The morning air was crisp, laced with the earthy scent of soaked soil. Aria stood in the courtyard, sweat beading on her brow as she adjusted her stance. Draka circled her slowly, his golden eyes amused but focused.
“Again,” he said.
She threw a punch. He blocked it easily.
“I said go harder,” she grumbled, breathing heavily. “You’re treating me like I’m made of glass.”
Draka let out a low growl, catching her wrist and pulling her gently toward him. “That’s because you are. You're pregnant, Aria. If I actually went hard on you, I’d break something.”
“You’re underestimating me,” she muttered.
“No,” he said, brushing his lips against her forehead, “I’m protecting what’s mine.”
Before she could protest, he kissed her head one last time and walked off toward the training grounds, where
