She frowned. Why wasn’t he challenging her? He smiled as if sensing her thoughts, and it was a strange sort of defiance. He knew why she was there, what she had seen earlier, and perhaps he hoped to lower her guard. His open, relaxed hands held no weapons. How could she duel a man who didn’t fight back?

Their gazes met. His eyes were disconcerting. How had she not noticed them before? They were gray, like the metal of a spaceship. Striking and pale and all too sharp.

“Stand up,” she commanded, trying to gain some semblance of control. “Choose your weapon, Xander. I challenge you.”

He stood and his tall frame towered over hers. “I think you’ve found me at something of a disadvantage.”

“Bullshit.”

They trained their whole lives for this. He had seen her earlier. He had all the time in the world to get his weapons ready—to make his choices. More than most of their siblings would have given him.

He held his bare hands out. “Empty.”

“Then take one of mine,” she snarled. She’d had enough of whatever game he was playing. “Mors or blades?”

He let out a breath, a short laugh. “Blades, then.”

Discordia slid the blades out of the sheaths at her wrists and tossed him one. Xander caught it easily, holding it in front of him as they circled each other. Finally, Discordia thought, feigning left, then stepping into a lunge. He blocked her, twisting his body to avoid the tip of her blade. He fought better than the last time she’d seen him at the academy.

Battles removed all complications. All questions. Kill Xander. Forget him. Forget what she’d seen. What she’d felt.

Swipe. Discordia almost had him, but his forearm came down against hers. He’d made no move to attack her. Not once. Discordia smacked her palm against his cheek, an insult from their training days. A reprimand a prefect would give to a child. Xander let out a small hiss of breath.

“Fight me,” Discordia snarled.

Xander’s lips flattened. “Why?”

Why? “Because you’re supposed to.” She slapped him again. “Because this is what we were trained for.”

“You don’t need me to fight back, Discordia. You want to kill me?” He grasped her wrist, knelt down so he could hold her blade against his throat. “Then kill me.”

“That’s not how it works.” He was supposed to fight for his life, die with honor. “You duel. We duel.”

“What if I don’t want to?” He asked. They were breathing hard. Discordia’s knife broke the skin of Xander’s throat and a small trickle of blood stained his shirt. “What if I don’t want any of this?”