“For a woman?”

“For any swordsman.”

Her smile grew in size, as though the response surprised her. However, her eyes were not focused on him, but the wound that ceased bleeding.

“How did you—” Marc said.

“I believe you owe me a kiss, Monsieur.”

Marc went to close the distance between them, but her outstretched arm kept him at bay. 

He winced and reached for the wound, feeling the all too familiar viscous liquid flowing… How’s that even—

“I believe that’s first blood, Monsieur.”

He took a step forward, did an about face, and found her in the corner. That impenetrable mask she wore during the fight was replaced by a warm smile, which left his jaw hanging loosely. Despite holding him at bay for the duration of the match, she was no worse for wear… not a single hair is out of place.

“That… was… impressive,” Marc said in between breaths. 

“For a woman?”

Since staying out in the open did him no favours, Marc had to restrict her avenues of advance. The next time she tapped him, he ran towards the corner. Seconds before slamming into the wall, he pivoted in the air and landed two paces away from the walls. To his left and right there were no signs of her, but when he took half-step back, there came the sound of crinkling fabric…

If not for the sound, he would have assumed that an amorous cat ran up against his leg. The Contessa was nowhere in sight, but something was missing from the equation… I can’t hear her breathing…

In fact, the only sound clear in his mind was the crackling fire. As the hairs rose up along the back of his neck, there came a sharp sting at the tip of his right ear.

With the Contessa at his back, Marc launched himself forward, curled up into a roll, and popped up facing where the strike came from. He caught sight of the hearth and nothing else, just in time to feel another well-placed tap to his ass.

Marc spun in place to the same effect. Whenever he manoeuvred himself to face her, the Contessa was already gone. He even attempted to block the inevitable strike, but failed every time.

He had no idea on how she managed, and did not have the luxury of considering the impossibility of it. That dress was not designed to give her a full range of movement… let alone running.

Tired to these games, Marc committed himself fully. Every attack was followed by another, and yet Susanna continued to fight defensively, without yielding him an inch. 

After a solid minute of strikes and blocks, he took a powerful swipe at her neck. The blade sliced through thin air without making contact, and just like that she was gone.

He felt something slap against his backside and realised it was the flat edge of her blade. While not powerful enough to tear the fabric, there would be a nasty bruise in the morning.

He began to circle her, just beyond reach. Every so often he tested her defences with a jab or a quick slash, all of which were easily countered. He noticed that Contessa’s breathing did not change, a feat considering the sweltering heat of the fire… not to mention that gown of hers…

An aspect Marc normally paid attention to was his opponent’s footwork. However her feet were entirely concealed by that gown, which impressed him. With every counter the bottom part of the dress barely moved, which implied a great deal of dexterity.

To prove his theory, he slipped into her inner-circle and performed a downward strike, using his strength and mass to drive the blade down. Once more she deflected without incident. The Contessa only needed to pivot in place to achieve this feat… A grown man would need to bend his knees to absorb the impact…

Normally opponents approached with swords at the ready, while sussing out potential weaknesses. However, it was as though the Contessa was anchored in place. That forced Marc to move in, which left him exposed… How dangerous can she be?

He never crossed swords with a woman before. Part of him expected it to be easy, presumably because of his combined strength and experience. However, his instincts warned him something did not add up… Would she challenge me if she had no chance?

He had a longer reach with this blade, affording him an advantage. He took a half a step forward and opened up with a basic thrust, which was deflected with ease.

“Low-er…”

When that failed to elicit a reaction, the Contessa shattered her mask and giggled. When further laughter was heard from the bar, Marc knew that he missed something… or is it at my expense?

“It appears you’re not yet an expert in all forms of conquest…” Susanna said.

“It appears so…”

Marc raised his sword in a salute, as did the Contessa. It was clear that he could not land a verbal blow on his beautiful foe… I guess the man was right about being challenged…

The idea of a kiss forced him to turn away from her to adjust his trousers. However, it also conjured up memories of Émilie and how she manipulated him for her benefit… Was that why they offered me free drinks?

“What do you get if you win?”

Susanna’s face was neutral, and Marc could not peer through her mask. It was both impressive and thoroughly unnerving to see someone so skilled at concealing their thoughts.

“I get to choose,” Susanna said.

“Choose what?” Marc asked with a raised brow. “Lips? Cheeks—”

“Lower.”

“Lower?”“Low-er…”

“A challenge,” she began. “The first to draw blood wins.”

“Contessa, I feel that I should warn—”

“Of your streak?” 

Susanna’s lips curled further than he believed to be possible. His eyes narrowed by a nail’s width, but regained his composure. Marc found their interactions to be equal parts thrilling, disconcerting, and chilling. A combination that was new to him for which he was ill equipped to handle.

“Wins what?” Marc asked as a way to avoid asking how she knew.

“A kiss.”