I stood in the training chamber, my muscles screaming in protest. Every bruise on my body felt like a fresh brand, a reminder of Mistress Ashara’s relentless drills. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and the faint tang of leather.

  And then she came in, Mistress Ashara.

  The dim light caught the curve of Ashara’s breast, the thin fabric clinging to the swell, teasing the dark shadow of her areo. The leather of her outfit creaked softly as she shifted, drawing my eye to the way it barely contained her, the pressure of her flesh against the straps.

  I could smell her now, a musky, intoxicating scent that mixed with the sweat in the air, making my head swim. The sight of her nipples, hard points pressing against the straps, sent a jolt of heat straight to my groin.

  I swallowed hard, my throat dry. She was hot. Steamy. And today, she was even more revealing than usual. I couldn’t help but stare. I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t help myself. She was Mistress Ashara, after all.

  The woman who had been pushing me to my limits, who had been breaking me down and building me back up again. And yet, I couldn’t deny the way my body reacted to her. She was upping the ante.

  But before I could get lost in that thought, a movement caught my eye.

  He stepped into the room, his slender build and delicate features giving him an almost ethereal grace. His shoulder-length blonde hair caught the dim light, and his striking violet eyes conveyed a quiet confidence that seemed at odds with his supposed status. I had seen him around before, always lurking in the shadows, always acting like a servant. But now, as he stepped into the training chamber, I realized he was more than that.

  He was a fellow student.

  My eyes narrowed, surprise and intrigue sparking in my chest. The guy who always answered the door, so unassuming? He was one of Ashara’s students? I couldn’t believe it. But as I looked at him, I saw something in his demeanor that I hadn’t noticed before. A quiet strength. A hidden confidence.

  The fitted shirt clung to the subtle definition of his chest and arms, hinting at the strength beneath. His pants were tight enough to trace the line of his thighs, and as he moved, a ripple of muscle flexed beneath the fabric.

  My breath hitched, a surprising tightness in my chest that had nothing to do with exhaustion. It was… disconcerting. And undeniably arousing. Damn him

  I found myself drawn to him, my eyes lingering on his body. He was mysterious. Sexy. But I wouldn’t say that out loud. Not a chance. I wasn’t about to admit that to anyone, least of all myself.

  Ashara’s voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding. “Today, we spar. Samuel, Felix. You will fight. And you will disarm each other.”

  I turned to her, my heart pounding in my chest. She held out the daggers, one in each hand, and handed them to us. Her eyes gleamed with anticipation, and her crop tapped threateningly against her exposed thigh as she instructed us to begin.

  I took the dagger, the metal cold in my hand. Felix took his, his movements smooth, almost liquid. I gnced at him, my mind racing. He was a servant. Or at least, I thought he was. But now, as I looked at him, I saw something else.

  Our bdes met instantly with a ringing cng that echoed through the chamber. I lunged, eager but clumsy, my strikes more enthusiasm than skill. Felix, however, flowed around me. Effortless, graceful – a stark contrast to my brute force. Each parry was a whisper of steel, his quiet demeanor masking a predator’s precision.

  A parry sent me stumbling back, breath ragged in my throat. Damn him. He wasn’t weak. Not at all. He was a rogue, like me, but honed to a razor’s edge. Better. Far better.

  I gritted my teeth, my frustration mounting. I admired him. And I hated him. All at the same time.

  “Come on, Samuel,” Ashara’s voice snapped through the air. “Do not hold back. Attack!”

  I didn’t need to be told twice. I lunged at Felix, my dagger fshing in the dim light. But he was ready for me. He parried my strike. And then, in a fsh of metal, he countered.

  I barely managed to block his strike, the force of it sending a shock through my arm. I stumbled back, my heart pounding. He was good. And I was... I was just trying to keep up.

  But I wouldn’t give up. Not now. Not in front of Ashara. Not in front of Felix.

  I gritted my teeth and attacked again. And again. And again.

  A whoosh of air, the scent of cedar and steel – Felix dodged again, a phantom movement that left me grasping at nothing. Mocking amusement danced in his violet eyes, that smirk a silent promise of mastery. My skin prickled, anticipation a strange counterpoint to my sweat. Below, heat throbbed, a btant reminder of his power, my vulnerability. Wipe that smirk off his face... or feel it on mine? Gods.

  Ashara’s gaze, a predator’s focus, made my skin crawl. The crop snapped, a whip-crack punctuation to her silent judgment. “Hesitation is a rogue’s greatest enemy, Samuel!” Her voice, a silken sh, preceded the bite of leather on my thigh. Sharp sting, then heat. A shameful flush, pooling between my legs, an undeniable, traitorous pulse. Hate and… need. Gods, I wanted her to do it again.

  But I wasn’t thinking about Ashara right now. I was thinking about Felix. And how much I wanted to punch that smirk off his face. Or maybe kiss it off. I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that I couldn’t let him win.

  Felix, who couldn’t cared less, moved with a surgeon’s precision, dissecting my defenses. A flick of his wrist – my dagger cttered to the stone floor, leaving me weaponless. I staggered, breath ragged, as he flipped his own bde, a casual dispy of mastery, before sending it sailing toward me. The shirt ripped with sickening ease, the fabric parting like paper before the honed steel. Deliberate cuts, each a calcuted humiliation, stripping away not just my defenses, but my pride itself.

  “Nice and slow, Sam,” Felix winked, his voice soft but ced with a teasing edge. “You’re making this too easy.”

  I growled, lunging to grab him, but he was faster, his movements too fluid, and almost mocking. He picked up my dagger, ran his tongue along the ft of the bde, his violet eyes locking with mine in a look that sent shivers down my spine, making me painfully hard, and then threw it. My hand shot out, a desperate, useless attempt to deflect the bde, but I was too slow. The bde sliced through my waistband in an act of deliberate defiance, and my shorts crumpled to the floor.

  The cool air prickled my bare skin, and I was painfully aware of my exposed arousal, a testament to his skill and my humiliation. I wanted to cover myself, but I refused to give him the satisfaction.

  Instead, I met his gaze, my jaw clenched, trying to mask the tremor of need that ran through me. I’d been trying to deny it, to ignore the pulse that throbbed with every near miss, every brush of his skin against mine, every taunt. Now, standing bare before him, the pretense was gone.

  The cold air hit me like a sp in the face, but it was nothing compared to the sting of Felix’s parting remark.

  “Nice view,” he said, his smirk widening as he turned and walked away, whistling a damn tune like he hadn’t just stripped me bare in front of our mentor. I felt Ashara’s eyes flick over me, a brief, assessing gnce that made my skin burn even hotter, before returning to Felix.

  I stood there, my face burning, my heart pounding in my chest. Ashara’s eyes were on Felix, her gaze lingering on his ass, his chest, his back. Did she like him more? The thought stung, and I didn’t know why. I didn’t care. I told myself I didn’t care. But the way she looked at him? It made me feel… small. Insignificant.

  Felix, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly what he was doing. He left with a smirk, his blonde hair catching the dim light of the mp as he disappeared through the doorway. And I was left standing there, exposed and vulnerable, with nothing but my pride to cover me.

  “Get dressed, Samuel,” Ashara’s voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding. “We’re not done yet.”

  I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. All I could do was stand there, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my mind racing with a mix of anger, frustration, and something else. Something I didn’t want to name.

  But I knew one thing for sure. I was done letting Felix get the better of me. And I was done letting Ashara watch him like he was some kind of prize. I didn’t know what game we were pying, but I was about to start fighting back.

  She walked over to a workbench, her movements fluid and precise, a predator’s grace in every step. The tools id out were a mix of picks and tension wrenches, each one glinting in the dim light, reflecting the faint glow of the chamber.

  “Lockpicking, Samuel,” she said, her voice softening, dropping to a husky murmur that sent a shiver down my spine, “is an art of patience. It requires finesse, control… sensitivity.” She paused, her golden eyes locking with mine. “Much like seduction.”

  I swallowed, the dryness in my throat suddenly acute. “Seduction, Mistress?” I asked, my voice a little rougher than I intended.

  Ashara smiled, a slow, knowing curve of her lips. “Indeed. Both require you to understand your… subject.” She picked up a delicate lockpick, turning it in her fingers. “You must feel for their weaknesses, their vulnerabilities. Exploit them, yes, but with… care.” She selected a tension wrench. “Too much force, and you’ll break them. Too little, and you’ll get nowhere.”

  She gestured for me to approach the workbench. A simple practice lock, brassy and well-worn, sat cmped in a vise. “This lock,” Ashara said, her voice a breathy whisper now, “is like a… guarded heart. It has secrets. It wants to be opened, but it won’t yield to brute force.”

  She took my hand, her touch surprisingly gentle, guiding my fingers to hold the tension wrench. The warmth of her skin against mine was a jolt, a stark contrast to the cool metal.

  “Apply slight pressure,” she instructed, her body pressing lightly against my back, her fur brushing my arm. I could smell her intoxicating musk again, that heady mix of leather and something subtly sweet. It was distracting, to say the least. “Just enough to feel the… resistance.”

  I did as she instructed, turning the wrench slightly. I felt the faint tension in the mechanism.

  “Good,” she purred, her breath warm on my neck. “Now, the pick.” She guided my other hand, positioning the pick at the mouth of the lock. “Slip it in… gently. Don’t force it. Feel your way.”

  I slid the pick into the keyway, the metal scraping softly against the pins.

  “Each pin,” Ashara continued, her voice low and intimate, “is like a… barrier. A defense. You must find the right one, the one that’s ready to yield. The one that wants to be lifted.” Her fingers brushed against mine, a deliberate, teasing contact. “Listen to the lock, Samuel. It will tell you.”

  I focused, trying to ignore the way her body was pressed against mine, the subtle sway of her hips. It was a losing battle. I concentrated on the tiny clicks and scrapes within the lock, feeling for the subtle differences in resistance.

  “There,” Ashara whispered, her voice almost a sigh. “Feel that? That slight… give? That’s your first pin. Lift it… gently. Just enough to… persuade it.”

  I applied the slightest upward pressure on the pick, feeling the pin click into pce. A small thrill shot through me, not just from the success, but from her proximity, her approval.

  “Excellent,” she murmured. “Now, the next one. They’re not all the same, you see. Each one requires a… different touch. Some need a firm hand, others… a delicate caress.”

  Her fingers tightened slightly on mine, a subtle guidance, but also a reminder of her presence. “Just like people, Samuel. Some respond to dominance, others to… subtlety.”

  I worked my way through the remaining pins, Ashara guiding me, her instructions a blend of technical advice and suggestive innuendo. The lock became a metaphor, a stand-in for something far more… personal.

  “Patience, Samuel,” she murmured, her voice a blend of comfort and command, her breath ghosting over my ear. “A lock, like a person, will only yield when coaxed properly. Rushed actions lead to broken tools… and broken hearts.”

  Her words sent a shiver down my spine, her scent mingling with the metallic aroma of the tools. I felt a mix of intimidation and arousal, her closeness both unsettling and incredibly stimuting.

  Finally, with a satisfying click, the lock sprung open. I pulled the pick out, a small, triumphant smile pying on my lips.

  She stepped back, her eyes gleaming with approval, a hint of something more… predatory in their depths. “You’re learning,” she said, a small, knowing smile pying on her lips. “You have a… natural talent, Samuel. For more than just lockpicking, I suspect.” She paused, letting her gaze linger on my face. “But remember, the true art lies not just in opening the lock… but in knowing when to walk away, leaving them wanting more.”

  “Now, it’s time for the next lesson. The market.” Ashara’s voice, even when stating something so simple, held that undercurrent of command.

  My stomach twisted. The market. She’d made it sound so… straightforward. Use persuasion and seduction. I pictured her, the way she moved, the way she spoke – all effortless confidence. I, on the other hand, felt like a plucked chicken about to be thrown into a wolf den.

  I pulled my heavy cloak tighter around me, the thick wool a small comfort against the biting wind that whipped through the training yard. It was the dead of winter, and even this far south, the mountain air held a sharp, icy edge.

  “Right,” I muttered, mostly to myself. “Seduction. Persuasion. Got it.” I tried to sound confident, but my voice probably cracked halfway through.

  The market was a roar, a godsdamned roar. The noise hit me first – a jumble of shouting vendors, braying animals, chattering townsfolk, all competing for attention. Then the smells: a chaotic mix of fresh-baked bread, something vaguely rotting, horse manure, and a hundred other unidentifiable scents.

  And the cold. My breath puffed out in white clouds, and my fingers, even inside my gloves, were already starting to numb. I shoved my hands deeper into my cloak pockets. Why were there so many people out in this weather?

  “Okay, Sam,” I muttered, the words practically snatched away by the wind. “Find Lily. persuade, then seduce Don’t freeze to death.” I adjusted the colr of my cloak, pulling it up higher to shield my neck. “Just… be cool. Like Felix.” The thought of Felix, with his infuriating smirk, actually helped. A surge of stubborn competitiveness pushed back the nerves. I wouldn’t let him be better at this.

  I plunged into the crowd, the sheer press of bodies almost overwhelming. It was a shoving, bustling mass of wool coats, fur hats, and red noses. I tried to remember Ashara’s lessons. Something about… reading people? Finding their secrets? And… pressure? No, not brute force. She’d talked about… slipping something in… gently… Damn it. Lockpicking. That was it. It was all about finding the right spot, applying the right pressure… How the hell was that supposed to help me with people?

  My boots crunched on the packed, icy dirt and scattered straw that covered the market square. I dodged a careening cart piled high with firewood, nearly tripping over a basket of squawking chickens. This wasn’t a “stage”; it was an obstacle course.

  I passed a stall overflowing with colorful fabrics, the merchant shouting his wares, his breath clouding the air. I gave him a quick, awkward smile, trying to project some sembnce of confidence, but probably just looking like I was about to be sick.

  The crowd was a constant pressure, bumping me, jostling me. I kept my eyes peeled, scanning faces, trying to find… well, I didn’t even know what Lily looked like. Great pnning, Sam.

  The smell of roasting chestnuts, warm and sweet, momentarily cut through the other odors. My stomach rumbled, a loud protest against the cold and the nerves. I briefly considered buying some, a small, pathetic attempt at comfort, but shook my head. Focus. No distractions.

  I pushed on, gritting my teeth against the cold and the chaos. Felix wouldn’t be fazed by this. He’d probably glide through the crowd like he owned the pce, charming everyone he met. The thought spurred me on. I might not be Felix, but I wasn’t going to fail.

  Then, I saw her.

  Across the way, near a stall piled high with winter flowers – a brave spsh of color in the grey day – a girl was arranging a bouquet. Her hair was a light blonde, almost white, falling in waves down her back, and even from this distance, I could see the curve of her smile, it made my heart skip a beat.

  “Lily,” I breathed, the name barely a whisper. I’d found her.

  I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and started walking towards her, my boots crunching on the frozen ground. I was Samuel Thornwood, rogue-in-training, and I was about to… well, I was about to try. And that, at least, was a start.

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