#ameren

“I’ll have had enough when I have no breath longer to give,” he growls, and chooses to strike. You dodge his punch easily, falling to your knees and twisting around, sweeping the Warlord’s feet from under him. He roars with pure rage, clambering to his feet once more. “Again.”

His face is nearly as red as the glowing siphons that adorn his body. You counted seven in total. You almost felt bad for embarrassing him in front of his friends, but you remember how he had laughed when Rhysand introduced you into the Inner Circle as his hand-to-hand combat strategist.

He had probably just thought you were another pretty face to have around, outnumbering the males in the group even more.

He’d never been this down in a fist-fight before. In the half hour that you had been sparring, the Warlord hadn’t landed a single hit on you. And you hadn’t even returned a strike of your own, only blocking his blows with your incredible training. You wondered if it made him question his own position within the Inner Circle.

You hadn’t been brought in to replace him, in fact, Rhysand had hoped for the opposite. He couldn’t let you get away, not with your expert skill set in hand-to-hand combat.The High Lord saw the potential his armies could have if you and the Warlord worked together.

Clearly, it has not started well.

The rest of the Inner Circle watched intently, Cassian slowly circling around you like a beast on a hunt. 

You could probably beat him in your sleep, with how good you were. A part of you wanted to just stand there until he made his move, but you stayed in your crouch watching, calculating his every move. 

The long seconds tick by, waiting for him to do something. You’re bored, looking for more action, so you glance to the High Lord, raising your eyebrows, knowing the Illyrian will take his chance then, thinking you’re distracted. The Warlord lunges and a smirk lifts at the corner of your mouth, his eyes widening in realization. But he’s already moving so he curses to himself, concentrating on the task at hand. He’ll worry about your killer instincts later.

For the sake of wanting to show the Inner Circle what you’re made of, you let him get a hand on you, clamping down harshly on your shoulder before the large brute is wrestling you into a headlock.

You can feel his heart pounding through your back, his heavy breathing blowing down your neck. His feet are planted firmly like a tree, thick thighs holding the both of you up. Your own boots can’t even touch the ground at his height and he’s holding you to his chest solely by the arm around your neck.

“I told you Rhys,” he pants, looking at the High Lord who’s brows are furrowed slightly. “I told you I could pin her.”

“You think you have me?” you scoff, rolling your eyes, “I let you pin me Warlord, for the sake of your fragile ego.”

Azriel chokes out a laugh but goes silent at Cassian's glare. Amren’s eyes flicker with pride while the High Lord has trouble biting back his own smile.

The Warlord growls, squeezing you tighter to his body. It’s exactly what you wanted and you kick your legs back slightly, using the momentum to swing them up and over your head and his. He becomes top heavy as your weight shifts, and his planted feet are no match for your speed. He careens backwards as you slip easily from his slackened grip. He’s trying to catch his footing, but you’ve already gathered yours and you don’t hold back this time, putting all of your energy into a kick aimed for the center of his stomach. 

His breath is forced from his body as he falls to the ground and he’s pretty sure at least one of his ribs is broken. He really should not have pissed you off.

You put a dirty boot against his chest, making his already ragged breathing worse. He’s wheezing, trying to gulp down air, and you’d laugh at how he looks like a fish out of water if it weren’t for your anger.