Michael had wasted no time stripping off his shirt and drawing his sword when they reached the courtyard. Elsa knew what Caiden said had struck some deeply rooted wound; the possibility of being unable to save his mother . . .
While she and Anna went to go stretch, Elsa kept and eye on Michael as he sliced air; working through different poses and combinations she had no idea how to decipher. He twirled his sword in dizzying circles, tossing it from hand to hand as smooth as a mountain stream. She also admired the shadows of his back muscles and the shape of his ass in those pants.
"Don't be so obvious." Anna whispers next to her. Elsa jerks her head to find her sister suppressing a grin.
Danika and Caiden come out minutes later, dressed in their fighting leathers and armed to the teeth, as if they were indeed about to go to war.
"Now, let's see where Michael has you two." Danika says as she walks over to the sisters.
Caiden walks over to Michael, leaning in to whisper something in his ear. As the features of Michael's face soften, so does the vise grip on Elsa's heart.
"We were already learning swords." Anna says.
Apparently it was the wrong answer, because Danika whirls to Michael, sending her rainbow-pastel hair flaring like a dancer's skirt. "You already have novices playing with swords?" she shouts from across the castle courtyard.
Elsa tries to suppress her blush, bite back on her retort. Anna seems to be doing the same.
Michael's head turns to the shapeshifter with an arrogant grin. "Each sister already possesses a skill set we can branch off of."
Danika places her hands on her hips. "What have you been teaching them?"
"Self-defense, so far. No battle tactics, or anything like that."
This seems to appease Danika, because she nods and says, "Fair enough."
"What are we supposed to be doing something different?" Anna asks.
"For you, I don't know. Self-defense is different than training for war. Elsa might be an exception with her magic, she'll have to learn some aspects of combat with that, but I doubt you sisters will ever be walking onto a battlefield."
She might not have meant for it to sound so . . . rude, but it still came off as such. Enough that both sisters bristle at the understatement.
"I have been in combat before." Elsa bites. "When a duke sent his men to kill me three years ago. I almost killed them, until I was fooled by a honeyed tongue who exploited my weaknesses."
Danika blinks, her brows lifting. Caiden and Michael walk over, the shadow weaver's gaze still chilling. He asks, "And you've never had any formal training?"
"No."
"I later punched that same guy into the fjord." Anna adds.
Another lifting of brows, both soldiers turning to Michael who only crosses his arms with a smug grin on his face.
Elsa nearly wanted to bite back at their judgment, but the truth is, she really doesn't want to ever be in a battle. Be in a war. But she does want to be able to defend herself. She doesn't want to be weak again. Meek and afraid and cowering like a flimsy damsel in distress. But where does that line draw?
Elsa lifts her chin and says, "Michael has already let us use some weapons before. And we did just fine."
"Has he taught you how to hold it? To wield it?"
"Well, no but –"
"Training has been a bit off hand and scrambled to say the least." Michael suddenly chimes. "We try to squeeze it in when we're not getting encased in impenetrable darkness or being chased by draugr."
"What?" questions Danika.
"It's a long story," Caiden interjects. Elsa isn't at all surprised that he knows exactly what those things are. He turns to Elsa, "But if we're going to be training in the style of combat magic, we'll have to start from square one again."
"I don't think I'll ever seen battle the same way you three did, but I do want to know how to defend myself."
Caiden gives a shrug. "Our training goes hand-in-hand. You can't master one without the other."
Anna's brows furrow, disappointment lining her cerulean eyes. "So, we'd really be starting from scratch again? We won't be able to pick up a sword again?"
"I wouldn't say that; we'd have to start from the basics again, but depending on what we see, we can probably skate right past some lessons."
Danika says, "That's Caiden's own form of encouragement."
Elsa and Anna share an expression of disappointment. And Michael chimes, "Like I said, you'll both benefit greatly if you learn from Caiden. I just wanted to get some lessons in for you, so you'd know what to expect. Become familiar with it."
Anna says, "Show us how you guys fight." Michael blinks, but she adds. "I want to see the difference. I want to know what we're up against."
Caiden looks over Michael and Danika. "It's a variation of what you've been doing here, but it requires a different sort of fighting. You two might not be battle training for a while."
Years, probably. Another horrible realization is that, even if Arendelle is a place of peace, that won't last forever. And neither of them have any idea about war strategies and fighting and planning. And they certainly haven't witnessed bloodshed before; Elsa is still haunted by what Michael did to that one man the first time they went out into the marketplace together.
Danika bumps her hip against Elsa's. "The good news is, you two have the luxury of time. Don't let him discourage you."
A voice suddenly drones from behind the group, towards the castle doors, "I want to train too."
All heads turn to find Kristoff walking out with Sven. He's dressed in a teal-colored tunic and mud brown pants.
"Kristoff –?" Anna balks, her mouth parting to either ask some questions, or to discourage him.
But the Ice Master cuts her off. "I know you two are able to protect yourselves, and I know you don't want to be treated like you're weak, but I want to learn how to fight. To fight for you and to help."
Kristoff's eyes flick to Michael. "I want you to train my to be a warrior. I don't want to just sit by and run while you put your life on the line."
Pity has Michael's brows knitting. "Kristoff, no one has ever thought about you like that."
"I know you probably don't but . . . I see such fear in Anna's eyes, and to know that I couldn't do anything about it besides ordering Sven to run, I felt so . . . useless."
The princess walks over to her partner, her smooth-skinned hand resting atop his heart.
Again, Kristoff looks to Michael. "I want to learn how to fight. For myself and for them."
The smile that curls Michael's lips is brimmed with pride, and respect. "You're more than welcome."
"You'll definitely be ahead of them, for sure." Danika says as she walks over to Kristoff, a hand to her chin as she eyes him up and down.
Elsa bites her bottom lip as Anna bristles. Danika circles them like a wolf, her eyes never lingering anywhere on Kristoff. A pure assessment.
She nods when finished. "Being a mountain man, you have some muscle, and a keen awareness of your strength. It would work."
She looks to Caiden and Michael with a gesturing hand, and both nod in agreement.
Kristoff lets out a breath of a laugh and says, "Thank you so much,"
Danika turns those citrine eyes to Elsa. "And what about you two?"
Anna sighs, and Elsa turns to her. "Who knows how long peace will last here in Arendelle."
Her sister's brows furrow. "Elsa –"
"We're not immune to war, Anna. That's the reality. It's going to happen sooner or later, and even if it doesn't, we'll at least be prepared."
Shadows dance over her sister's eyes, remembering how the Duke of Weselton nearly started a war by having Elsa killed out of fear and misunderstanding. And gods only know what Hans might've done if he had ascended to Arendelle's throne.
"Can we at least see how you three fight?" she asks again.
Michael shrugs and asks Caiden, "You want to do a little sparring?"
Danika picks at her nails. "We all know I've been keeping up with my training. The questions is: have either of you?"
Caiden rolls a shoulder, unruffled and calm, eyes glittering as if he marked Michael's need to expel some coiled-up energy.
Indeed, Caiden peels off his shirt and turns towards the sparring ring the sisters outlined with chalk. Michael follows, Elsa's stare searing him from across the ring. He sheathes the sword in his scabbard, tossing it onto his discarded shirt.
She watches the muscles move in his back, how the sunlight dances within his hair, turning its sheen almost silver. The thought of those broad shoulders and rippling abdominals over her, the feeling of his cock inside her just this morning –
"Pay attention, Queeny." Danika says with a flick at Elsa's temple.
The Snow Queen is near startled at the gesture, her fingertips immediately cooling the small patch of heated skin. To her side, Anna giggles.
Michael and Caiden are circling each other now. An assessment, waiting for the other to reveal his first move.
The two of them had fought alongside each other for a good portion of the war that had seized Michael's old home, his old kingdom. No doubt they know the other's tricks, how each liked to strike, the techniques and shortcomings, too.
Michael doesn't dare look her way. Not even for an instant, and Elsa doesn't try to pine for it. As soon as he so much as blinked at her, Caiden would strike hard.
Michael is the first to launch.
Caiden is waiting for him, meeting the fist Michael sent for his face, blocking and deflecting and counterstriking. Michael caught the blow, duck the second, and aimed one for Caiden's ribs.
Caiden blocks, counterpunches, and then the sparring unfolds.
It is amazing to watch, like seeing the gears of a machine finally start to work after years of maintenance, but no function. Fists and feet, punch and block, kick and stomp, breath sawing out of each of them as Michael and Caiden try to break past the other's defenses. They don't seem to be putting full force of their bodies into the blows – not the way they'd do in a real brawl, where one punch could shatter a jaw. Though Caiden seems to have more bulk due to immortality, Michael is quick as hell – they're evenly matched.
Around and around the ring fists fly, teeth bared in fierce grins, Elsa watches as they lose themselves to sweat and sun and breathing.
They'd been born for such things, endured years of training that had honed their bodies into instruments of violence.
They might've been at this for hours, if they were truly facing each other as enemies.
Elsa swallows as she remembers they had been just that – opponents at war. She wonders if entire battles had come to a standstill to watch these great heroes fight head-to-head.
Michael strikes, a punch to the jaw hard enough that Caiden staggers. Reeling, steadying himself, the Cambion curses.
Michael lets out a soft laugh, eyes flickering.
Caiden rolls his shoulder, hand at his jaw as he says to Michael, "Bastard."
Michael laughs again, and they turn towards the trio of women. Danika remained a pillar of cool calm, perhaps even bored, but Elsa knew color stained her cheeks due to their warmth. Her throat bobs as she glances between them.
Caiden lets out a cough and walks towards the small table holding a large pitcher, and a few empty glasses.
"You're drooling, Queeny." Danika says to her, and Elsa goes rigid. Anna snickers from her left.
"I'm just, intimidated. That's all." She hisses, entering the ring. "I've never seen anything like that before."
Not a total lie. Seeing them spar had been overwhelming. Their beautiful forms, scarred and carved with muscle, gleaming with sweat as they fought with a viciousness and intelligence she's only ever seen in Michael alone . . .
Danika's shit-eating grin makes her teeth grind. "Keep telling yourself that, sweetie."
The sisters agreed to train with Caiden – not just self-defense, but battle fighting as well. And to do that, they had to start at square one again. Despite the initial discouragement, Caiden was surprised to see how well the sisters could carry themselves, allowing them to skip certain lessons, just as he'd promised.
At some point, Elsa began sweating. Her feet ached, her legs turned to jelly. Caiden mentioned having to go through some basic stances and exercises to help train their bodies. Help them learn to control their movements and develop basic strength and awareness of their bodies.
And despite how lean hers and Anna's physique are, their balance is horrible.
The sun stung against the sweat on their face, wisps of clouds drifting through the dazzling blue. Michael and Danika spared in the ring while Caiden walked Elsa, Anna, and Kristoff through his exercises.
Elsa did her best to concentrate, but she's no better than her sister when it comes to possessiveness. Because she spent the better part of her exercises casting glances over towards Danika and Michael, the latter of whom was still shirtless. He didn't pay her much heed, until they started a cooldown. Mostly involving stretches and walks around the inner border of the courtyard. A part of her felt self-conscious for sweating in the shirt she took from his morning after their bath, at the same time, his scent was constantly in her nose, hugging her as she worked through the training.
By the end of the hour, both sisters are sweating and red in the face.
She caught Michael gazing at her when she bent forward to touch her toes. Her back had been to him, utterly exposing herself. It also allowed such filthy thoughts to flood her mind – of Michael sliding himself into her right then and there, her body still slick with sweat, but the impending pleasure erasing all the aches other than what throbbed at her core.
She didn't forget that gaze, not as they finished training for the day, and certainly not as she grabbed his hand and left everyone else I the courtyard without so much as a parting word.
His chuckle trickled along her bones as she guides him through the halls.
Her goal had been to aim for his suite, unsure of what state her room is in since that night –
She shakes her head. She won't think about that.
Need is a bellowing song in her veins right now, Michael a warm, slick, solid mass behind her. She should've given him time to grab his shirt, but she wasn't thinking.
And still isn't apparently since she can barely focus on finding him room with the thought of his tongue inside her.
"Where are we going?" Michael asks as confirmation.
At this point, she doesn't even know anymore. She stops and turns to him, his hand still enveloping hers. "I . . . I thought we were heading to your rooms."
His grin has her skin crawling, her nipples pebbling. "Then you're headed in the wrong direction. It's back that way." He jabs a thumb over his shoulder.
Elsa is beyond care at this point, but anger does settle into her temple – at her lack of attention and for her actions. They can't risk walking back and running into everyone else. She doesn't think she could stand that, but . . .
This is a hallway she and Anna rarely visit. It leads to a formal dining room only reserved for visiting dignitaries. The only people who come by here are the servants, and Elsa is sure that Caiden and Danika have rooms spaced between Elsa's and Anna's and Michael's – on the floor above.
Michael suddenly yanks her to him, erupting a tiny yelp from the queen. As his broad hand settles between her shoulder blades, he leans his mouth close to her ear. "If you wanted a kiss, all you had to do was ask."
The purr in his voice makes her toes curl. And Elsa forgets about any potential servants spotting them as she grabs the collar of his shirt and hauls his mouth to hers.
There is only the warmth of Michael's mouth, the press of his body, and the taste of his tongue as Elsa slants her lips over his, rising onto her toes.
Michael turns and pushes Elsa into the wall, the wood pressing into her shoulders and lower back as all of him lines up against all of her, a hand bracing against the wall while the other remains at the center of her back. She opens her mouth to him, and his tongue sweeps in, the kiss devouring and ravishing.
The taste of him, that smell she's memorized for months now –
She moans, unable to help herself.
Michael pulls away and rests their foreheads together. "If we're going to do this, you have to be very, very quiet." His voice is so guttural, so soft that she her breath escapes her.
Confusion trickles towards the front of her mind, and for a moment, she wonders if he will take her right up against this wall.
She sure as hell hopes so.
But his hand leaves her back, allowing a quick shiver to run up her spine as she hears the familiar sound of a knob twisting.
What she thought was a wall is actually a door, and it swings open away from her back. She gasps, about to yelp again, but Michael's arm envelops her waist, catching her and pushing her inside. He kicks the door shut and wedges a broom between the handle.
Elsa's mind is reeling, excitement and confusion and questioning all racing in her mind. But Michael's lips envelop her again, it destroys any illusion of restraint and hindsight.
She lets the kiss burn through all of it. There is only his mouth and his tongue and his teeth, licking and biting and tasting. Even in the pitch black of the closet, she can see and feel every inch of him.
He slides his hands around her, grasping her ass, and lifts her into the air. She wraps her legs around his middle moaning against as he presses himself between her thighs. Whirling and pressing her against the back wall of the closet.
Michael grinds into her, and groans into her mouth at the first push of his hips. She arches her back at that deep-throated sound, baring her neck to him.
His tongue traces a line up the column of her neck and reaches the spot just below her ear that has her whimpering. He lets out a chuckle against her skin. "You looked so good today." he murmurs in a way she would crawl to hear again.
Her breasts ache, and she moves against him, unable to be embarrassed about the slickness between her thighs, seeping through her undergarments and possibly her pants. His mouth finds her again and she seizes his bottom lip as his hands grapple along her ass.
She has to feel his skin. Has to feel that hardness pushing into her with her hands, her mouth, her body. She'd go mad if she doesn't, go mad if she can't get these clothes off, go mad if he stops kissing her –
There's a brief stab of clarity as he lowers her to the floor, but it's eradicated as he spins her around and strips off her pants, his hand pressing into the middle of her back until she's flush against the wall. Heat floods her, and she goes taut and loose all at once.
Desire is a white-hot flame now, her legs already quivering with excitement. Even when his hand lifts, she remains pressed against the wall, her bottom half entirely exposed. Her shirt, her boots – all stay on. In fact, her pants are only pushed down to her ankles, restricting her movement further. Leaving her utterly at his mercy.
He slips a hand beneath her shirt – his shirt – and skin to skin, the calluses of his hands make her groan as they scrape the top of her breast and circle around her peaked nipple. "I love these," he breathes onto her neck, his hand sliding to her other breast. "You have no idea how much I love these."
Elsa moans just a little, arching fully against him, as if she can get that hand to slip exactly to where she wants it. She knows what he wants her to say, but her mind is so clouded.
Her breath begins to saw in and out of her as he hears the wood groan from his weight, the shifting of his feet as he knelt –
She feels him brace his large, powerful hands on either thigh. He waits for her to signal that she understands what he intends.
In a choked whisper, she says, "Yes."
There's another groan in the wood, a shift of fabric and his hands tighten on her bare thighs, spreading them wider.
Parting her with one hand, he drags his tongue clean down her center.
The darkness of her eyes explodes with light and color as her mouth parts in a moan. He hums at her wetness, licking her again, lingering at the bundle of nerves at the apex of her legs. Sucking it into his mouth, tongue tickling before he withdraws.
Another moan breaks from her throat.
His tongue moves between her lips, an unhurried sweep as his hands brace on either side of her hips, tugging her back slightly as he slides his tongue straight into her core. She whimpers as she feels it curl into her, caressing against that gods-damned spot –
Her whimper turns into a cry, her hips starting to move on their own. Michael laughs against her and flicks his tongue again.
Release glitters behind her eyes like a moonlit lake surface, just barely out of reach.
He licks her again, his tongue trailing up past her sex to her lower back, his silken hair brushing over the small dimples that lay on either side of her spine.
She quivers when the tip of his nose crawls up her spine, pressing her aching nipples into her forearms and biting her pointer fingers.
He abandons her neck and shoulders, kneeling once more before he slides a finger into her.
Elsa cries out, and he grips the back of her thigh to hold her open against her reflex to clamp. He licks that spot while his finger pumps in and out of her in a teasingly slow rhythm.
Oh gods, she wants him so badly. Her hips move in their natural undulation, driving his fingers deeper.
Michael withdraws his finger nearly to the tip, and she thinks he's trying to punish her; only he adds a second finger as he plunges back in. He sucks and nibbles, and release gathers around her like an iridescent mist.
Her hand convulses to grip something, something to stabilize herself. She doesn't have top reach far as her left hand shoots out and grips the edge of a shelf. Its contents rattle, quietly humming as they bounce from the reverberations traveling through her bones.
In and out his fingers slide, stretching and filling while he tastes and savors.
Elsa rides his hand, his face, grinding into him with abandon.
He hums against her skin, his fingers plunging deep and curling around that same spot his tongue had found, his fingers near vibrating.
It sends her mind scattering into eternity.
She arches off of the wall, fingernails digging into the shelving with the force of her climax, and Michael becomes ravenous.
His fingers pump and pump, tongue and lips moving against her, like he'd devour her pleasure whole. He doesn't stop until she collapses to the floor, near pulling the shelf with her. Until she's limp and reeling and trying to piece her mind back together. The removal of his tongue and mouth from between her legs like a cold kiss
Her knees quiver at bearing her weight, trembling from the pleasure as he slides his fingers out of her, leaving her empty and aching.
She hears him snicker and can feel his stare branding along her back.
She can't move – can't remember how to move.
It had knocked the breath from her, the thoroughness of her pleasure. Like the world can be remade in the force of what had erupted from her.
"I hope no one heard that," he teases as the wood shifts from his movements.
Even if he can't see it, she shakes her head. He positions himself over her, hands reaching for her pants to pull them back up – or at least, attempt to. Clamped between her folded knees, Michael tries his best to help pull them back up her legs, while Elsa tries to remember how to move her legs.
He doesn't even bother to buckle them before he quickly dislodges the broom and scoops her into his arms. She tries to insist she can walk, but her words come out like a drunken slur.
"If you want to try, go ahead," Michael chuckles, placing her down before the door.
Her knees wobble as if she were a newborn lamb, her knees clacking together before she has to brace herself against the door.
Gods, it still feels like she's twitching from her pleasure, twitching and clenching, desperate for those fingers inside her again.
Michael chuckles before once again swooping her into her arms and opening the door. He must've calmed himself enough if he's confident to walk around. She could've sworn he was still hard when she collapsed, but her mind – gods she can't even keep track of anything.
Anything beyond the arms encasing her, the warm chest at her side and the powerful heartbeat against her ear. She wraps her arms around his neck, giggling as he walks them both back to his rooms.
He takes a scenic route just incase anyone was looking for them, or at the chance they might run into anyone. Halfway through the trip she ordered him to put her down, and he obeyed. She wobbled but remained steady.
They make it back to his rooms without further incident, although he does take her chin and places another, more gently kiss on her lips. He'd wiped away evidence of her pleasure from his mouth, but she could still taste its salt, smell it along his chin. It nearly riled her again, but she was so tired.
Michael chuckles before leaving her without a word, aiming for the bathroom. Elsa herself aimed for the bed, removing her borrowed pants and underwear. The clock on the mantle read ten past noon. And she is already tired from that climax alone.
Whatever. She'll lie and say she felt ill after the training and needed to rest. What is there to wait for her? Papers, complaints, letters and files and deeds. It can all wait.
She throws herself onto the bed with his shirt and nothing more, wriggling herself beneath the sheets. As she sits in bed waiting, her eyes cast around to the room, now so thoroughly entwined with the essence of Michael, it didn't even feel like a part of the castle anymore.
Stacks of books stand scattered throughout the space: the ends of the couch, atop the coffee table, atop the nightstand next to the bed, along the top of his desk among other papers and pens. Some of his weapons lay out in the open, though she knew more lay hidden within secret spaces he'd personally picked.
She slips further beneath the sheets, taking in the smell of rain-kissed pine. Gods, it all even smells like him. So embedded that her mind will only ever consider this his room.
The sounds of running water trickle from the bathroom, and Elsa can only assume he's rinsing himself off. Elsa moans. She should shower too. She's still sticky from sweat and she's being so rude climbing into his bed smelling like this.
She pulls herself away from the cool, coaxing sheets. At least her legs seem to have regained their function. She pulls the shirt off and chucks it into the pile in the dressing room. She undoes her braid and runs her fingers through the silk of her own hair.
Completely naked before the bathroom door, Elsa turns the knob and throws it open.
He'd left it unlocked. Whether he knew she'd follow or not.
Elsa smiles as she finds him scrubbing himself with a soap that smelled of almonds. He looks to her and smiles, completely content and relaxed, though his eyes do twinkle at the sight of her completely nude.
She had no room to feel embarrassed. Not around him. Not anymore.
Elsa walks over to the bathtub, taking three steps up and three steps down until it's blanketed her in warmth and bubbles.
"You're very amusing when you're, recovering." He snickers.
The water feels so good on her sore legs. The flexing they did so soon after the training has them stiff as a board.
"You . . ." she drawls, lifting a now sub-covered hand to point at him, "are a very unfair player."
He grins, jerking his chin towards her. "You were the one eyeing me so boldly I'm surprised you didn't melt."
She pokes her tongue out at him and splashes her face with the scented water. Her mind is coming back, processing and accepting the fact that she'll have to leave him and his comfort to go and attend her 'queenly duties.' She's settling back into her skin, remembering that there are dangers to her life, and to Michael's. And to Anna's and Kristoff's.
It has her haunching forward, her hair floating along the water's surface. She reaches for her own washcloth and begins to clean her legs . . . everywhere. It felt like punishment to wash away the feeling of that pleasure.
"If this is how you're going to react every time I sully you. We may want to consider holding off for a bit."
Elsa immediately straightens, the fog of ecstasy in her mind clearing. "Don't be vicious." She near commands.
She sure as hell won't give up such a luxury after going without it for so long.
Michael chuckles, and it's the most beautiful sound she's heard. She half-crawls, half-floats her way over to him, a near mirror of what they were like earlier this morning. He embraces her, wrapping his arms around her while her own coils around his neck.
For her she will do whatever she can for him.
This man – who had fought for her. Who had been to hell and back, conquered it at the cost of his soul. He is crawling his way back, still recovering from the things fate had dealt to him, and she will be his shining star.
She will be there to guide him back. To fight for him as he fought for her. She will cradle his broken heart as he cradled hers.
She will go down defending him until her dying breath. Rip the world asunder if he is taken from her.
And gods spare them all if anyone is stupid enough to do that.