A Dangerous Obsession
Chapter 49 - 48

Chapter 49: Chapter 48

As I walked back to the training grounds, the cool breeze slipped through the loose sleeves of my new outfit as I tried to steady my breathing.

When I reached him, he let his gaze roam over me, his expression unreadable but sharp, a faint smirk teasing at the edges of his mouth. "Ah, there you are," he drawled, his tone smug. He flicked a glance toward the sparring field where a group of his soldiers were running drills, each one more imposing and lethal than the last. Finally, he lifted a finger and pointed to one of the warriors—a tall, broad-shouldered man with a steely expression and a well-worn wooden sword gripped in his hand.

"Since my mate—" he emphasized the word, his smirk deepening as he locked eyes with me, "—doesn’t wish to spar with me, the least she can do is entertain me by showing some spirit." His gaze burned into mine, challenging me, daring me to refuse. "Go on," he urged, gesturing lazily toward the field, his voice laced with amusement.

I forced down the urge to roll my eyes, grinding my teeth as I stepped onto the training grounds and accepted the wooden sword from the guard’s outstretched hand. The weapon felt clunky, awkward, too light compared to what I was used to. I hadn’t sparred in what felt like ages, and I certainly wasn’t prepared for an audience, especially one as intimidating as the Lycan King himself. I could feel his gaze on me, that smirk of his probably widening with each step I took.

The warrior opposite me was already in position, his grip firm and his expression coolly confident. I could tell he was holding back a grin, probably finding it laughable to be sparring with someone as unskilled as a half-shifter. But I didn’t let his smug expression get to me. I squared my shoulders, meeting his gaze with as much steel as I could muster, my fingers tightening around the hilt of the wooden sword.

He made the first move, stepping forward with quick, calculated steps, his sword raised. I barely had time to block, bringing up my weapon just in time to deflect his blow. The impact jolted up my arms, and I stumbled back a step, the force of it stronger than I had expected. But I gritted my teeth and steadied myself.

We circled each other, each of us sizing up the other. I could feel the Lycan King’s eyes on me, watching every move, every misstep. My opponent moved in again, swinging his sword in a wide arc that would’ve caught my side if I hadn’t managed to dodge just in time. I ducked, rolling to the side and coming up on one knee, clutching my sword with both hands.

He came at me again, relentless, his strikes faster, more precise. I blocked one, then another, but each impact sent painful vibrations up my arms. I could feel my grip slipping, my palms growing slick with sweat. Just as I thought I had managed to find a rhythm, he swept his leg out, catching me off guard and knocking me off balance.

I hit the ground hard, the wooden sword slipping from my grasp and landing a few feet away. I scrambled to my knees, crawling toward the weapon, but he was already on me, his foot pressing down on my wrist, pinning me in place.

But I wasn’t done yet. With a sudden burst of energy, I twisted, wrenching my arm free and lunging for the sword. My fingers closed around the hilt, and I swung it upward, catching him off guard and forcing him to step back. I scrambled to my feet, my breaths coming in short, ragged gasps, my heart pounding in my chest.

For a moment, he looked surprised, but that surprise quickly faded. He came at me again, faster this time, his strikes harder, more determined. I barely managed to keep up, each block costing me precious energy, my muscles burning with the effort. I could feel the strain in my arms, the exhaustion creeping in, but I pushed it down, focusing on each move, each breath.

He swung low, aiming for my legs, and I jumped back, barely avoiding the blow. But the move left me off balance, and before I could recover, he struck again, his sword slamming against mine with a force that sent it flying from my hands. I stumbled back, defenseless, my hands empty as he closed the distance between us.

Desperation flared in me, and I darted to the side, grabbing the sword off the ground just as he brought his down where I had been standing a second before. My heart raced as I swung my sword, more out of instinct than skill, and he blocked it easily.

I knew I was losing; I could feel it in every aching muscle, every stinging bruise that was forming. But I refused to give in. I gritted my teeth, pouring every ounce of strength I had left into each swing, each block, each dodge. We were both breathing heavily now, each of us pushing the other to our limits.

Finally, he swung his sword in a feint, drawing me in, and before I could react, he pivoted, sweeping his weapon in a low arc that caught me off guard. I felt the impact on my side, the force of it sending me sprawling onto the ground once again. My sword slipped from my grasp, and I lay there, gasping for breath, my body aching, every muscle screaming in protest.

He stood over me, his sword pointed at my chest. I glared up at my opponent. But I knew when I was beaten. Slowly, I pushed myself to my knees, reaching out for my sword one last time, my fingers curling around the hilt. I refused to look at the Lycan King, refused to let him see the frustration and anger bubbling inside me.

But he wasn’t about to let me off that easily. He rose from his chair, strolling over to where I knelt on the ground, his eyes gleaming with amusement. He extended a hand, almost as if he was offering me some twisted version of mercy, his fingers hovering in front of me.

"Enough for today," he said smoothly, his tone cool and dismissive.

I ignored his hand, pushing myself to my feet without his help, my breaths coming in shallow gasps. I could feel the eyes of everyone around us, feel their judgment, their disdain. But I forced myself to stand tall, to meet his gaze with what little pride I had left.

"Very well," I managed, my voice steady despite the pain radiating through me. "If that’s what pleases you, Your Majesty."

He let out a low chuckle, his gaze lingering on me, his smirk deepening. "Oh, it pleases me, indeed."

I bit back the retort on the tip of my tongue, forcing myself to stay silent. Instead, I turned and walked away, clutching the wooden sword tightly, my knuckles white as I fought to keep my composure.

I felt a strange warmth wrap around me as I walked, seeping into my aching muscles, soothing each tender spot where the warrior’s blows had landed. My steps slowed as the warmth grew, spreading through my body until the pain began to ease, the stiffness melting away.

I paused, turning slowly to find the Lycan King watching me, his eyes narrowing slightly as he raised a hand. A faint glow traced the outline of his fingers, a magic I hadn’t seen him use before. The warmth intensified, focusing on the worst of the bruises, gently knitting together any minor injuries I had sustained during the spar.

It felt strange to be healed like this, an unspoken kindness from the same man who had ordered me into the fight. The Lycan King’s gaze held mine, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his features. Amusement? Curiosity? I couldn’t tell. But there was a glint in his eyes, something darkly interested, as though he were studying me.

"There," he murmured, lowering his hand and breaking the spell. "Can’t have my mate bruised and battered, can I?" His words were soft, yet laced with that infuriating mockery he seemed to enjoy so much.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," I replied, forcing the words out with as much civility as I could muster.

His smirk returned, broader this time, and he inclined his head slightly, as if he could hear the forced politeness in my voice. "Of course," he said, his voice a soft taunt. "I wouldn’t want you broken. Not yet, anyway."