The Gender Game by Bella Forrest (historical books to read txt) 📗

"And now," he said, sitting up and twisting me around so that my back was against his chest, "if I held you in this choke…" He locked one arm around my neck, the other fastening my arms behind my back. "How would you get out?"

Hm. Good question.

This was difficult because neither of us were standing. I couldn't knock him to the ground like I had done back in his changing room when he'd held me from behind.

I tried to maneuver my legs to distance myself and loosen his grip on me, but I failed. I realized that I actually did not know—or remember—how to get out of this.

"What's the answer?" I asked.

"What if I told you the answer is, there's no way out of this one?"

"I'd call bull."

He chuckled. "Then get out of it."

His challenge got my creative juices flowing.

I realized what I would do. My knees were touching the ground, which meant that I had leverage. Due to the nature of his hold, his face wasn't far from the back of my head. I would jerk my body upward suddenly, catching him with a head-butt strong enough to weaken his grip on me for a few seconds. Then I'd slither out.

Obviously, I wasn't going to actually do that now. I didn't want to give Viggo a bloody nose before his fight, so I just explained it to him.

"Hm. That might've worked," he said. "But I guess we'll never know. Now that you've told me your idea, I'll be sure to watch the back of your head."

Still his grip remained on me. "Hey, come on!" I said, grinning.

"There is another way out of this, though," he said. "At least one other way that wouldn't require you to smash my face in. Figure it out."

Viggo was a hard taskmaster, but I liked it.

Another idea came to me, and this time I acted instantly. Using my knees, I shoved all my weight to the right as I leaned backward. The mix of movement and direction was enough to rock Viggo's balance. We both toppled to our sides on the grass. As we made contact with the ground, there was a second where Viggo's hold loosened on my arms. I managed to slide them out in front of me and then break his hold on my neck enough for me to squirm and twist until I was facing him, our noses inches apart. I froze, realizing just how close we’d come to each other. Closer than we’d ever been. I paused for a few seconds to take in the details of his eyes, his dark lashes, every hue of green in his irises and the way they seemed to gleam as he looked back at me. Then, experiencing a flush of bashfulness, I switched back into fighting mode. Curving my right arm around him, I shoved myself further upward until my right shoulder dug into his neck, while I flattened his left arm beneath me. His right arm was still free, but I kept my head pressed close to his, which made it tougher for him to gain control of me.

Of course, if he was actually fighting with me, he would've made things a lot more difficult. But as I released him and we both sat up, there was still a shine to his eyes. He seemed pleased.

We spent the next few hours discussing techniques and putting them into play—mostly grappling, which was what I enjoyed the most, but also some punching and kicking. Before we knew it, dusk was upon us. That was just as well, I supposed. Viggo had worn me out. I was fit from manual labor, but I hadn't done resistance training for years. Of course I didn't have anywhere close to Viggo's lasting power. He could have continued all night.

Although evening had fallen, we still had some time left before Lee arrived back home. Viggo strolled over to the wooden shelter, gripped its roof, and, with one fluid motion that caused every muscle in his back and arms to flex, he lifted himself onto it. He glanced down at me. "Wanna come up here? The view's pretty good."

Heck, yes.

I wasn't tall enough to reach the top of the roof, so Viggo offered a hand and helped me up. We sat down facing the wilderness, our legs dangling over the edge. The mountains glowed orange in the evening light, enhancing their raw beauty to something of fantasy.

I had gained a new appreciation for why Viggo wanted to live up here. The view alone was worth the absence of electricity.

"Thanks for that," I said to him, leaning back, my eyes ahead.

"Welcome."

A span of silence fell between us, but it was not uncomfortable.

I glanced over my shoulder, toward Viggo's second view. The city. My eyes traced the shape of the river, and that of the buildings extending around it; they melded together, forming one giant crescent around the palace. Then I asked a question that had been nagging me for a long time.

"What is the actual meaning of your crescent symbol?"

Viggo followed my gaze and joined me in eyeing the city. "It symbolizes strength and potential. Growth, like the waxing moon."

"Ah," I said softly. "That makes sense."

It was ironic that it was Patrus' crescent mark that Matrus authorities stamped on boys who failed the test, when Patrus was the last place they'd ever be allowed to go.

I turned my thoughts to the symbol on the Matrus flag—a curved grain of wheat. It was fairly self-explanatory. It signified growth and fertility, but it was intended more to be an ode to a society rooted in pragmatism, diligence, and most importantly, peace.

I sensed Viggo watching me as I gazed upon the city, but I didn't let on. I felt that strange flurry in my chest again.

He seemed to hesitate, then asked, "How did… you and Lee meet, Violet?"

I realized that this was the first time I'd heard Viggo use Lee’s first name.

"I thought he told you," I said, my