The Heir of Night

39

Nyx hadn't stirred when Theia slipped on her boots and left the room in a hurry. She was eager to see the back gardens and the training. It took her too long to find her way back to the doors, but eventually she did. The snow fell in a calm sense, no wind or breeze to chill the air further. Theia rounded the hedges, hearing the grunts, clang of metal, and laughter. She had never gone to the camps to watch the training, so she was curious to see the most renown warriors doing it.

Her cheeks heated as soon as the group came into view. Cassian and Azriel were sparring, only clad in lounge pants despite the cool temperatures. Feyre, Nesta, and Rhysand were stood on the edges of the ring. The High Lord also bore no shirt, the two females in tight leggings and sleeveless shirts that ended above their midriff. She'd never seen so much skin in a group before, especially in the winter.

Ignoring the embarrassment clouding her, Theia brought her gaze to watch the sparring. She was in awe immediately. Even with their teasing words and laughter, the two males flowed as though in a dance. Their feet never flattened, their muscles tensing with each blow. They spun, jumped, dodged, all in movements Theia would expect in a ballroom.

"Good morning, Theia," Nesta chimed, one hand clutching a skin of water, the other waving for Theia to join them. She kicked through the snow and stood between Feyre and Nesta, unable to tear her eyes from the two warriors in front of them. She'd never truly seen any of them in action, and she couldn't believe that this was the art of battle.

"You want to try?" Feyre asked, nudging her hip against Theia. She tried to tear her eyes away, parting her lips to answer. Yes.

"Nyx said he's the only one allowed to train her if she wants to," Azriel called out, not missing a beat as he blocked Cassian's blow. Theia frowned, catching his eye as he dropped to his knee to dodge yet another swing of the sword. Why had Nyx made that order?

"That's fine, whenever you're ready, you can join us," Nesta chimed in, patting Aurora's shoulder. She nodded, watching as Azriel brought Cassian down by swiping the back of his knees with the blunt of the sword. The two shook hands as Cassian rose, then they walked to the edge of the ring. Nesta and Feyre slipped between the barriers and took the blades. Azriel and Cassian joined Rhysand and Theia, each chugging from skins as they watched the females get into position.

They were just as mesmerizing, their bodies flowing with the swing of the blades. Feyre brought Nesta down quickly, which seemed to irritate the sister and she gave no breath between several advances.

"Theia, I went to Nyx's room last night after Azriel left and he wasn't there," Rhysand spoke without tearing his eyes from his mate. She felt her cheeks heat against the cold air, glancing up at the side of the High Lord's face.

"He watched over me for the past week, and I've recently found it difficult to be alone with my own mind," she confessed. Rhys gave a slow nod, his hand lifting to rest on her shoulder as he looked down at her.

"He's a good kid, I'm glad he's found someone to take care of. He hasn't found any more responsibility other than his training, so I'm glad to see him placing that focus elsewhere."

Her brows pressed together. "Are you saying that I am his responsibility?"

The High Lord grinned as he shook his head. "No, I think that he made the decision to take you under his care, and he's placing a lot of focus on you. I'm glad to see him doing something more than throwing himself into constant training or drinking," he corrected himself, squeezing her shoulder. His words didn't soothe her by any means, and despite the fact that she was nothing compared to a High Lord, she opened her mouth to argue.

"Father and I are next," Nyx's voice rang through the gardens. Theia turned her head over her shoulder to see him making his way through the hedges. He was now dressed in lounge clothes and baring a sword in his left hand. Theia swallowed, not noticing the way she leaned into Rhysand's grip on her shoulder as though he'd keep her standing.