Page 67 of Spar of Hearts

“Do you enjoy eavesdropping?” He raised a brow.

It’s not my fault you don’t know how to close your thoughts. What about dragons?

“Why do you care?” He stretched his lower back with a satisfying pop.

Yomira brought her winged arms to her face, scratching her forehead with the clawed tips. If a wyvern could blush, this was it. She was trying to keep her huffing nares under control but utterly failing.

“Come now, tell me!” He pushed against her wing. She brought them down, looked around as if others could hear, then stared with her carmine eye.

You want an alliance with the Aquillans. My kind want one with the dragons.

He held his tongue and kept his response inside.

Sounds perfectly diplomatic to me. Why are you embarrassed?

She grumbled. It’s a different kind of tie. If they’re like our Great Mother says they once were, I have to choose a mate among them.

“What? Will you stay in Aquillas then?” He held her snout. Yomira was the only being he didn’t doubt the friendship of this whole time. He knew better now, but she was always a constant calming presence. She could pull him out of the darkest of moments. He hoped she would visit him from time to time, even after all this.

Oh no, no, no, Yomira answered. It’s more of a nuisance—a way to show good faith. She flicked her forked tongue. But it’s nice to know you would miss me.

“Eavesdropping again.” He sighed.

Don’t you have work to do? Yomira gave a good-natured huff, then settled back down onto the deck. I’m going back to sleep.

The stern shifted as Yomira got comfortable, spinning around a few times before wrapping her tail around herself. It was pretty early for her. The sun was barely up. Anya might even still be awake. He could catch her in the galley.

He’d been trying to give her a respectable berth these past few days. He dove headfirst in many a thing—becoming a noble despite the glaring hatred for his kind, standing up for the Centarians before the imperial court, and boldly going on the evacuation, despite the horrors he had to face. He didn’t want to kill his chances by overwhelming her. It was a constant battle to remind himself not to use his relationship with Millicent as a measuring stick.

This required strategy, like observing an ogre before striking at its weakest possible moment.

But in a romantic way, of course.

Dear Divine, I should definitely not say that out loud.

The tinny sound of steel on steel drew his eye to the bow, where Anya and Dame Theresa Fletcher were caught in an energetic spar. Theresa was a short, but strong human with coils of dark brown hair that bounced with every jab. The height difference seemed to throw Anya off. Anya’s parries were stunted and clumsy, a clear consequence of training only with towering palace guards. Though she seemed to be sparring much more ferociously than she had with him—teeth grit, brows furrowed, and a noticeable sheen on her forehead.

Had she gone easy on him?

“Haha!” Theresa shoved Anya back with a feigned defensive move and darted down the steps. Anya gave chase, navigating the steps and her skirts with ease—and a beaming smile on her face.

Find what makes her smile and do more of it.

Anya was a sight to behold. He wanted to bring that smile all the way to her eyes. He wanted them to glimmer for him.

Perhaps this was the perfect time for a rematch.

“Keeping sharp, I see?” Roderick called.

“Yes, sir!” Theresa hollered back, parrying the Princess with her shortsword.

“Your pupil has exceeded your teaching!” Anya said with a grunt, shoving Theresa back a step. “She puts up a far better fight than you!”

Theresa responded with a jab to the left, but Anya angled her cutlass just enough to twist the sword out of the dame’s hands, sending it clattering to the deck.

“Thank you.” Anya extended a hand to Theresa. “You’re a far more worthy opponent than most. I actually broke a sweat.” Anya’s eyes darted to Roderick, bearing the slightest hint of a smirk. He deflected that thrust of the tongue with a fanged smile.

She wanted to sweat?