Written in 60 minutes.

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He scarcely had a chance to deflect the dagger before it sliced through his neck, but Jason managed to lift his arm, knocking her wrist back. He made a grab for her, but Elizabeth danced backwards, doing a roll that allowed her snatch up the first dagger, glinting on the forest floor.

“What—” Jason began but had to jump back when she swiped out again, nearly taking his intestines. Grimacing, he drew his sword. He had no taste for fighting a woman, even one who was armed—

And who had been trained well enough to dodge his attack. With the sword he kept her from another frontal attack, and held up another hand, hoping to suggest he meant her no harm.

But the meek woman he’d escorted from Shadwell and traveled alongside for the last two days had disappeared, replaced with a ball of fury. The hood had fallen back, and hair tumbled and loose around her face, only illuminated by the slice of moon visible through the gray skies.

“I don’t want to hurt you—”

“Says a man who takes the coin of a murderer,” Elizabeth spat, and he blinked at that accusation, and the rage shaking in her voice. That split second of confusion gave her an opening and she flew at him, one of her daggers slicing through his upper arm.

Jason hissed in pain, decided the time had come to end this farce. He threw the sword aside, grabbed one of her wrists, wrapping his hand around it like a manacle, tightening it. She cried out and the dagger fell to the ground.

When her other hand swung around, Jason was ready and within seconds, he’d wrapped her tiny wrists in one fist and backed her hard against the bark of a tree, holding the hands over her head, leaving a hand free.

“Let me go!” Elizabeth panted, twisting back and forth. When her knee came up towards his groin, Jason had already deflected it, curling one of his legs around hers, trapping it against his own.

Her chest was heaving, her breath a white cloud fading into the cold night, but despite having been completely disarmed and literally backed against a wall, Elizabeth’s turbulent eyes didn’t show even a hint of panic or fear.

“Let me go,” she forced out between clenched teeth. “You wouldn’t want to damage the merchandise.”

“You fight well,” Jason said, not bothering to respond to her barb. “But you should have finished your training.”

Her eyes narrowed into slits, her mouth little more than a white line. “What does that mean?”

Jason arched a brow. Without taking his eyes from hers, he shifted his boot slightly, kicked it, and then reached out to retrieve the dagger she’d dropped. He held the blade near her face, the tip just beneath her chin.

And still, no fear. No panic. Just the slide curve of her lips.

If only she knew that she’d lost whatever leverage she possessed with that twitch of the mouth, she might not have smiled.

“I could slice you open here,” Jason said almost casually, the blade resting against her skin, just below the curve of her jaw. One flick of his hands and he’d have her life’s blood spouting. “You think me afraid of the Cassadine?”

Amusement flared in her eyes, and the corner of her eyebrow quirked up. “I think you very stupid. Go ahead and try it.” She tilted her head slightly, revealing more neck.

“If I value my life, it will be the last thing I do.” When her eyes came back to his, the arrogance in her eyes fading. “Or were you hoping I wouldn’t recognize the daggers from the House of Nevoie?”

She said nothing, but there was a small flare of alarm now, and his smile only grew. “These daggers are charmed to protect their mistress. They bring no harm to you. They can’t.”

Her lips parted slightly, and now, finally, there was a lick of fear in her eyes. “I know not of what you speak—”

“If I even moved this blade a hair closer, I would be on the ground, fortunate to wake up hours from now with nothing more than headaches and regrets. You think your house has fallen into memory? That no one remembers the Ladies of Nevoie?”

“I think,” she said carefully, “that you have been told stories—”

“Stories?” he scoffed, dropping the blade to his side, but not loosening his hold on Elizabeth. He had no doubt she’d be going for other discarded dagger behind him if he gave her half a chance. And while he was sure she hadn’t completed her time with Alan, there was no telling what she could still pull out from beneath that heavy cloak.

After all, the house of Nevoie was known for more than their bespelled weapons.

“Tell me why you never finished your training,” Jason said again, and she furrowed her brow, not expecting that turn of conversation.

“What makes you think I didn’t it?”

“Because Alan Quartermaine never returned a lady of Nevoie without knowing how to disarm her attacker. This,” Jason said, pressing just a bit closer, pressing her more tightly against the tree. Her chest, still rising and falling with panicked, heavy breathing, had little room to expand. “This,” he said, bringing his face a bit more close so that there was little more than a breath separating them, “was his worst fear.”

“You aren’t going to hurt me,” she said, but her voice was smaller now, almost as if she were saying the words as an affirmation, to persuade herself rather to taunt him.

Jason pressed his lips together, stepped back, releasing her so fast that she was almost spinning. By the time she came back to herself, Jason had scooped up that second dagger and sheathed his sword.

Her eyes were huge now, focused on his hands, on her weapons. She flattened her hands against the tree, her fingers digging into the bark. “Give them to me,” she said, the words bit out from behind her clenched teeth. “They are mine.”

“I have no need to take them,” Jason said, with more warmth in his tone than he’d exhibited their entire acquaintance. “They must be the last of their kind.”

“Very nearly, and—”

“After all, the house of Nevoie has been extinct these last ten years. More,” Jason murmured.  “I was young when it happened, but not a child.”

“Extinct. Is that what your master told you?”

“I have no master, save myself. And no one told me anything. You think Valentin would have let me anywhere near you if I knew who you were or what value you bring? He’d never tell someone who could use that for his own gain.”

“Oh, and you’re so noble? So honorable?” she spat. “Are you so different  that you wouldn’t steal me for yourself?”

Jason raised his brows, then bit back his instinctual response. “I have no taste for the throne,” he said, his words pitched lower. Their eyes met. “Or need to steal a woman for any other reason.”

The shadows hid her, casting her face into nothing more than gray and white. But he would have gambled any amount that she’d flushed with embarrassment.

“But I’ll forgive you that accusation,” he continued, “as we don’t know each other very well and you’ve likely seen more men of that ilk than not.”

“All men are the same.”

“Did the training end when your family died? Did they not send you for another summer because there was left to do so?”

“You would dare to speak of this to me. The audacity,” Elizabeth breathed, “to stand there with the coin of Valentin Cassadine rotting in your pocket, and speak of my family. Of my mother who he slaughtered, my sister, my only blood—”

“Slaughtered?” When she just glared at him, Jason shook his head. “There must be some mistake. The last ladies of Nevoie died in the sickness—” He stopped, looked away as awareness awakened. “A story. A lie. You say Valentin Cassadine murdered the House of Nevoie? How do you know this?”

“I owe you no more answers,” Elizabeth said, lifting her chin. “You have a choice. Return my belongings, allow me to take my mare, and I’ll cease being your concern.”

Jason looked down at the dagger in his hand, turning it to see the end of the hilt, at the small insignia burned into it. The familiar mark of his family.

“I could do that,” he said, slowly lifting his head until their eyes met, held. “But I don’t think you want to leave just yet.”

“Oh, I assure you, I do—”

“Or will it not bother you how a bastard urchin from Wymoor knows who you are? Why I know so many of your secrets?”

Her eyes burned, and if she had the power, Jason was sure, he would have been engulfed by flames on the spot.

“Valentin would have told you—”

“Would he?” Jason demanded. “He would never have risked it. He knows who I am.”

“Who are you?” Elizabeth challenged, stepping forward, then her lips parted when he lifted his brows.

“If you want the answer to that question, you can come inside. Or— ” Jason held out the daggers, and her eyes went to them. “Take these and go.”

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