been waiting for, and it will finally click into place when we spar. I conjure a sword and dagger of my own, then launch myself at her.

She blocks me with her sword, then swipes her dagger, demonstrating competent weapons wielding. But I’m better and faster. I spin, easily avoiding her slice and moving behind her. I wrap my arm around her waist, then hold my dagger to her throat. Her ass brushes against my upper thighs, and I breathe heavily with the effort of keeping a respectable distance between us.

“You should have shifted your sword into a shield to block,” I whisper into her nape, and she shivers. “It would have allowed you to use my momentum against me. Plus, we’re trying to develop instinctually shifting between forms. Don’t rely on the weapons as they are. Morph them into what you need.” I release her, instantly feeling the absence of her in my arms, and she stalks away, her own deep breaths making her breasts lift in a rhythm that draws my eyes. I forcefully wrench my gaze to her face, which is fixed with determination.

“Got it. Ready for another round?” she asks, eyes bright.

I lunge again, this time with my dagger, trying to bring her into a fight at close quarters so I can touch her again. She lets me get the dagger inches from her midriff before her left hand makes a small shield and forces me back. Her other hand swings her sword toward me. She’s taken control of the fight, and my cock twitches as I imagine her taking control ofothersituations. But I don’t intend to let her keep the upper hand for long.

“Good,” I tell her as I spin out of the way, conjuring two swords in either hand. I feint with one arm, and when she blocks with her sword, I bring my other arm around in a wide arc towards her left side. She instantly forms a shield in her left hand to block me on both fronts. “You’re getting the hang of it! Ready for me to move faster?”

“Faster?” she gasps, incredulous.

“This is nothing,” I tell her with cocky confidence. “Next lesson—don’t let your opponent see the weapon you’re going to use until it’s too late for them to block.” I spin again, lunging for her with no weapon in either hand. When I get close, I conjure a short sword. She avoids it by spinning away from me, but then I send orbs of light that resemble throwing stars toward her. Her eyes widen, and one of them hits her square in the chest.

She stumbles, hand going over her heart. She’s panting, and her eyes look up at me in confusion. “Why didn’t that hurt?”

“Light can just be light. It doesn’t have to wound. I didn’t put enough concentrated aether into it to hurt you. But you sure thought I did, didn’t you?” I ask with a snicker.

“Bastard,” she mutters.

“You need to shield faster. Now you won’t make that mistake anymore.” I wave my hand toward her. “Again.”

We continue sparring for hours. She gets better but still isn’t shifting fast enough to keep up with me. After what has to be the hundredth time I catch her off guard, she yells in frustration while I still have her pressed against my body. This time, I have to release her quickly, not wanting her to feel how her primal roar affects me.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. I’ve been doing this for hundreds of years. You won’t master this in an afternoon. Plus, most people you’d be fighting won’t actually be able to change their weapons out with a thought. They’ll be stuck using the same thing they start with. Metal has its own challenges, but fighting another light channeler is infinitely harder.”

“Then why aren’tyouusing real weapons?” she snaps, clearly annoyed.

“Because I can tell the light not to hurt you if you don’t shield or block quick enough. I can’t do the same with a metal weapon. This is the safest way to train.” She only huffs. She knows I’m right but doesn’t want to admit it. “Let’s take a break. We’ve been going for hours. You must be exhausted.”

“And you aren’t?”

“Hate to break it to you, witchling, but I grew up training with Fionn. He’s the only one who can really tire me.” As if my words conjured the bulky male, he and Silene enter the training room.

“Damn right,” Fionn says smugly. “Thorne here tries so hard to beat me, it’s cute.”

I roll my eyes. “I can beat you sometimes.” Fionn only huffs a grunt. “Should we give Laurel here a demonstration?” I ask, and he smiles wide. Two swords from the training rack fly across the room into his hand.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he says, then barrels toward me.

Laurel

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