Steel rang in the courtyard like thunder.

The clang of our swords had echoed for what felt like hours, sweat pouring down my spine, wrists aching, legs burning. Demetrius didn’t go easy. Not once. Not when I tripped, not when I grunted, not even when my shirt clung to me like a second skin and I could barely breathe from exhaustion.

He kept pushing.

And gods, I kept swinging.

“No distractions,” he said again, circling me like a wolf. “No mercy. Come on, Destiny. Hit me like you *mean* it.”

“You want me to hit you?” I snarled, sidestepping a feint. “I’ll hit you so hard your ancestors feel it.”

He grinned, wicked. “Do it.”

Our swords clashed.

I ducked low, barely missing the curve of his blade, then slid behind him—*finally* using that stupid leg sweep move he kept using on me.

*Crack.*

His knee buckled.

He went down.

And while he caught himself with a hand, I didn’t hesitate. I pressed my blade to the side of his neck, panting.

Demetrius blinked up at me.

I had him.

“You yield?” I asked, barely keeping the smugness out of my voice.

For a second, just a beat, he looked surprised. Then… he laughed. A deep, warm, chest-rumbling laugh that made the hairs on my arms rise.

“I yield,” he said.

I stepped back, still catching my breath, when suddenly—

“YEEEEES!” Abigail shrieked from the sidelines. She jumped up and down like we’d just won a war. “DESTINY JUST SERVED HIM! DEMETRIUS GOT *DECKED* BY A GIRL IN TIGHT PANTS AND A STUBBORN STREAK!”

I was too winded to respond, grinning as I collapsed on the grass. I didn’t even care that it was probably damp and smelled like horse sweat.

Demetrius stood, brushing off his arms. His torso—still very, *very* shirtless—glistened in the sun, and he walked over with that familiar wolfish smirk.

“You finally listened,” he said, voice low.

“Or maybe I just got sick of your cocky ass.”

He knelt beside me. “Both can be true.”

Abigail strolled over, tossing me a canteen and dramatically fanning herself. “I’m *starving*. And I need to eat something that isn’t thirst for your knight.”

Demetrius raised an eyebrow.

“She’s kidding,” I muttered.

“I’m not.”

He stood, offering me a hand, which I took without thinking. When he pulled me up, our bodies were closer than they should’ve been. Close enough to see a scar just under his ribs. Close enough to feel the tension that hadn’t left since yesterday.

He leaned slightly toward my ear.

“You earned it,” he said. “I hope you’re just as good with a blade at your side... when it’s real.”

My stomach flipped.

“Lunch,” Abigail said again, practically dragging me away. “Before you two start sparring with your mouths instead of swords.”

I tripped over my own foot and muttered a curse as we made our way to the shaded side of the courtyard.

As we sat on the bench and I bit into a warm bread roll, Demetrius remained nearby, cleaning off the practice weapons.

He caught me looking.

And winked.

Gods damn him. I was supposed to be *focusing.*

Not fantasizing about what else he could do with those hands.