“So, that’s really the king?”
“Yeah, that’s him.” An odd swell warms my chest as Zander fights against two assailants, even as trepidation ensnares my breathing. I’ve seen him in the sparring square but never in a life-or-death situation such as this. He moves with the grace of a seasoned warrior, anticipating every assault as if it’s choreographed. I shouldn’t worry about him. His opponents should worry—whether it’s one or ten.
Except the ball in my stomach says I am worried.
All it takes is one misstep, one bad parry … No matter how much he’s hurt me, no matter how much he infuriates me with the things he says and does, my heart still skips a beat every time I see him and aches with longing every time I think of what we had.
Maybe I’m an idiot, but if he were to come to me tonight and ask for a second chance, I’d give it to him without hesitation.
“What’s he doing out here, without his army?”
“It’s a long story—”
A tree branch snaps behind us, a split second before something hard strikes the back of my skull.