The silence in the Command Tent was louder than the battle had been.
Vespera stood over the map table. Her armor was still splattered with the black ichor of the Frostborn, but she hadn't bothered to clean it. She looked like a statue of war, carved from marble and blood.
Kaelen Varro stood on the other side of the table. He was seething.
"You embarrassed me out there," Kaelen said, his voice low and dangerous. "I had that kill."
"You were about to die," Vespera corrected without looking up from the map. She moved a wooden marker representing the infantry. "You fight like a duelist, Captain. Not a soldier. A duelist cares about style. A soldier cares about breathing tomorrow."
Kaelen slammed his hand onto the table. The wooden markers rattled.
"I have held this line for six months while you were sipping wine in the south, General," he spat the rank like a curse. "I know these men. I know this enemy. You walk in here with your shiny legend and think you can leash me?"
Vespera finally looked up. Her eyes were green, hard, and unimpressed.
"I don't think I can leash you, Kaelen," she said softly. "I think you need to be broken."
She turned and walked out of the tent, back into the biting cold. "Training yard. Now."
The training circle was nothing more than a patch of trampled mud surrounded by curious, shivering soldiers. Word had spread fast: * The Iron Phoenix is fighting the Wolf.*
Vespera unbuckled her sword belt and tossed it to a nearby squire. She removed her heavy cloak.
"Hand-to-hand," she said. "No steel. I don't want to explain to the King why I broke his favorite toy."
Kaelen stripped off his own tunic, revealing a torso scarred from a hundred skirmishes. He was leaner than the men Vespera usually fought, but he was corded with muscle. He cracked his neck, a predatory grin spreading across his face.
"You're old, Vespera," he taunted, circling her. "You're a legend, sure. But legends rust."
He lunged.
He was fast—blindly fast. He aimed a strike at her ribs, expecting her to be slow.
Vespera didn't retreat. She stepped into his guard.
It was a move he didn't expect. She caught his wrist mid-strike, her grip like an iron shackle. The heat of her skin—the Ember Blood—burned through his sweat-slicked arm.
She used his own momentum against him, twisting her hips and slamming her shoulder into his chest.
Thud.
Kaelen hit the mud hard.
The soldiers gasped.
Kaelen scrambled up instantly, his face flushing red. The embarrassment fueled him. He roared and charged, abandoning technique for brute force. He tried to tackle her, to use his weight and youth to crush her.
Vespera sidestepped, grabbed the back of his neck, and swept his legs.
He went down again. This time, face first.
"Too angry," Vespera critiqued, standing over him. " Anger makes you predictable."
Kaelen snarled. He rolled onto his back and kicked out, catching Vespera's ankle. It was a dirty move, a street-fighting move. She stumbled.
In a flash, he was on her.
They crashed into the mud together. Kaelen pinned her wrists, straddling her waist, his breathing ragged. For a second, he had her. He looked down, his face inches from hers.
"Predictable?" he panted, adrenaline dark in his eyes.
The position was intimate. Intensely so. Vespera could feel the hard line of his body against hers. She could smell pine, sweat, and old blood on him. Most men would be terrified to be this close to her. Kaelen just looked hungry.
Vespera didn't panic. She smiled. A small, terrifying smile.
"Better," she whispered.
Her skin flared hot. The heat radiated off her like an open oven door. Kaelen flinched at the sudden temperature spike.
In that split second of distraction, Vespera bucked her hips. She threw him off, reversed the position, and pinned him down.
She pressed her forearm against his throat—not enough to choke, but enough to silence him. Her wet red hair hung down, a curtain shielding them from the watching soldiers.
"You have fire, Captain," she said, her voice dropping to a husky register that made Kaelen's pupils dilate. "But fire without control just burns the house down."
She leaned closer. The heat coming off her was intoxicating. Kaelen stopped struggling. He lay there in the mud, chest heaving, staring up at the woman who had just dismantled him without breaking a sweat.
"Get up," she said, releasing him and standing. She brushed the mud from her armor as if nothing had happened. "Shower. Eat. Then report to my tent. We have a war to plan."
She walked away.
Kaelen remained in the mud for a long moment, watching her go. He touched his throat where her arm had been. His skin still tingled from the unnatural heat of her touch.
"Damn," he whispered.