“You’ll be split into new groups,” he said, voice carrying effortlessly. “We train for chaos, not comfort. Advanced cadets will work with lower ranks and assess you. Consider this your introduction to each other and to combat.” A few nervous chuckles were heard from surrounding cadets. Silence followed. “Begin!” Professor Andros yelled.
The sparring rounds erupted. Cadets paired off, and the thuds of bodies hitting the mat soon filled the gym like a drumbeat of war. Thaelyn stood in formation, hands stiff around the haft of her practice spear, watching as Thorne Dareth crossed the ring.
Thorne moved like the storm itself had been taught to obey him. Every strike, every pivot of his blade was a silent command answered by the wind. The cadets around her whispered, half in awe, half in fear.
“He makes it look easy,” someone murmured.
Thaelyn’s jaw tightened. Easy. That was the word she hated most. When Thorne turned, his expression did not change. No triumph. No strain. Only control, carved and cold. Even the instructors watched him with a kind of quiet reverence, as if perfection were inevitable when it came from the King’s bloodline.
Thorne did not notice Thaelyn staring until the end of the set, when his blade stopped a hair’s breadth from his opponent’s throat. His eyes lifted, caught hers, and for a breath, the world narrowed to that single line of focus.
“Do you plan to learn by watching forever, or are you going to train with the others?” he asked, voice calm but sharp enough to cut.
Heat crawled up her neck. “Perhaps I am studying what it looks like to be born with everything, ” she sneered.
A flicker passed through his eyes, too quick to name. Then it was gone, replaced by the familiar cool distance.
“You mistake discipline for birthright,” he said. “And arrogancefor years of trying and practice.” He walked off, leaving her standing alone.
Thaelyn moved through the drills like a storm on a leash, sharpening with each bout. Her limbs ached. Sweat clung to her spine. But she kept going and going to prove she could do it. Block. Parry. Counter. Fall. Rise.
Then a horn sounded, low and commanding. Professor Andros returned to the center, folding his arms over his muscular chest.
“The review’s done,” Professor Andros said. “One of you stood out. Moved fluidly through every group. Showed instinct and adaptability.” His flint-colored gaze swept the initiates. “We’ll recognize this cadet with a demonstration. Thaelyn Marren. Step forward.”
A sharp intake of breath came from behind her. A few heads turned. Thaelyn squared her shoulders and moved forward, pulse roaring in her ears.
“You’ll spar with a second-year to get more intense training,” Professor Andros said, nodding toward the older cadets.
Before anyone could volunteer, a voice spoke, low, calm, and lethal.
“I’ll take this one.” Thorne pushed off the column, walking to the mat with casual menace and a wicked gleam in his eyes.
Professor Andros raised a single brow. “Try not to break her, Squad Leader Dareth.”
Thorne didn’t smile. “No promises.” He stepped onto the mat like a storm in quiet clothing. “Ready for your little show?” he murmured, only for her ears.
Thaelyn raised her hands. “Don’t hold back.”
His smirk was razor-sharp. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
She stepped forward, fury sharpening her movements. He corrected her stance with the handle of his blade, no hesitation, and no gentleness. With each strike she made, he deflected without effort, until her anger turned to humiliation. He was faster than she expected. He was a blur of motion, strike, pivot, and his leg swept under hers. Her feet flew out from under her, and her back slammedinto the mat. Pain jolted up her back. She rolled, breath short, pride burning, and stood again.
“Too slow,” Thorne said, voice like polished steel. “Your stance is open. Again. Shall I correct that again?”
She hated how calm he sounded. Controlled. Like she was just another lesson. They circled. This time,shestruck first. Wind burst from her core, raw and instinctive. It shoved him half a pace backward. His boots skidded. Surprise flickered in his eyes. He quickly buried it. He came at her harder. She dodged his attempt, barely. His elbow skimmed her ribs. She faltered again, and hit the mat.When she fell, breathless, he didn’t offer her a hand. Only words.
“Skill is earned. Respect is too. You have neither yet.” Thorne stood over Thaelyn, a boot planted near her hip. “Are we done now?” he asked her. His expression remained cold and blank.
She glared up, breath ragged. “I wasn’t ready.”
“The battlefield doesn’t wait for readiness,” he said flatly. “You’re reckless. Power without control is just destruction.”
Her hands clenched. “What makes you think that you know anything about me?” she snapped.
His gaze narrowed. “I know exactly what you are. You are just another impulsive girl with raw potential and not an ounce of control.”
The words struck deeper than she expected. Why did he affect her so much? Why did she even care what he thought? She didn’t know why, but she did. Was it just that he was an officer and she wanted to do well and impress him? She knew better; it was more than that, but she didn’t know what or why at this point. His words stung.
