Darian beamed up at me, extending his hand. I helped him to his feet, and he brushed the dust from his clothing with exaggerated motions.
“A good teacher?” He snorted. “That was brilliant. You let me think I had you, didn’t you? Clever.”
I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips. Darian’s enthusiasm was infectious, his complete lack of wounded pride undeniably endearing.
“I find it’s usually better when your opponent underestimates you,” I said, rolling my shoulders to release the tension.
From the edge of the ring, Varyth was watching me. Like he had seen ability he hadn’t accounted for, and now he was adjusting the entire board.
“Again,” he commanded, his voice carrying across the training field. “This time, with weapons.”
Darian groaned dramatically, “Give a male a chance to recover his dignity, High Lord.”
“Your dignity was lost long before this,” Varyth replied dryly, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone.
He turned to me. “Choose your weapon.”
I approached the rack, fingers ghosting over familiar hilts. Spears, longswords, staffs.
Daggers. My hands hovered a beat too long.
His gaze prickled across my skin before I even looked up. I closed my fingers around a short sword. Not my best. Not my worst.
I braced myself, releasing a slow breath, before finally meeting his stare. “Something wrong?”
“You hesitate.”
“I’m considering my options.”
“You pretend to.” The words were soft, almost lazy, but they curled like smoke between us.
I forced a breath, tilting my chin to meet that intensity head-on. “You think you know me so well?”
“I think you’re exhausting,” he said flatly, moving toward the weapon rack himself. “Every conversation is a battle. Every question is an interrogation. You fight shadows that aren’t even there yet.”
“Shadows like shapeshifting wolves that breach your supposedly impenetrable wards?” I snapped back, raising the sword between us. “Shadows like ancient lords who want to kidnap me for reasons you won’t explain?”
“You want explanations? Fine.” He turned to face me, eyes blazing. “When you crossed the Veil, it caused a ripple. I felt it. A disturbance in the magic itself.”
My stomach dropped. “What kind of ripple?”
“The kind that announces something powerful has arrived. Something new.” He stepped into a fighting stance, blade raised. “I don’t know if the other courts felt it, but if they did. That could be why Ashterion sent his creature. Or it could be entirely unrelated. Our courts have a... complex history.”
“Complex how?”
“The kind of complex that involves centuries of political manoeuvring.” His mouth curved in a humourless smile. “Lords don’t need magical ripples to find reasons to antagonise each other.”
I processed this, frustration building in my chest. “So you’re saying this could all be coincidence? That I’m just caught in the middle of some fae pissing contest?”
“Possible. Though unlikely, given what I sensed when I pulled you from the Veil.”
“Then why haven’t you made me use it yet?” I demanded, circling him slowly. “This supposed power that’s so fucking interesting everyone wants a piece of it. Why am I still stumbling around blind?”
Varyth’s expression darkened. “Because you’re changing. Your body is still shifting into its fae form. Any attempt to force magic through you before that process is complete might simply kill you.”
The casual way he said it made my pulse spike. “You’d probably like that, wouldn’t you? One less exhausting human to deal with.”
“Contrary to what you might believe, I don’t make a habit of killing people under my protection.” His voice was arctic. “It’s terrible for morale.”
