Reincarnated as the Villainess’s Unlucky Bodyguard

Enara stepped away, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand, refusing to meet Liria's gaze. "You win," she muttered, trying to sound dismissive, as if losing to Liria in the sand ring meant nothing. As if her heart wasn't pounding so hard it hurt, as if the sting on her cheek wasn't matched by a deeper ache somewhere she could never quite reach.

It was meant to be over now. The match, the confessions, the old feelings pulled from the dust like lost swords. Enara told herself to turn, to walk away, to let the night swallow her before her guard slipped further.

But Liria, damn her, was still standing there gentle, battered, stubborn, so infuriatingly herself and that was the trouble, wasn't it? Because nothing had really changed. Enara's heart was a badly-fortified city, and Liria always seemed to find the hidden gates.

Something reckless surged up in Enara, raw and impulsive. Before she could stop herself before sense or pride or fear could interfere she lunged.

One moment, she was standing in the quiet torchlight, trying to hide her tears; the next, she barreled forward and swept Liria's legs out from under her in a blur of muscle memory and pent-up emotion. Liria yelped (with dignity, but definitely a yelp), landing hard in the sand with Enara straddling her, pinning her wrists above her head.

The move should have felt triumphant, a small victory after all that loss. Instead, it felt like falling off a cliff and not even having the decency to scream.

Liria stared up at her, breathless, shock and something warmer flickering across her face. The night was cold, the sand biting, and Enara realized how close they were. Really, painfully close. So close she could count the flecks of green in Liria's eyes, feel the ragged rhythm of her breathing, see the nervous swallow in her throat. Her hair spilled across the sand in a silver-dark mess, and Enara couldn't remember how to move or breathe.

Liria, of course, had to ruin the moment by whispering, "If you wanted me on my back, all you had to do was ask."

It was such a Liria thing to say so shameless, so idiotic, so exactly what Enara loved and hated most about her. Enara's entire face went hot. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and for one glorious, catastrophic instant, the world shrank to a pair of tangled bodies, a wild heartbeat, and a question she didn't dare ask.

Their gazes locked, and the silence thickened—not awkward, not even quite tense, but ripe, trembling, a tension that vibrated in the space between laughter and a kiss.

She bent down, drawn by a gravity more powerful than shame, their noses almost touching, Liria's eyes wide and unguarded. For a heartbeat, it felt possible everything felt possible.

She's going to kiss me. I'm going to let her.

Enara inhaled, dizzy with longing and dread. The world slowed, magic humming just beneath her skin, as if the castle itself was holding its breath.

Then like a coward, like a queen, like a girl on the edge of her own destruction Enara shoved herself up and away, springing back from Liria as if burned.

Liria blinked, left sprawled in the sand, still breathless, still too beautiful for her own good. She said nothing, only watched Enara with something like hope flickering behind the worry in her eyes.

Enara's chest felt too tight for words. Fury, humiliation, and desire warred inside her, a mess of want and terror and regret. She clenched her fists, fighting the urge to scream, or sob, or laugh herself sick.

"Don't," she managed, voice ragged. "Don't make this harder than it is."

Liria propped herself up on her elbows, still infuriatingly calm. "You're the one who tackled me, you know."

Enara glared, too aware of the shaking in her limbs. "You still talk too much."

"Only when I'm about to get punched, usually."

"You're not—" Enara swallowed, unable to finish. "I can't just don't."

She turned, fleeing the ring, her boots kicking up a cloud of cold sand, half-expecting Liria to call after her. But Liria, in an uncharacteristic moment of grace, stayed silent.

Enara nearly ran into a post, muttered a curse, and kept going. She didn't look back.

She found herself in the shadow of a half-finished wall, the night air sharp and bitter. She pressed her forehead against the cool stone and forced herself to breathe. She couldn't explain the riot in her chest—the tangled mess of resentment, longing, and the ache that only grew sharper in Liria's presence.

Why do I do this to myself? Why can't I let her in, or let her go? Why does everything with her feel like drowning and flying at the same time?

She'd wanted proof tonight. Proof that Liria was real, was back, was worth trusting again. Instead, all she'd found was that her own heart was more traitorous than any enemy.

You're a fool, Enara, she thought, bitter and tired. A fool in love with another fool. The worst kind.

From somewhere far behind her, she heard the faint, sarcastic tones of Ananara: "Well, that was romantic. In a train-wreck sort of way."

Enara didn't answer, didn't move. The moon drifted through the clouds, cool and indifferent, as she pressed her face into her sleeve and tried not to sob.

After a while, she drifted back toward her chambers, each step heavier than the last, her body aching with bruises old and new, her heart somehow heavier for every word she hadn't said.

She would see Liria again. She would have to. There would be more training, more fights, more nights like this one, full of longing and regret and the question that hovered between them, unspoken and impatient.

But for now, she needed distance. She needed air. She needed to remember that being strong didn't mean not feeling.

As she closed the door to her room, she caught her reflection in the window: hair wild, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with unshed tears and something dangerous. She almost laughed. Almost.

She was a mess. But at least she was a mess who could still feel.

And that, she told herself, was better than nothing.

Even if, tonight, she'd come in second place, lost her dignity, and nearly lost her mind to a single look.

At least Liria didn't win everything.

Not yet.