Draka had barely stepped foot into his chamber when a small figure blocked his path, hands on hips, chin raised in stubborn defiance.
“Train me,” Aria demanded, her voice as firm as her stance.
He blinked once.
Then again.
“You want me to what?”
“To train me,” she repeated, standing her ground. “I want to learn how to fight.”
“You’re pregnant,” he said flatly, towering over her.
“So?” she countered, unflinching. “I’m not asking for a battlefield. I want to defend myself. For when you’re not around.”
Draka stared at her for a long moment. It felt like his heart skipped a beat, then thundered back into his chest, slamming against his ribs.
Gods, she would be the death of him.
Of all the things he expected, this wasn’t one. She was already glowing with that fierce protectiveness onl
