Trump Suit: Two Hearts

Sweat was trickling down the side of my face, dripping from my chin. My breaths came out as short heavy puffs. My eyes stared intensely at the hand holding the steel blade.

With a cry, Gerik charged with his sword raised above his head. Lunging, I sidestepped before warding his blade with a blow of mine, which led to a parrying session.

Right, left, left, right, right…left? A flaw in his offensive allowed me to recover from the position of defense and launch a counter-offensive. My blade skimmed the underside of his jaw, stopping one inch of his jugular vein.

Gerik groaned as he collapsed onto the grass. "Honestly, must you bring me this close to death's door everything we practice sparring session? If I had not known you, I would have thought that you were working for the enemy to try and assassinate me." He snorted as he massaged his neck. "Someday, you'll really kill me by accident…"

"Sorry chief," I muttered, extending my hand to him up.

His eyes were not on my hand. I flushed. His gaze skimmed over my legs, to my skirt and up.

I blushed harder. I had never been interested in men, other than as training partners or rivals. What chief was doing was unfamiliar to me, and caused my to feel uneasy and disturbed. Yet, at the same time, I could feel the skin tingling under his gaze, my heartbeat accelerating in my chest…

"Isn't this such a déja vu situation?" A calm collected voice rang out from behind me.

I broke from my reverie and gasped, turning around.

"Joshua!" Gerik punched his arm playfully. "You could have given us some warning that you were there. You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

Joshua rolled his eyes. Turning to me, he smirked pointedly. "If you too hadn't been too busy giving each other fawning looks of adoration, you would have noticed my extremely loud and noisy grand entrance."

Gerik looked stunned momentarily, then laughed. "You know, if you had been out drinking just now, you should have called me along. And don't tell me you are sober; no one can hallucinate those kinds of things unless they are dead drunk." He waved his hand carelessly as he exited the clearing.

There was a long silence. I stared at my blade, refusing to make eye contact with him. He stared at me staring at my blade, pressuring me to make eye contact with him.

"Would you spar with me?" He broke the tense silence. "I didn't mean it that way."

He sounded…almost…apologetic.

"…"

He sighed audibly. "I never wanted to spar with anyone this way, but you leave me with little choice."

There was the ringing of a blade being drawn, and running footsteps across grass.

I drew my own shamshir just in time to deflect the blow that would have scarred my arm. I saw his smirk reflected on the blade of my shamshir, the smirk of a victor.

"I knew that would draw you out."

Somehow, in the course of our sparring match, he tripped over my leg. Before falling, however, he very kindly latched onto my arm, resulting in the both of us tumbling onto the grass.

We did not stop. Just because we had been fighting while standing vertically meant that we would stop when we were lying horizontally on the ground. Our swords continued to meet, the blades dangerously close to both of our faces.

The swing aimed at my wrist caught me unawares. With a gasp, my shamshir was knocked from my hand. Rolling over, I attempted to grab it before he could.

He surmised that I was going to retrieve my blade when I turned. Swiftly, he seized my wrists, pining me closely against the ground. His legs pinned mine to the grass, preventing me from putting up any further struggles.

It was all embarrassingly déja vu.

For someone who was aspiring to be one of the top assassins in the land, it was extremely demoralising to constantly suffer defeat at the hands of the same person. Taking several deep breaths, I prepared to ask him what he would like to claim this time as his winnings for defeating me.

My eyes met his. Instantly, my mouth dried. Even though it was open, hard as I tried, not a single sound would come out.

His gaze was piercing right into me. I held his gaze, transfixed. There was something mesmerizing and extremely captivating about his dark red pupils when they were staring straight at you intensely.

He was not smirking. Neither was he grinning. His face was a perfect mask, devoid of any emotion that he was feeling. Only his eyes gave m the slightest indicator of what he could be thinking of.

Slowly, he shifted his gaze downwards. He did none that Gerik had done; he did not do a cursory, sweeping overview. Instead, he let his eyes travel slowly and steadily down the path.

My face felt as though it was on the verge of bursting into flames. Wincing, I struggled to release myself from his iron grip, to no avail. His strength was likely 2 times of mine. If anything, it made him grip my wrists even tighter.

The only sounds that could be heard were the sound of our breaths, mine in short, rapid pants and his in smooth deep exhalations.

After what seemed like eternity, he abruptly released me. Grabbing his blade, he brushed the grass off his clothes and walked away, leaving me alone in the clearing with two distinct reminders on my wrists.

the Author speaks:

Hello, everyone, thanks so much for reading, please review if you think it's good/bad/mediocre. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I felt that this chapter's main purpose is to further develop their emotions and their characters. Even Joshua, beyond the flippancy, has a serious side. This contrasts with the previous chapter: same plot, same ending, but different moods and tones. Yup, but I won't be doing anymore of these sparring scenes in the following chapters, and I'll move on to something hopefully more interesting :D

I've also decided to name the chapters after a game of bridge, because of the obvously strong correlation between card games and gambling.

Thank you all again!