Chapter 30: 29 – Lioness

“That was cheating,” Jonathan complained after coming back to his senses.

“That was me winning,” Dene argued back while letting go of him. She didn't bother trying to cover herself up.

“...” Jonathan struggled to come up with a response, and even more to look up.

“You can do more than just looking, you know?”

“What… no!” He finally shook himself awake. “Fine, you win, now cover yourself.”

“Are you sure that you don’t want to look some more? There won’t be another chance after this… Ha! Who am I kidding? Of course there'll be.”

“Yeah, fine, but that still wasn’t fair.”

“Is that what you would say in a real fight?”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it isn’t, because you would already be dead.”

Jonathan kept on complaining during the walk back to their rooms. Then, even more, when Dene attempted to get into the room with him.

And so the day came to an end.

The following morning, students from both Academies attended the breakfast at the dining hall. The headmaster was present, but the one hosting it was the Duke himself. It was hard to miss him, with his bright ginger hair and beard, as well as deep green eyes.

This seemed to be the norm among the Olsandres, as was the Olsens’ chestnut hair and green eyes.

His daughter, the little Vivienne, was also present. She sat with Dandara and an Olsandre boy at a separate table.

Dene sat with Jonathan, but with so many people around she had to behave and eat her sausage normally.

After a short rest, it was finally time for the competition. As everyone would use training weapons, there was no need for armor.

Starting from the freshmen, one from each Academy would come forward to fight. Whoever won would fight again and the loser would leave until one of the sides had no one else to send.

The dragon won among the freshmen but suffered a turnaround after the second and third years' defeats. They pulled ahead again when the fourth and fifth years won.

Richard — as much as Dene hated to admit — fought well. He was the last of the fifth years, while the other side still had three more. After the tensest fight up until then, he defeated the last adversary and scored a win for the dragons.

The phoenixes achieved a draw on the sixth years’ battle thanks to a similarly excellent performance from one Thertis Olsandre, nephew to the Duke.

The competition would be decided by the veterans. If not for one specific veteran.

Jonathan was the first and last to fight from his side, winning six consecutive fights, something unheard of up until then.

Dripping with sweat after the last fight, he let go of the sword and shield then ran towards the hugs from the other students.

As punishment for losing the bet, the Phoenix academy would have to display various messages on its main building. They ranged from praises to Dragon Academy to insults to the Phoenix along with various mentions of “sparrow”.

They would remain where they were for a whole year before the Olsandres could remove it.

And in the most prominent place, right at the entrance, Jonathan hanged his painting. The background was the throne room on Dragonblood castle.

Jonathan stood in front of the staired dais with the thrones behind him. He was dressed in the same crimson doublet and brown trousers he had come here with. He had his usual confident smile.

On the waist, he carried his sword, and to his left was Dene, wearing black breeches and a blue, fitting shirt. Like Jonathan, she also had her sword belts on the waist, instead of her shoulders as usual.

On the frame, under the painting was a silver plaque that read: “Jonathan Olsen, heir to the Great Plains Duchy, alongside his trainer, miss Dene Yao.”

And above the frame, someone had painted over the walls in bright red paint, “A sparrow can never stand against a dragon.”

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After a bath and change of clothes, Dene and Jonathan went for a walk around the campus. He had dismissed the two guards, and in their place was a man and a woman from Phoenix Academy.

“I told you I could do it,” Jonathan spoke with a smug grin.

“You got lucky,” the woman spoke. She had light brown hair and was wearing a simple, white dress. “Hagen almost got you in the end.”

“But he didn’t, and so I beat everyone.”

“Fucking… rubbing it in... ” the man mumbled. He had short black hair and dark brown eyes.

“What’s that Hagen? I couldn’t hear you, so busy I was winning.”

“I was complaining about the terrible winner you are. Can’t wait for the next tourney so that I don’t have to see you again after that.”

“You don’t mean it. You and Athalia love me.”

“Like a sore tooth,” Athalia said.

“Or a kick in the bollocks,” Hagen also denied.

“You’re a really bad winner,” even Dene chipped in.

“And who are you to talk? Jonathan contended against Dene. “You’re always talking about how you trampled me on our first fight.”

“That’s different. You gloat, while I simply state the facts.”

“She’s right,” Athalia spoke in support. “There’s a lot you could learn from her, such as humility.”

“That’s because you two don’t know her. You have no idea of the things she says or does when it’s just the two of us.”

“Oh, really, like what?”

“Yeah, Jonathan,” Dene spoke with a smile. “Like what?”

“Uh… you know. Stuff...”

“No, I don't know stuff. Could you be a bit more specific?”

Dene would never get tired of this. Thanks to her, Jonathan remained flustered all the way back to the public square in front of the green dormitory.

"Look, we've arrived, let's go." He pulled ahead towards the litters. As before, everyone was already inside and just waiting for him.

"You better run,” Athalia laughed. “So I guess this is goodbye.” She then addressed Dene. “It has been a pleasure.”

“And I say the same,” Dene spoke with at least some sincerity. “And thank you, my lord, for informing Jonathan about my sister.”

Hagen was the friend of Jonathan who told him about Dandara, "the southerner working for Duke Olsandre," as he described. Dene would have come either way — as Jonathan’s side was the safest place for her —, but thanks to this she was able to prepare beforehand.

“Goodbye then, and make sure to rein him in,” Athalia joked, referring to Jonathan.

“I’ll try, but I think a collar would be more appropriate,” Dene joked back as she said goodbyes. Then she picked up her pace towards Jonathan, who was already waiting by the litter’s door.

“What were you talking about?” He asked.

“Nothing much, I was just praising how good a boy you are,” she laughed while petting his head. “Keep this up and I’ll give you a treat later.”

He straightened his hair back the way it was. “You know, one day I’ll get truly angry at you.”

“Are you going to punish me then?”

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“What? No, nothing like that,” he answered, not getting understanding her meaning. “Anyways, let's go.” Jonathan was about to open the door but then stopped, his gaze going past her.

Dene turned around and found her sister coming their way. “Do you mind if...”

“Take your time, I’ll wait inside.”

“Thanks,” she said, then made her way towards Dandara until they were facing one another.

Her sister was the first to speak. With a sigh, she asked, “you haven’t changed your mind, have you?”

Dene simply shook her head.

“I still think you’re making a terrible mistake...”

“...”

“...but if that’s what makes you happy, then I hope to be wrong,” she gave a warm smile.

Dene smiled back before they shared a hug.

“Just be careful, okay? We’ve already lost too much, I don’t want to lose you too.”

“You won’t lose me. And thank you.”

The sisters talked a little bit more, promising to try meeting again during the king’s tourney, then said their goodbyes.

There were some annoyed faces when she finally got to her seat by Jonathan’s side, but no one said anything about it.

All done, they left to Lastan and then to Dragonblood castle, where everyone attended a celebration banquet that lasted well into the night.

As the festivities concluded, Dene and Jonathan retired to their chambers.

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Dene let out one more sigh, its count already lost. She was soaking in the tub while pondering what she was about to do.

Would it work? Even if it did, how would things be after that? Would he accept her or push her away?

It was time to find out.

Dene got out of the tub, dried herself with the towel then put on a bathrobe.

From the shelf beside the mirror, she took a small glass bottle. Veiled Lady, was the perfume's name. One of the very few things she had brought in these more than four years. She acquired it on a whim, from a merchant visiting the castle, but only used it once. Based on whiterose, nightbloom and a touch of sweet wine, it was strong just enough to be noticed.

She rubbed one drop on her wrists, then another drop on her neck. After a deep breath, she left the washroom to the sight of Jonathan with a large bag in his hands.

“What are you doing?” Dene asked.

“I’m taking my things to the side room,” Jonathan answered, still not totally approving of the way she won.

“Wha- Oh, the bet. Forget about it.”

“Really?”

“Yes. More importantly, I need to show you something.” She took one more deep breath before opening her bathrobe, revealing all the clothes she wasn’t wearing underneath.

Jonathan simply stood there, frozen on the spot. The silence seemed to drag forever, until Dene took a step forward, allowing the robe to slide off of her body.

Startled awake, Jonathan unwittingly dropped the bag.

Akin to a lioness locked on its prey, she took another step forward, while he took one backward. Then he did it again, and she followed suit, the distance remaining the same. But not for long.

He soon reached the bed, stumbled on its frame and fell with his back on the mattress.

That was when Dene pounced.

As Jonathan sat up, she landed on his lap, knees over the sheets.

Another moment of silence.

Dene didn’t make another move, allowing him time to make sense of the situation.

“W-what are you doing?” He finally asked after a long time but didn’t try to remove her.

“I told you I would give you a treat, didn’t I? Do you like the view?”

Jonathan’s eyes all over her body were enough of an answer.

‘Not a bad start,’ thought Dene, ‘but I want more.’

“I know I said this was a treat,” she broke the silence, “but the courteous thing would be to show me something too.”

Not waiting for his answer, she pushed a bit further, putting her hands under his pajama shirt, her fingers feeling his chiseled muscles.

“H-hey, you said looking,” he stammered in protest, but still didn’t try to stop her.

“My mistake,” she laughed while removing her hands from his stomach, but not for the reason he wanted. Or said he wanted. Dene grabbed his hand and placed one on her waist, while the other went over her breast. “There, now we’re even.” And so she resumed exploring his body, with only a brief pause to open his shirt.

His hands now full, Jonathan’s protests turned even weaker.

“Dene, wa-” He made one last attempt that was cut short by her lips. Intentionally or not, his hands moved, feeling and fondling her body.

Her lips traveled from his lips, down to his neck, then back up again to his ear. “Take off your clothes,” she whispered in between nibbles.

He stood still, his blood having flowed out of his head long ago, as evidenced by the bulge that had been poking her for some time now.

“Take them off,” she repeated with a smile. “You’re not hoping to fuck me like this, are you?”

The word seemed to bring back some of his clarity. “Wait, who said anything about fucking?”

Dene didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Maintaining her smile, she spoke, “Jonathan, I’m sitting naked over your lap with your hands all over me. Even you know where this is going, and the fact you haven’t made any real attempt to stop it tells me you want it too.”

Jonathan bit his lip and looked down, not looking at her body, but deep in thought.

This was the worst wait of all. Every beat of her heart sounded like drums in her head. Every moment was agony as she anxiously awaited his decision. This was the last step, and it had to come from him.

As he finally raised his head, and his eyes looked into hers, he came to a decision.

He…

...took his hands away from her body.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Then it skipped another, as his previously feeble hands came back with an unseen strength, one wrapped around her waist while the other reached to the back of her head, pulling her body to his body, her lips to meet into his lips.

Their tongues invaded each other’s mouths, one dancing around the other as the couple rushed to remove his clothes, ripping them out when it didn't go fast enough and losing themselves in a night of passion that would last until the crack of dawn.

And so lost in their passion they were, that neither of them recalled that the bedroom door was closed, but not locked.

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