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Chapter 3: Valeria
Title: The Blade Between Them
The sounds of clashing steel echoed through the training yard of Cindralis, a desert kingdom where warriors were born, not bred. Dust rose like smoke as two swords collided under a blood-orange sun. One blade belonged to Princess Valeria—the Flameblade of the East, undefeated, unrelenting, untamed.
The other… belonged to Mike.
He didn't usually fight. He didn't need to. His looks were weapon enough. But Valeria was different. She didn't melt under his gaze. She didn't stammer or swoon. She pointed her sword at his chest and said:
"If you want me, earn me."
Mike grinned, shirtless, skin glistening from the heat. "What makes you think I came for you?"
She lunged.
Their duel wasn't like the formal displays held before royalty. It was animalistic. Raw. Sparks flew with every strike, metal screeching in protest. Valeria moved like fire incarnate—her dark braid slicing the air, her muscles taut beneath bronze armor. She was taller than most women, and twice as deadly.
Mike ducked under a sweeping blow and rolled to his feet, inches from her.
"Getting tired, princess?" he teased.
She spat in the sand. "Getting bored."
She came at him with a flurry of strikes, and he barely kept pace. He wasn't a trained swordsman, but he had his own form of combat—charm, unpredictability, and sheer, reckless nerve.
Finally, she made a mistake. A wide swing.
He disarmed her with a quick twist of the wrist, and the blade clattered to the ground.
He stepped close. Their chests almost touched.
"Yield," he murmured.
Her lips curled. "Not yet."
She grabbed his collar, pulled him into a kiss that was less affection, more war. He responded in kind, matching her fire with his own. The servants who watched from behind sandstone walls whispered in shock as the princess shoved the man onto the arena floor and mounted him with the same dominance she showed in battle.
There, under the burning sky, they made love—feral, fast, furious. Armor shed, dust rising around them like steam. No tenderness. Only fire and flesh and challenge.
When it was over, Valeria rolled off him and lay panting beside him.
"I still don't like you," she said.
Mike chuckled. "But you'll remember me."
She didn't answer, but the ghost of a smile tugged her lips.
He left before sundown, his body bruised and his pride intact. Valeria watched him go, arms crossed over her chest, heart pounding—not from the fight.
But from the feeling that, just maybe… she'd finally met her match.
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