I can’t keep thinking these things, can’t keep strolling aimlessly through pretty gardens and pretending I belong here. So I leap over a few hedges, wiggle between a row of tightly placed evergreens—and pop out in a wonderful, wonderful place.
The noises of battle surround me, soldiers grunting and swords clanging and arrows twanging through the wind. Men in various states of undress leap around each other, sparring with weapons or fists in roped-off rings. Behind them all, a barn stretches in both directions, doors thrown open sporadically along the wall, horses whinnying from within and more men carrying stacks of armor in and out.
Cordell’s training grounds.
Which means … I can shoot things.
A range sits on the far left, at least two dozen targets set up alongside a few tall wooden poles for ax throwing and javelins. Some soldiers hurl daggers, knives, others fire good old-fashioned bows, and still more fire crossbows, gleaming metal things that make me giggle just as excitedly as Rose and Mona did over my ball gown.
I can feel my chakram pressing into my shoulder blades, begging to join the fun. So I step up to the range, pull the chakram out, wind back, and let it sing through the wind. The blade spins down the line, nicks the top part of a wooden pole, and whips back up the row until it thwacks to a stop in my palm. A rush of relief descends over me.
“Meira?”
I turn and my chakram tips to the side, itching in my hand, ready to throw and throw until I hurl away every bit of the past few days. But I just stand there, eyes narrowing to hide the fact that my initial reaction is to gape at Theron’s bare expanse of glistening skin. He’s shirtless—and it’s clear that Cordell subjects its men to rigorous chest exercises.
He leaves a group of soldiers by the barn, their bodies angled slightly toward us and their mouths open mid-conversation. Each of them stands sweaty and armed, swords and knives dangling absently from their hands and belts.
And Theron is no different. He slides a sword into a sheath at his waist, an amused smile making my already warm face heat up even more. All the soldiers around us have stopped shooting, their heads tilted in such a way I can tell they aren’t exactly used to women showing up on their field. Or hitting their targets.
Theron nods at the chakram. “A fine Autumnian creation. My aunt sent us a shipment of them shortly after her wedding. Your weapon of choice?”
Yes, throwing. Something safe to focus on. Safer than, say, the way the Crown Prince of Cordell’s arm flexes as he hefts an ax out of the ground beside me.
In response, I reposition myself in front of the pole and let the chakram loose. It whirls through the air in a beautiful arc and brushes across the target, a hair off from my last hit, before flying back to me. Sweet snow, that feels good.
I look up at Theron. “And yours?”
Theron sizes up the ax in his hand. He looks around us, taking in all the still-gaping men and the fact that many of them are now pointing at my pole and shaking their heads in wonder.
“Why should I give away my greatest strength so soon?” Theron looks back at me with a teasing grin, and my grip on the chakram’s handle tightens involuntarily, as if that’s the only thing keeping me up under his smile.
“First day as Cordellan royalty, and you’re already terrifying the soldiers.”
Mather’s voice knocks into me from behind. The sudden barrage of Theron in front of me with Mather closing in makes me feel like I’m caught weaponless on a battlefield.
Mather. King Mather. King Mather who negotiated the deal that makes me look at Theron and feel terrified and nervous and lit up all at once.
I turn on him, mouth full of all kinds of nasty, steaming curses, curses befitting a rugged soldier, not a lady. But everything I want to say dies the instant I see him. Because—mother of all that is cold—he’s shirtless too, with only the locket half dangling around his throat and his freckled skin reflecting the sheen of a good workout. Not that I haven’t seen him shirtless before, but it isn’t a sight I’ll ever get used to. He was obviously sparring with some of the men—I must’ve glided right by him, grouping his half-naked body in with all the other half-naked bodies. In my defense, there are a lot of good examples of Cordell’s training rituals here. Mather’s abs and arms, which look like they could snap a cow’s neck, aren’t that impressive next to Theron and three dozen soldier bodies.
I force myself to meet Mather’s eyes. And immediately find myself staring at his chest. I swallow and grind my teeth together. All right, clearly the training yard is kept behind a wall of evergreens to keep out gawking girls—like me.
“Did they outlaw shirts in Cordell?” I mumble, and face the target, tipping my head down to my chakram to hide the blush creeping bit by bit up my neck.