Fractured Resolve

Vexaria spent the rest of the morning convincing herself that Xypheron's words meant nothing.

That the heat in his gaze, the quiet promise in his touch, was nothing more than another one of his manipulations.

And yet, her hands still trembled.

She had fought countless battles, faced men who sought to break her, but none had ever made her feel this—this dangerous, unwelcome awareness. Xypheron was unlike any opponent she had faced. He didn't use brute force to bend her will. No, he was patient, precise. He wielded words like a blade, carving into the spaces she kept guarded, forcing her to feel things she had long buried.

It infuriated her.

By midday, she had enough of her own thoughts and sought solace in the training grounds, where the clash of steel and the sting of combat would silence everything else.

She stripped down to her tunic, grabbed a sword, and threw herself into the fight.

Each swing, each parry, was a battle against the voice in her head whispering his name. She fought until sweat slicked her skin, until her arms ached, until she felt like herself again.

Or at least, she thought she did.

Until she turned and found him watching.

Xypheron stood at the edge of the grounds, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

Vexaria gritted her teeth. "Do you make a habit of lurking, or is it just me?"

He smirked. "If you didn't want an audience, you wouldn't put on such a show."

Her fingers curled around the hilt of her sword. "If you came here to taunt me, you're wasting your time."

"Oh, I never waste my time, Vexaria." He stepped onto the training ground, his boots kicking up dust. "I was merely curious."

She exhaled sharply. "About what?"

Xypheron tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something dangerous. "You fight like someone trying to forget."

A cold rush of fury spread through her.