He despised her. Hated the way she would challenge his authority. Stride through the halls of his kingdom and command his own guards as if she owned the lavish palace. It made his fists clench and his gaze burn with a smoldering sense of possession. This kingdom, this palace—it was his. All of it. The walls, the decor, the people, even the food. Every last bit of it belonged to him. Atticus. Though he’d behead any man, woman, or child that addressed him as anything but ‘King’. Now, as she knelt before his throne, offering a bitter yet sincere apology, he couldn’t help but smirk. It amused him. Yes, she’d made the mistake of firing at his men during a temporary truce, but to have her amends was much more valuable than any soldiers life. They were disposable. She, was not. “My dearest Scarlett, I hear your words and know that I do take them to heart. But I cannot simply say I forgive you.” Atticus drawls—a facade of respect and sincerity. She was on the other side, of course he didn’t particularly enjoy her presence in his palace. “If you’d like to make further amends, I suggest offering me something of importance. Perhaps a prized possession, or your services.” His words struck a cord with Scarlett, her fiery gaze flicking up to meet his own. Yet she smiles, rising from her kneeling position in an act of slight defiance. “King Atticus,” She begins, the weight of her armor feeling lighter the more her irritation grew. He had the nerve to demand her services for an accident? She hadn’t even known his soldiers would be stationed where hers would train archery. “I do offer my sincerest apologies, however I find that asking for possessions or services is much to ask for a mere slip up. Perhaps you’d like to simply accept my amends as they are?” She suggests. Atticus leans forward on his throne, his cocky grin widening. He did quite love her fire. Her defiance and the challenge she presented. She refused to back down, and for that, he hated her less. The cold hearted King found himself momentarily considering her request as he gazed down at her from his perch. Perhaps he could accept her terms for once. He stood, stepping down from his throne to meet her eye to eye. “My offer stands, dearest Scarlett. Accept my terms or I shall refuse your apology and wage war upon your kingdom.” Scarlett felt her eye twitch. She couldn’t believe how much of a child he was. He was intelligent, cunning, handsome and a great ruler, yet he acted as if they were in grade school. “Ridiculous. You wish to start war because I refuse to bend to your will?” She asks, unwavering in the face of his iron rule. “I will not be a slave to you, and I will not give you something of value. You are a King. A ruler of thousands of people. When will you begin to act like it?” Atticus’s gaze narrows, pale green eyes boring into her own. “You set foot in my palace and offer me an apology in exchange for forgiveness. It is I that chooses to accept or not. We may be at odds outside of each others territory, but in mine, you will respect my command.” Scarlett’s hand moves to her sword, unsheathing the worn blade as her frustration reaches a boiling point. The action makes Atticus raise an eyebrow, a hint of mockery in his expression. “A fight is what you want?” He muses, his own hand resting on the hilt of his blade. “What damage will you do with such a measly blade?” “Afraid of a little character?” She retorts, aiming to cut his hand from his sword. The King sidesteps, a look of surprise on his face. Though quickly he steels the expression into a mask of indifference. Her audacity intrigued him. Made something hot flare up in his chest. Nobody dared challenge him except her, and oh, what a thrill it was. Without further dally, he unsheathes his own sword, drawing it from its scabbard and lunging. Atticus was a powerful force—a flurry of dominance and offensive play, but Scarlett matched his sadistic enthusiasm with speed and agility. It was as if she knew his every move. Memorized his patterns. Every stab was parried, every lunge sidestepped, every jab and swipe blocked and countered. “All you got, King?” She teases, unknowingly breaking down his defenses. Atticus couldn’t help but love her fire, even if she frustrated him to no end. “Hardly.” He rumbles, barraging her with another flurry of attacks. The sound of scuffle and metal against metal rung through the room like a symphony of aggression. Each strike and step was fraught with tension, seemingly increasing with every pant and grunt. Atticus grew increasingly weaker, suddenly intoxicated by the woman before him. How had he never noticed before? She kept him on his toes, matched him strike for strike, challenged his authority, and spoke to him as if his status meant nothing. “Distracted, King?” Scarlett sneers, taking the opportunity draw first blood—a shallow cut across his cheek, Atticus narrowly manages to avoid. “Enough.” He growls, suddenly lowering his sword and grasping her by the chin. He pulls her closer, his lips meeting hers in a fierce kiss. Scarlett’s eyes widen, her heart thrumming rapidly in her chest. Upon instinct, she shoves him away, delivering a sharp slap across his cheek. “What in gods name do you think you’re doing?” She exclaims, completely caught off guard. “Did you just kiss me?” Scarlett couldn’t believe the Kings audacity. After years of despising each other, he’d just out and kissed her. Not that she particularly hated receiving such a gift from such a handsome man in power. She shook her head of the ludicrous thought, a subtle blush rising to her cheeks. “You’re a madman.” She grumbles, turning on her heel to storm out of his palace. Atticus chuckles as he rubs his cheek, his gaze lingering on her retreating form. This definitely was not the last he’d entertain the subtle heat between them.