Page 61 of Sands of Atonement

She was mine to control.

I just wasn’t sure what I was going to do with her.

The softness of her neck and shoulders sent a shiver down my spine. This was dangerous. No woman had ever had such an impact on my mind and my body before.

“Good morning,” a soft voice sounded behind me.

I whirled around, knowing exactly who it belonged to. The devil heard my thoughts, and here she was. “Morning,” I muttered.

Eshe met my eyes.

“What are you doing here? The deal was you didn’t use my arena when anyone was here.” I laid my knife set on the wooden bench.

I could hear Eshe shifting in her steps from where I stood. I couldn’t help but smirk.

Was my little warrior nervous?

“I was hoping to train with you. I could use the practice.”

With a knife in my palm, I turned slowly. “I don’t train with anyone but my men. I trust they won’t stab me in the back ‘accidentally.’” I scoffed.

The corner of her mouth slid up as she placed her hands on her hips. I allowed my eyes a moment to glide the length of her body. She wore tight leather pants and an even tighter top covering her chest. It riled so much heat in my body that I was half tempted to find the nearest tapestry, rip it off the wall, and wrap it around her body until she couldn’t breathe anymore.

“Are you finally acknowledging that I can fight?”

“I’m not an idiot, Eshe.”

“I won’t stab you in the back.”

“No, you won’t, because I wouldn’t put myself in that position. The exit is that way.” I pointed toward the gate that was open, for the time being.

Eshe dropped her hands. “I don’t want to use… unorthodox methods to practice on innocent guards in the palace. Let me train with you, and they won’t suffer from your stubbornness.”

“The little warrior thinks she can outsmart me?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Don’t call you ‘Eshe,’ don’t call you ‘little warrior.’ Is there anything else I can call you?”

“Mara.”

I scoffed a little too loudly. “Fitting.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“The name you chose is fitting.”

“Why is that?”

“It means ‘bitter.’” I raised a mocking eyebrow. “Did the studies you grew up with teach you anything?”

Her hands clenched into hard fists at her sides. “Does it bother you so much that a woman learned something other than motherhood?”

I huffed and tilted my head. The weight of the dagger in my hand was growing heavier by the second.

“This”—I waved at her body—“is the reason why women shouldn’t learn anything but motherhood. With knowledge and education, they’ll want to attack the hand that feeds them, the men who clothe them. Protect them.”

“You’ve never protected me.”