Page 21 of The Fox Heir

“Get out.”

My power rumbles a low warning in my sternum. Somewhere, there are eyes watching me. I can feel an invisible gaze inching over my skin. I slam the door closed again.

No knocks follow.

Chapter 7

I’ve never felt more exposed.

The black leather breeches cling like a second skin, tracing every movement and every curve of my body. It’s not that I’m a prude, but I’m not used to parading my thighs through a castle full of watchful eyes. Or my ass.

Still, there’s nothing to do but square my shoulders and wrap myself in false confidence like armor. Nalina doesn’t seem to give a damn what anyone thinks of her. She may be grumpy, fearsome, and unapologetically herself, but there’s something to admire in that kind of defiance. I bunch up my red cloak and carry it under my arm, refusing to let anyone see me shrink.

The sun hasn’t risen yet, and already there are a handful of townspeople in the castle at dawn. Sleepy-eyed men carry stacks of logs toward the kitchen. Yawning serving girls rush after them to cook breakfast for anyone who wants it. I’m far too nervous to eat, so I skip the kitchens and head straight for the front gates.

When I get there, Tristan is waiting, leaning against the stone like he’s been there for hours. He looks perfectly at home here in this dark, crumbling castle with his black clothes and silver Wolf pin. He tilts his head when he notices me. His dark hair falls over one eye. “Took your time.”

“The sun has barely risen.”

“But it has risen. Hence, it’s after dawn.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “You didn’t exactly give me a precise time.”

He stands straight, brushing the stone dust off the back of his shoulders. “Noted for tomorrow.” He pauses, seeming to finally notice what I’m wearing. His eyes travel down my legs and back up again.

I stand firm. “I heard you insisted.”

He merely nods, then walks out the door. Reluctantly, I follow as I throw my red cloak over my shoulders to brace against the cold.

For all his whining about it being past dawn, the sky is only barely lightening. Thankfully, it isn’t snowing and there’s only a slight breeze. The world is silent as we trudge across the snow-covered ground, toward the stables. But instead of continuing toward the horses, who snort loudly in their stalls, he opens what appears to be a storage shed. I wait outside as he knocks things around wordlessly. After several moments, he emerges carrying an armful of weapons. He tosses me a tarnished silver sword. I barely manage to grab it without slicing my hand.

He watches me with a pained expression.

“What?” I demand, straightening. “I wasn’t exactly trained with a sword.”

“No,” he says. “I seem to recall you are more adept with knives.” His eyes drift down my legs again, to the ankle of my boot where I hide my moth-engraved knife. My skin flushes as his eyes trail the length of me, but I lift my chin, refusing to shy away from his lingering gaze. Heat builds low in my belly.

Tristan raises an eyebrow at me, questioning. “I assume you have your vicious blade hidden down there?”

I cross my arms again. “You’ll just have to find out.”

A sly grin crosses his face. “Don’t tempt me.”

I refuse to blush at the implication. “What exactly are we doing today, anyway?”

“Hunting,” he says as he grabs a sling of arrows, followed by one of the bows.

“Hunting?” I balk. “I thought you were supposed to train me in endurance.”

“Exactly.” He nods toward a hook on the inside of the open door. It’s cluttered with a variety of sheaths, holsters, and buckles. I grab a thick leather belt and tie it around my waist before sliding the tarnished sword into its scabbard. It hangs against my leg, clunky and annoying. How does anyone get used to wearing one of these?

Tristan pulls the sling of arrows over his shoulder with practiced ease. “The best way to build stamina is by doing something practical. There’s nothing more irritating to me than jumping around and lifting bags of flour to build muscle when you could do something useful.”

“Like hunting.”

“Precisely.”

I sigh and take the bow from his outstretched hand. I pull it over one shoulder like I’ve seen hunters do in Caerwen.