Yesleign

Before

“Get up! Go again.”

She lay face down on the cold damp earth. Pain radiated down her entire arm from where she’d tried to catch herself as she had violently hit the ground.

“Get up I said!” His voice was harsh and unrelenting behind her.

“Maybe ease up on her, Tristan.” Lance had clearly stopped his sparring to watch her epic failure. His voice was laced with pity. That pity made her angry. She pushed herself up onto her knees, causing another seering throb in her arm.

“No. She wanted to train like one of the men, so I intend to treat her like one.” Tristan might be an ass but at least he wasn’t codling her.

She stood and turned to face him. There was a light rain starting and the dampness caused thick locks of his dark hair that had become loose from their binding to stick to his face.

“Again.” He said with a slight nod at her. She pushed past the pain to whip the sword up into an offensive position. Tristan slowly raised his in response.

“What was your mistake last time?”

“Asking for your help.” She smirked at him.

He swung, barely missing her shoulder. Clearly he didn’t appreciate her sarcasm.

“Your mistake Leign was that you were too busy thinking about your own sword, you weren’t watching mine. You always need to be on the defensive.”

They were circling each other while talking. His piercing blue eyes were fixed on her. She met his gaze with defiance. He might be one of the best warriors in the kingdom, the clear favorite to be the next Commander of the King’s Guard, but that didn’t mean she needed to grovel in front of him like most others did.

All the other men who’d been training, including her three brothers, had stopped to watch, no doubt hoping to watch her get her ass handed to her. She would prove them wrong.

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“You have to assess your opponent to find their weaknesses. That weakness is your opening.”

“Very clear instructions.” She was being sarcastic again and she knew it would cost her but she was hurt and tired and over his bullshit. “Just find the weakness of one of the best fighters in the kingdom and then somehow turn that into something with this sword? I’m so clear on exactly what to do.”

She heard her brother Ronan snort behind her.

“If you haven’t figured out a single weakness of mine yet then you clearly haven’t been paying close enough attention during our training sessions.”

Oh fuck him.

They'd been training for weeks now. She had always been proficient, more than proficient actually, with a bow but she wanted to learn more. Yesleign was one of the last of the line of the Women of the North. - women with skin as pale as snow, hair as black as raven’s wings, and lips as red as a rose. The Women of the North used to be queens that wielded magic to rule the Northern Territory of Driam. If her ancestors, the strong and wild Women of the North, could see her now they’d be rolling over in their graves. She wanted to be strong and powerful like they were, not weak and helpless. So she'd asked Tristan to help her. She was surprised when he'd willingly agreed. Now she knew he agreed because it meant he got to torture and humiliate her daily. He was a real knight in shining armor.

She hadn’t noticed any weaknesses of his during their training. He seemed to be good at everything. If she couldn’t figure out his weakness, she’d have to use her strengths. This damn sword certainly wasn’t a strength, it was weighing her down. With each step, the weight of the steel in her injured arm threatened to break her. The rain made the hilt slippery in her palm. It took all her strength to not drop this damn thing.

“Make a plan Leign, we don’t have all day.” He smirked at her. He knew she was going to fail and he was enjoying toying with her.

She would never be able to beat him this way. So she threw the sword to the ground and ran.

“Yesleign! Get your ass back here!” Tristan screamed after her but she was already off. Her feet hammering against the cold, hard earth as she ran. She could hear the other men snickering but she didn’t care.

When she reached the edge of the pavilion grounds she grabbed a bow and arrow and spun. Before Tristan could even register what she was doing she’d released the arrow, aiming it for his hand. Instinctively he dropped his sword and lunged out of the arrow’s path. She had another arrow already loaded and pointed at Tristan but he didn’t move.

No one spoke. It was eerily silent in the pavilion. The only sound came from the rain hitting the earth as it fell from the sky. Tristan’s cool blue eyes were locked on her. She couldn’t tell if he was pissed or pleased. There was a light wind now and it blew some of the soft black curls that had escaped her braid across her face. She held her breath waiting for him to say something, anything.

“If you can’t find your opponent’s weakness then you have to play to your own strengths. I’m impressed, daughter.”

She hadn’t noticed her father standing at the far end of the pavilion watching but when he spoke everyone spun to look at him. He was a huge man with light brown hair covering most of his face. They called in the Bear of the North not just because he was a fierce fighter, but because there was a wildness to his appearance. Her father had formally been the Commander of the King’s Guard, now he had the duty of training the young warriors who would one day become members of the King’s Guard. It was her father who had recommended she ask Tristan to train her. In fact, he had told her that unless Tristan was the one training her, he wouldn’t permit her to train with a sword. She’d argued but he wouldn’t give so she was stuck with the dark haired brute as her trainer.

“We already knew you were good with a bow. You’re supposed to be training with a sword. We will end your training with twenty laps around the pavilion, as punishment. And you will carry your sword the entire way.” Tristan glared at her as he spoke, finally rising from the ground and picking up his sword. He sheathed the blade behind his back and turned away from her, signaling that he was done with her for the day.

Something deep within her stirred. An ache of something dark and powerful slithered seemingly out from her soul. She pushed it down and checked her arm. They were still just as pale as always. Focusing on her breath, she begun her laps.