Page 121 of The Burning Mountain
By his estimate, Chandra should have been tiring by now, but she continued to fight, her anger fueling her stamina.
The bare curve of her waist, beaded with sweat, and the naked expanse of her skin was distracting.
Veer paid for his lapse in concentration to appreciate her beauty. Her sword opened a line of fire at his chest.
She stopped, shocked.
He had suffered worse at the hands of his friends. Point to her, though, for drawing first blood.
Taking advantage of her shock, he struck again. But she rallied quickly, meeting his sword thrust with a defensive move. Their blades locked.
In strength or stamina, she’d be no match for him. Veer didn’t fool himself though, he had an unfair advantage—she had been practicing for hours before their fight. But Veer was never one to play fair, so he pressed his upper hand and pinned her against a wall.
“Concede, Princess,” he said. And then couldn’t resist adding, “You know I can make surrender feel so good.”
She punched him with her free hand.
He stumbled back a few steps in surprise.
“That was a dirty trick, Princess. Not your usual method,” he said, dabbing at the blood on his lower lip.He wondered how she would react if he told her that far from cooling, that injury only served to inflame his ardor.
“Learned from a rogue that tricks have their uses when I’m dealing with one.”
They parted and engaged their swords again. But Veer brought it to a swift end by pinning her against the wall.
His sword was level with her neck. She swallowed. Her lungs worked like bellows, her breath coming out in pants. He could feel the tremor in her arms from fatigue.
“Surrender, Princess. This isn’t a game anymore.”
“It never was, Prince Veer,” she said, her eyes shining, as she finally allowed him to see the hurt inside. She held his gaze andturned her head, the deliberate movement causing a shallow cut on her neck from the sharp edge of the blade.
Veer watched the trickle of blood seep down from the wound, his control slipping.
He used his free hand to anchor her head, twisting her braid around his wrist, keeping her in place. He struck the sword into the pillar, right beside her face, bits of stone showering on them from the impact.
Neither of them paid it any mind, each seemingly lost in the other, oblivious to the world.
“I get it, all right. My words wound you, and I can’t tell you how much I’ve regretted it since,” said Veer, past a clenched jaw. “But don’t you dare injure yourself to punish me,” he said, swiping a trickle of blood with his thumb.
Her mouth compressed in mutiny, although there was a slight softening in her body at his apology. She averted her eyes to a point over his shoulder.
“My apology is sincere, Princess. Tell me what I should do to make amends.”
She brought her gaze back to him. “Give me your word, Veer. I want a place by your side. A share in your responsibilities, the same respect I give to your opinions. Give me the honor of being your wife, your equal.”
Veer’s eyes widened at her words. She surprised him at every turn.
“If you have a reason that I disagree with, then convince me. Make me listen. Don’t push me aside or give me excuses or use your clout as a husband over me. That is what I wish for. Not an apology, but a promise.”
“You have it,” he whispered, bringing his palm over his heart.
They stared at each other, the air twisting between them with promise.
“Am I forgiven now, Princess?” he asked, ghosting his fingers over her cheek tentatively, fully expecting to be thrust aside.
Instead, she kissed him.
Her arms twined round his neck, as unwilling to let go as he was. He tightened his fist around the braid, pulling her up for a better, deeper angle of the kiss.
