My eyes darted to Rafe as I tried to keep my face passive. Tristan was right—he was watching us again, and his eyes were like storm clouds when he saw me talking to the fae prince.
Tristan chuckled. “I almost feel sorry for him. I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes.”
I smiled at Tristan’s change of attitude. “So,” I ventured, smiling up at the big fae warrior, “I think it is safe to presume you are not still upset with me?”
He shook his head. “No. I understand why you did what you did. And if it weren’t for my oath, I wouldn’t have agreed to it in the first place.”
I laughed and hugged Tristan. “I can live with that.” And in that moment, I knew we would always remain friends. “But I am glad you don’t find me irritating anymore.” I grinned.
He scowled, but his midnight-blue eyes danced with amusement. “Oh, you are as irritating as ever, Princess,” he drawled. “But I don’t mind putting up with it as long as we are not bound in wedlock.”
Someone cleared her throat as I wriggled out of the hug. I turned to find Ashara standing behind me, her arms crossed and legs apart as she regarded us. “If you two are finished with your . . .” She paused as if trying to find the right word. “. . . training.” She put her hand on her sword and looked at Tristan. “We had a sparring match scheduled, did we not, fae?”
Tristan’s eyes started to swirl with silver stars and narrowed as he regarded Ashara. “Yes, witch. I haven’t forgotten. I thought I would give you a chance to back out.”
Ashara smirked. “I was giving you time to do the same.” She tossed her plaited hair over one shoulder.
Tristan’s jaw tightened. “Not likely,” he said, unstrapping his sword belt and removing his shirt. He drew both his swords, and his muscles glistened in the evening sun.
Ashara smiled, a gleam in her dark eyes as she regarded the Prince of the Night Court in all his glory. She picked up her staff. “Trying to distract me is not going to work, fae,” she said, flushing slightly as she took on a fighting stance, her hands tightening around her staff. “I’m still going to best you.”
Tristan smirked as he twirled his swords effortlessly in his hands and faced her. “We shall see,” he said and launched himself at Ashara as I moved out of the way.
Twilight had started to set in as the sun disappeared past the horizon, and everyone gathered around to watch the fight.
The warrior witch was just as fast, and nearly as tall as the big High Fae warrior, with reflexes like a jungle cat and speed that seemed to reduce her to a blur at times. They circled each other as they each looked for an opening. Ashara’s staff was more than a match for Tristan’s blades—the end of the staff opened to become a spear with a deadly sharpened tip and serrated jagged edges. The wood was magically enforced to withstand the blows of a sword. She wielded the staff as an extension of herself, just as Tristan did with his blades. They were a pleasure to watch as they danced around the deck of the ship, neither one giving in to the other at any point.
“Looks like your fae prince has met his match.” I didn’t even notice Rafe coming up behind me. His tone was flat, guarded.
My lips curved upward. “So it seems,” I concurred.
Just then, Tristan ducked a blow from Ashara’s staff and, dropping one sword, caught her staff with his free hand. At the same time, he sliced her cleanly on her leg. It wasn’t a dangerous cut, just enough to end the match.
Ashara leaned on her staff, her chest heaving from exertion, as did Tristan’s. It hadn’t been an easy fight for him, I could tell. Normally he would have drawn out a sparring match like this, toying with his opponent to assess their weaknesses. But with Ashara he had ended it fast. So far, she was the only one I had ever seen make Tristan break a sweat.
Tristan held out his hand to her. From the expression in his eyes, I could see Ashara had finally earned his respect. “Not bad,” he said. “For a witch.”
Ashara laughed, obviously not angry at being bested by Tristan. Not many people could stand against the Dark Prince of Elfi without paying for it with their lives. There was a reason he was a legend among the Drakaar.
“It was a good match, fae,” said Ashara, clasping his forearm. “I look forward to getting another chance to best you.”
Tristan raised his eyebrows, but his eyes held a hint of amusement. “You could try.”
“I most definitely will,” said Ashara, flipping her braid over her shoulder as she spun and sauntered off.
As night began to advance on us, I stood on the quarterdeck, the sea breeze brushing my face as I inhaled deeply, grateful for the fresh air. The cabins were stuffy and smelled faintly of fish. I was worried about Kalen. We were sailing to a destination we knew nothing about, and there was no guarantee the druids would even be there.
It seemed I was not the only one who couldn’t sleep. Rafe stood at the railing scanning the horizon, while the stars in the night sky twinkled above like lanterns lighting our way. The memory of the things he’d said to me earlier burned through me as I made my way toward him, the timber beneath my feet creaking softly. His brow furrowed at the intrusion, but he didn’t say anything as I rested my hands on the railing beside him. We both gazed out to sea, silent except for the slap of the waves on the side of the ship.
“Rafe,” I said, finally breaking the
