Irielle had not expected to agree.
That was the first problem.
The second was that, once Ruby said it, the idea lodged itself under her skin with embarrassing ease.
A sword fight.
Not court smiles, not careful tea, not another room where every sentence had three meanings.
Just movement.
Steel.
Something honest.
So she found herself being led at a dangerous speed through the western corridors toward one of the smaller private training rooms, with Ruby grinning like she had just won something and Violet following behind with the expression of a woman preparing to witness either art or disaster.
The training room itself was elegant by demon standards, which meant it could have housed a small war and still looked expensive.
Dark stone walls.
High windows open to the late afternoon light.
Weapon racks lining one side.
Practice circles marked into the floor with faint silver runes.
It smelled like old wood, clean metal, and the faint scorch of magic.
Ruby immediately began rummaging through a chest near the far wall.
“You can’t fight in that,” she said, glancing at Irielle’s dress with scandalized practicality.
“Well, you could, but Violet would lecture me for letting you.”
“I would,” Violet confirmed.
Irielle looked down at the pale gown she had worn for the day and conceded the point.
“Do you have something suitable?”
Ruby turned, holding up a folded set of clothes with the smug delight of someone who had been waiting for this exact question.
“Of course.
We prepared for the possibility that you might secretly be interesting.”
Irielle took the bundle from her and disappeared behind the screen at the edge of the room.
The clothes were demon-made, clearly.
Practical but far from plain.
A fitted black training coat that stopped at mid-thigh, slit at the sides for movement, fastened over a dark inner layer and narrow trousers tucked into soft boots.
Silver stitching ran along the seams in subtle lines that caught the light when she moved, almost like frost on a blade.
There was no excess fabric anywhere.
No softness for ornament’s sake.
It made her feel… sharper.
More herself than she had in a gown.
When she stepped back out, fastening the final cuff, Ruby went still for half a beat.
Then she whistled.
“Looking nice.”
Violet’s eyes flicked over her once, cool and appraising in a way that felt oddly respectful.
“Very nice.
You actually look like you know how to hurt people.”
“I do know how to hurt people,” Irielle said.
Ruby laughed in delight.
“Perfect.
Marry me instead.”
Irielle raised one brow.
“I think your sister would object to the paperwork.”
Violet sighed.
“I object to everything, actually.”
Ruby, who had already moved on to preparing herself, simply tugged her shirt off over her head and tossed it onto a nearby bench with complete disregard for modesty.
Beneath it she wore a dark binding wrap across her chest, leaving her shoulders, arms, and stomach bare.
Her build was leaner than Kaelith’s but no less strong, the defined lines of her stomach visible each time she moved.
Good abs, Irielle thought before she could stop herself, and immediately hated her own brain for offering the observation so casually.
Ruby caught her looking.
Her grin sharpened.
“Are you trying to distract me?” Irielle asked dryly.
Ruby picked a practice sword from the rack and rolled one shoulder.
“Maybe.”
Violet, settling onto the bench like a very elegant spectator at an illegal event, said, “That counts as psychological warfare.
I approve.”
The weight felt good in her hand.
Familiar.
Comforting, in the way some things became when they had once been tied to love.
She adjusted her grip and stepped into the marked circle with a calm she actually felt for the first time that day.
Ruby joined her opposite, barefoot now for better movement, red hair tied back hastily, one grey eye and one purple gleaming with anticipation.
She really was taller than Irielle by several inches, enough to make the contrast obvious.
More reach.
More raw leverage.
Not necessarily an advantage if one knew how to use speed properly.
They circled each other first.
No rush.
No theatrics.
Just the measured, watchful drift of two women assessing weight, balance, breathing.
Ruby moved lightly for someone built like that.
Her shoulders stayed loose, sword low but ready.
Irielle kept her center tight, feet precise on the marked stone, ice magic whispering cool beneath her skin but held back for now.
Ruby tilted her head.
“You really do know what you’re doing.”
Irielle’s mouth curved faintly.
“You sound surprised.”
“I was hoping,” Ruby said.
“Surprise would have been rude.”
Then Ruby moved.
Fast.
The first strike came high and direct, a test more than an attack, but it had power behind it.
Irielle caught it cleanly, steel ringing bright through the room.
Ruby twisted, shifted, came again from the side.
Irielle stepped out of line, turned her wrist, and sent the next blow glancing off harmlessly.
Violet let out an appreciative hum from the bench.
“Oh, this is already better than history class.”
Ruby grinned at the sound, but the grin faded as quickly as it came.
The fight sharpened.
Their blades met again and again in short hard bursts, each exchange faster than the last.
Ruby liked pressure.
Forward motion.
Aggression with enough control not to be sloppy.
Irielle liked angles.
Interruptions.
Precision.
She let Ruby commit, then slipped past the obvious line and punished it before withdrawing again.
Once, twice, three times.
Ruby adapted quickly.
That impressed her.
So did the fact that Ruby laughed when the fight started to get serious.
Not because she was careless.
Because she was enjoying it.
That felt deeply demonic.
Irielle’s own enjoyment arrived more quietly.
In the clean concentration.
In the way the world narrowed down to footwork, timing, distance.
In the sharp pleasure of being met properly.
Not handled.
Not indulged.
Met.
“Better,” Irielle said.
Ruby barked a laugh.
“You too.”
Irielle gave ground deliberately, then used the retreat to reset the angle.
Ruby followed.
Too eagerly.
There.
Irielle pivoted and let a breath of ice magic spill through her free hand, frost flashing in a narrow arc across the floor between them.
Not enough to freeze solid, just enough to slick the surface.
Ruby’s leading foot slipped half an inch.
Irielle struck.
Ruby barely caught it in time, their swords locking hard between them as she regained footing with impressive speed.
Her eyes widened, then lit with delighted offense.
“You cheat.”
“It’s magic,” Irielle said.
“Use your own.”
Ruby’s answering grin was all teeth.
“Gladly.”
Heat flared around her next movement, not full fire but demon-born force threading her muscles with speed.
She came at Irielle in a blur, close and relentless now, each strike carrying a little more weight, a little more insistence.
Irielle blocked high, low, turned one aside, nearly lost the next to sheer momentum, and had to twist out fast to keep Ruby from trapping her against the edge of the circle.
Violet’s voice floated over the ringing steel.
“Ruby, stop showing off.”
“I’m winning beautifully!” Ruby shot back.
“You’re sweating beautifully,” Violet corrected.
Ruby huffed a laugh and immediately used the distraction as cover for another attack.
Rude.
Effective.
Irielle saw it a fraction too late.
Ruby’s blade caught hers at an ugly angle and shoved it wide.
Irielle stepped back to recover, but Ruby followed, using height and proximity this time instead of distance.
One sweep at the ankle.
A shoulder turned at exactly the wrong moment.
Irielle managed to keep her balance for half a heartbeat and then lost it.
The ground hit her back.
Not hard enough to hurt.
Hard enough to sting her pride.
Ruby came down with her, one hand braced beside Irielle’s head, the other pinning Irielle’s wrist lightly but decisively to the stone.
Their practice swords clattered away, abandoned.
Ruby’s face hovered close above hers, breathing a little harder now, loose strands of red hair falling around her cheeks.
Up this close, the heat of her body felt almost startling after all of Irielle’s cool control.
“Pinned,” Ruby said, far too pleased with herself.
Irielle looked up at her, pulse quick from exertion and something else that felt suspiciously like laughter.
“Temporarily.”
Ruby grinned wider.
“That still counts.”
She was very close.
Too close, perhaps.
Close enough that the space between them felt charged in that odd, bright way so many things in this castle seemed to feel.
Irielle could hear Violet rising from the bench.
Could hear her own breathing.
Could feel the pressure of Ruby’s hand at her wrist and the warmth of her body over hers.
Then a purple flame arrow sliced through the air toward Ruby’s head.
Ruby reacted instantly, swearing as she shoved off Irielle and twisted aside in one smooth motion.
The arrow buried itself in the stone behind them and burst into harmless violet sparks.
Irielle pushed herself up on one elbow, breath caught halfway between shock and irritation.
Ruby straightened, glanced toward the doorway, and then laughed.
“Oh, Kaelith, you are here.”