King of Blood

Chapter 15 - Lyanna

Lyanna arrived at the clearing just as the last traces of moonlight bled into the horizon, painting the sky in shades of deep purple and amber. The place was just as she remembered—an open space surrounded by dense forest, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and pine. Though, unlike their last meeting, no one was leaving with a hole in their stomach.

This time, there were no lethal weapons or grim intentions—only blunted training blades and an undercurrent of unspoken tension.

Jehovah was already there, leaning casually against a tree with one leg crossed over the other, his posture exuding relaxed confidence. His sword rested beside him, the edge dulled but still gleaming under the pale light of the setting moon. Gods he was beautiful; he was every bit Seelie. When he saw her approach, he straightened, his expression morphing into a grin that was equal parts amusement and challenge.

"Right on time," he called out, pushing off the rock.

"I didn't want to give you the satisfaction of waiting," Lyanna replied, her voice even but laced with dry humour. She slid her blade from its scabbard, testing its weight in her hand. The familiar feel of it was both comforting and unsettling. She had used her father's sword for so long, to swap to this battered hunk of metal felt like a betrayal.

Jehovah took a few steps forward, his eyes sweeping over her in an appraising way that made her skin prickle. "You look ready."

"I'm always ready," she shot back, meeting his gaze with a steady one of her own.

They took their positions, standing a few paces apart. The clearing was eerily silent save for the rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of a distant cricket.

Jehovah tilted his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "Before we begin, Issiah begged me to ask—are you going to pull punches this time, or is this another setup?"

Lyanna stiffened, the memory of her darker motives from their last encounter flashing through her mind. "I thought we were here to spar, not bully each other."

"Touché." He rolled his shoulders, taking up a defensive stance. "Let's call this research for our courts."

The first clash of their blades rang out sharp and clear in the still night. Lyanna struck fast, her movements precise and controlled, but Jehovah was quick to counter. He deflected her attacks with ease, his footwork smooth as he sidestepped her strikes.

"You're good," he said, dodging a particularly close swing.

"Wouldn't want to disappoint you," she replied, pressing forward.

Their sparring grew more intense, the playful banter giving way to focused determination. Lyanna could feel the strain in her muscles, but she refused to back down. Every time their blades connected, sparks seemed to fly—not from the metal, but from the tightly strung tension that hung between them.

Jehovah grinned as he blocked another of her strikes, his breath coming faster now. "You fight like you've got something to prove."

"Maybe I do," she shot back, her voice tight.

They circled each other, the space between them charged. Lyanna feinted left and then darted right, catching Jehovah off guard. Her blade struck his side—not hard enough to wound, but enough to earn her a startled laugh.

"I have something I have to say," he admitted, stepping back to reset. "This is the hardest fight I've had in a long time."

Pride rippled through her, determination clouding her focus on his sweating brow. As they continued, Lyanna couldn't ignore the way he moved—confident, controlled, and entirely too charming. It was infuriating how effortlessly he made sparring look, as if this were just another way for him to flirt.