I pace a tight arc, boots grinding into the dirt with each clipped step. A low growl escapes me. The sword glints where it fell; I stoop to retrieve it, fingers closing around the hilt with deliberate precision.
My spine straightens on instinct. Shoulders set. Jaw locks. The heir of Pride does not unravel on a training field. I am the epitome of control.
Get it together. I can do this.
I spin, feint, lunge. The blade hits the target with a sharp clack, hitting my mark, echoing in the space. My breathing is heavy, my body slick with sweat, but the real burn is inside me—hot, unrelenting, suffocating.
Everything I’ve built, everything my father expects, every step I’ve taken to cement my power in this world… all of it teeters on the edge because of her.
Throwing the blade to the side, my chest heaves as it hits the cement wall with a loud clang. My hands tremble just slightly as I wipe the sweat from my forehead. I should feel relief. I should feel in control. Instead, it’s her face in my mind. Her defiance. Her fire. The unfinished bond gnaws at me, screaming to let it out, let it take control.
I grind my teeth, close my eyes, and force the discipline back into my limbs. Every motion is a mantra. Control. Discipline. Power. But the bond? It doesn’t care. It doesn’t wait for me to be ready.
And the more I try to push it down, the more it claws its way to the surface, dragging my rationality and my rage with it.
… nothing has left me this raw, this unbalanced.
Nothing except her.
20
Thou Shalt Not Trip Over Friendship
Arwen
The sun hits my face, warm and lazy, and for a second I feel like I could just dissolve into the bench beneath me. I don’t move. Arms draped over my stomach, head tipped back, eyes shut. Muscles loose.
Up here, tucked between the two towers, it’s like the rest of the academy doesn’t exist. Months ago I found this spot, and it’s still almost always empty, quiet enough that I can pretend it’s mine. Just mine.
Technically, winter’s supposed to be here. Not that I’d notice. The academy’s magic wards keep the grounds cozy, so cold’s a rumor to me. Back home in Wrath, it’d be “less hellish” this time of year, but I’ve heard whispers—places in SinVail where the air bites, where it makes your lungs hurt just to breathe. Can’t even picture it.
Classes keep my mind stimulated; watching the other factions train in their power is fascinating in its own right. But this—this quiet—is the real prize. Well… maybe tied with sparring with Holly, so I don’t completely embarrass myself.
Out here, stretched under the sun, I can let my thoughts flop around like they’re on vacation. Forget the chaos the universe dumped on me. Stop panicking about the next disaster waiting in line. Just… breathe. In. Out. Repeat until the world feels a little less like it’s trying to drown me.
Soft, quick pings of my phone shatter the silence. I crack one eye, groaning, then check to see a string of messages.
Holly: Heading to the casting grounds. Brix invented some sort of magical frisbee game. You in?
Holly: It sounds totally insane
Holly: And one of us will probably end up in the infirmary…
Holly: But the weather is perfect to be outside.
A pang of guilt stirs in my chest. I’ve been avoiding the cafeteria ever since the disaster with Atticus and Ryker the other day. Ducking in only when it’s half-empty, pretending I don’t care about the eyes on me. But I miss my friends. Maybe I’ll head down in a minute.
Just… a little more time to myself first. I close my eyes and rest back again.
The sunlight disappears. My body tenses as a shadow falls across me, cool and sudden. I blink my eyes open—only to find Atticus Willshire standing over me.
My guard slams back into place as I sit up. “What are you doing here?”
He tilts his head, jaw tight, shoulders squared like the weight of the entire academy rests on them. Arms crossed over his chest, posture perfect, as if any slip might betray the slightest irritation.
“It’s a public space, Arwen,” he says, voice calm, clipped, each word measured. “I am perfectly entitled to occupy it.”
My eyes narrow. “What could you want? Where’s your little posse?”
