Chapter 262

When I walk into the gym, I find Creed and Windsor fencing.

They’re both soaked in sweat, dressed in that padded white gear, but lacking any helmets. My practical side wars briefly with my fascination, and I end up sitting quietly on a bench in the back, just admiring their forms as they square off.

With the tips of their swords—rapiers? I don’t know, sorry, just not a fencing expert—crossed, the boys stare at each other across the mat. Creed’s blue eyes bore into Windsor’s hazel ones. The prince looks as prepared and on top of things as he always does, but Creed’s shed his sexy sloth persona, dropping into that fierce fighting style of his that I’ve only seen on a few occasions.

“You’re bloody good,” Windsor tells him, a bead of sweat running down the side of his face. His eyes flick briefly over Creed’s shoulder and land on mine before bouncing right back to his opponent’s. “Honestly, your form is better than mine, but when you get mad, you get impulsive.”