one
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My back slamsinto the mat with a loud thud, forcing the air from my lungs. Pain radiates through my chest as I fight for another breath, the weight of my Nakata-plated corset heavy against my ribs. I breathe, allowing the adrenaline to fade, counting to three before my eyes open. I inhale my first full breath.
“You’re distracted,” he admonishes. “Let’s go again.” Light hazel eyes look down on me with such love that I feel the potential Bond rippling in the air between us. It’s faint, almost impossible to detect, yet definitely there. It’s only been present for a few weeks, but I already find comfort in it. Kellan reaches out, pulling my body off the mat and straight into his broad chest.
“You know, you could always just–”
“What? Take it easy on you?” he chuckles. “Not a chance. Let’s go, Tierson, no holding back.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I roll my shoulders, step back, place my feet exactly as I was taught, and launch at him, my small dagger lifted to strike. Before I reach his energy shield, his right arm shoots out, wrapping around my raised one. He twirls me so quickly my back presses to his front, my arm pinned across my chest, my own dagger nearly at my throat. I swallow a groan of frustration.
The scent of salt and cinnamon fills my senses, and memories of us stargazing, wrapped in large blankets, flood my mind with a comforting stroke. I lose myself in the vision before my eyes open, remembering where we are.
This dimly lit room, with its exposed wooden beams and sparse sparring mats, is our private gym. It was my idea to freshen up here before our official first day as juniors at Drithm Academy.
“Those are old moves, Raea,” he chuckles against the shell of my ear. His breath caresses my skin, sending warmth through my whole body. My chest heaves from losing every second of this sparring match, but the frantic beat of my heart? That is all him.
As my right foot gracefully sweeps behind him, I forcefully nudge his foot forward. He stumbles back, and I slip away, not hesitating when I swing my practice blade at his throat, piercing his energy shield.
“Old moves, huh?” I ask, smiling as the third bell chimes, signaling the end of our session. “Time to go.” This time, I reach out, taking my best friend’s hand as I pull him up.
At six feet tall, he stands a whole foot above me. The comfort of our bodies connecting like this is a feeling I know well. Kellan and I have trained together since we were five. The veil protecting our system is declining, and the threat of attacking shadow forces looms, creating an urgency in our training. Despite my parents’ best attempts toprotectand coddle me, I won the argument to train. What started as a sillylet her get it out of her systemnow drives me to train three days a week, hoping I’ll be ready if the shadows come. I step back, catching my breath, before leaving the mats ahead of him.
Leaving the sparring arena on the west side of the school grounds, a cool breeze, thick with damp soil and pine, washes over us, chilling our sweat-soaked bodies. My senses are alive as we follow a narrow, well-worn path toward the check-in table for our new Order. This fresh start fills me with excitement. I'm eager to reconnect with friends and classmates after being away for three months.
After eleven years at the academy, we form a tight-knit community here—as close as possible under our system’s strict social hierarchy,especially with my royal title. The line stretches with faces from across the system. Nobility from all seven kingdoms attend Drithm.
Pine trees arch overhead, casting dappled shadows across the path as we walk toward the academy gates. This place feels as much like home as the palace on Kyrr. If I follow the trail to my right, I know I will end up at the Specialists’ dorm yard. Drithm Academy consists of five Orders, each building upon the last, culminating in Executives—our collegiate level.
Our time at the academy begins with Primms, for students ages ten to twelve. Technicals, or Techs, follow for ages thirteen to fifteen. Betas is for ages sixteen to eighteen. Specialists, my favorite Order, is for nineteen and twenty-year-olds.
Finally, the Executive level is for twenty-one and twenty-two-year-olds.
As the path ends, the administration building’s white facade gleams in the sunlight, its glass rotunda sparkling, flanked by grand wings that rival capital structures. Intricately carved oak doors, framed by a large archway, stand beneath colossal sculptures of our gods, Astor and Calia, welcoming all who come to learn. Above, vibrant flags mark each Order and dorm.
“Ah, Princess Raea, it’s wonderful to see you again,” Professor Ainslyn greets us as we step into the line near the academy’s entrance. Junior and senior Executives shuffle in behind, their chatter filling the air as they catch up from home. The professor stands tall and commanding, his warm, tanned skin, kind dark brown eyes, and short-trimmed beard marking him a seasoned warrior. Once among the system’s strongest, his path changed after a tragic mission explosion left him with a prosthetic leg. Rather than disappearing, he channels his expertise to shape us into capable warriors as our weapons and combat professor.
“Duke Hyston,” he acknowledges with a polite nod. I catch a glimmer of mischief in his eyes as he winks at me before striding to the front where the senior Executive student takes roll and distributes dorm assignments. Kellan nudges my shoulder playfully, a grin spreading across his face. Professor Ainslyn and I have always shared a special rapport; last year, Ipassed the insanely difficult Hallo gun test—an achievement few students manage. He often praises my abilities, both on and off campus.
I lean against the sturdy trunk of an ancient tree and pull out my Prism. With a click, I capture a selfie with Kellan, our faces lit with genuine smiles despite our sparring-mussed hair. I upload the photo to The Link, the hottest communication and photo-sharing platform.
“So, what dorm do you think we will be assigned this year?” Kellan asks, bouncing on his feet with nervous energy. I quickly upload the photo for Cassia, my publicist, then slip my phone into my bag. This year’s Executive Order promises to be the most challenging, and I want to focus on my schoolwork.
“Probably Taeolyn, maybe Veker,” I reply. The wind makes me shiver now that I’m cooled off. “I doubt they put us in Bragr,” I add with a shrug; that dorm is typically for nobility from the outer regions and lower-ranked nobility—those first to see battle should the veil fall. Taeolyn is the dorm where the royals are almost always housed. In fact, I can’t think of a single royal who hasn’t been in Taeolyn. He takes a lock of my bright white hair, tucking it behind my ear.
“Is it wrong that I want Veker? It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” I tilt my head up at my best friend; he’s never admitted that. Veker is the dorm often given to nobility who work in higher technical positions.
“But then we’d be in different dorms.” A familiar, unwelcome nausea tightens in my abdomen—the constant cramps I’ve had all day, a prelude to my unbearable cycle. Tonight, I’ll need to visit the school healers.
He sighs. “I know, and I’d hate it, but I also?—”
“Look at him,” a man taunts from behind us. “Hyston trying to lay claim already.” I hear a few snickers as I glance over my shoulder and spot King Aki’s sons from the Okenen kingdom, Anders and Cole Rykerson, standing three people back in a circle of their friends.
Their group stands out among the rest, each member exuding a ridiculous amount of arrogance. The young women surrounding them, with their simpering smiles and hair-tossing gazes, immediately grate on my nerves.
Cole, the younger brother, possesses an effortless charm. With his athletic build, award-winning smile, and striking blue eyes framed by blonde waves, he embodies his role as a star athlete. He moves with a confidence that has most women flocking to him, school and kingdom regulations be damned.
