Chapter 6: Firewoods, Fish stew and Forbidden Glances
965 Words
Selene gritted her teeth as she swung the axe, the heavy blade biting into the thick tree trunk with a dull thunk. The punishment was harsh—cutting firewood and preparing food for the academy’s kitchen. But what made it worse was that she was the one stuck with the brute labor while Ronan sat on a nearby log, sharpening a knife for cleaning the fish.
She wiped the sweat off her forehead, heaving a sigh.
"Why am I the one doing this part?" she muttered under her breath, raising the axe again.
From behind her, Ronan chuckled. "Because you're strong, Selene. The Masters know it."
She glared at him. "You mean they just want to see me suffer?"
He smirked, twirling the knife in his hand. "Same thing."
Selene huffed, lifting the axe again. Swing. Hit. Repeat. Each movement sent a sharp strain through her muscles, but what irritated her most was Ronan’s silence. He wasn’t teasing her. He wasn’t making sarcastic remarks.
No—he was just watching her.
Noticing.
And it annoyed her.
It wasn’t until she let out a small, unintentional grunt—one that sounded far too feminine—that she heard him snort.
"You make those sounds a lot?" he mused.
Selene stopped, gripping the axe handle tightly. "Excuse me?"
Ronan tilted his head. "Those little noises. You sound…" His lips twitched. "Like a woman."
Selene swung the axe again—this time with extra force—sending wood flying. "And what do I sound like to you, then?"
Ronan shrugged. "Like someone who's pretending to be tougher than he is."
She turned to him, fire in her gaze. "Are you saying I'm weak?"
He grinned. "Nah. Just saying I’ve never met a warrior who grunts like that."
Selene growled under her breath, raising the axe again.
Ronan chuckled but didn’t push further. Instead, he picked up a stack of chopped wood and carried it toward the kitchen, where the fish stew awaited.
Selene stirred the bubbling pot, inhaling the scent of simmering fish, tomatoes, and spices. Ronan stood beside her, rolling his sleeves as he sliced onions with practiced ease. But his eyes were teary.
"You cook a lot at home?" Selene asked, genuinely curious.
Ronan scoffed. "Me? No way."
She arched a brow. "Then why do you look like you know what you’re doing?"
He shrugged. "I watch my sisters do it all the time. They handle the home chores while I train."
Selene smirked. "So… what do you do at home, then?"
"I train," Ronan said simply. "And when I’m not training, I eat, sleep or go out with my friends."
Selene blinked. "That’s it?"
"That’s it," he confirmed.
She stirred the pot, shaking her head. "So you're saying you won’t help your wife with the home chores when you get married?"
Ronan hesitated, his slicing slowing.
He had never thought about that before.
His father never did chores. His uncles didn’t either. The women of his family handled the household, and the men handled everything outside of it.
But now that she asked…
Would he be like them?
"I don’t know," he admitted. "I’ve never thought about it."
Selene chuckled. "Then think about it now."
Ronan stared at her for a long moment, then smirked. "You ask a lot of annoying questions."
"And you dodge them a lot," she shot back.
For the first time since their rivalry started, they shared a real moment—one that wasn’t about winning or proving who was stronger.
They were just talking.
And Ronan realized… he didn’t mind it.
"Now that you’re done cooking," Master Torvald said, "you’re both required to clean yourselves up. I won’t have warriors reeking of sweat and fish in my academy."
Selene wiped her hands on a cloth, nodding. "I’ll go after Ronan."
Ronan arched a brow. "What, afraid to shower with me? Come on, what is there to hide?" Ronan asked, taking off his shirt.
Selene gazed away and stiffened slightly.
It was barely noticeable.
But Ronan noticed.
She always showered alone. She never joined the other trainees when they cleaned up after training. She would disappear when everyone else was too tired to notice, slipping into the bathhouse in the dead of night.
And now that he thought about it… why?
He didn't press the question, though. He just smirked. "Fine. Don’t get caught sneaking out again." Ronan tapped on her shoulders and she jolted his arm off.
Selene rolled her eyes. "Whatever."
That night, Ronan laid in bed, arms behind his head, watching the dim glow of the candlelight flickering against the stone ceiling.
Then—
The soft creak of a door.
His sharp ears picked up the sound of light footsteps. Silas.
She had just returned from the bathhouse.
His gaze flickered toward her silhouette as she moved toward her cot, drying her damp hair with a towel. She was already changed into her male sleepwear, but what caught his attention was the small movement of her fingers near her lips.
Ronan narrowed his eyes. Lip balm?
His smirk deepened. That’s not manly at all.
Selene—a warrior who fought like hell—was secretly dabbing lip balm before bed?
The thought amused him.
And before he could stop himself, he let out a low chuckle.
Selene froze.
Her head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. "Why are you still awake?"
Ronan turned onto his side, propping his head on one hand. "Could ask you the same thing."
Selene huffed, slipping under her blanket. "Mind your business, Ronan."
He smirked. "Noted."
But as she turned away from him, Ronan found himself watching her for a little longer than necessary.
Why was she always hiding something?
Why was she always sneaking away?
And why…
Why was he starting to care?
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