"Even all these months after our wedding night," Owain taunted, holding up his bloodstained blade. "First blood still belongs to me."
If Owain had meant it as a joke for the audience, no one laughed. If he'd meant to provoke Ashlynn, she hardly seemed to care. A thin rivulet of blood flowed down her arm, but it barely stained her arming jacket. The wound was superficial, and Ashlynn had learned long ago to ignore far worse pain than this.
"Where did all that fire go?" Owain asked as he stalked forward. "No words now that blood's been spilled?"
Ashlynn didn't bother to dignify his taunting with a response. Her eyes were focused on his sword while her body had returned to a forward, centered guard, but other than that, she wasted no energy or thought on a man who wasn't yet in range of her blade.
