I walk into the dark, silent and unseen, letting the firelight fade behind me—pretending I was never there at all. And pretending . . . that’s something I’ve always known how to do.
AMARA
The next day, the sun is merciless. And I regret everything.
Training doesn’t start until midday—a mercy granted to those who spent the night drinking and dancing like fools. Even so, the moment I step onto the training grounds, the pounding in my skull reminds me just how much wine I drank.
The world is too bright. Too loud. Every movement sends another spike of pain behind my eyes.
Lyra, ever the thoughtful one, was prepared. She had an herbal remedy waiting for me this morning—one she’d alreadytaken herself, of course. It helps, dulling the worst of it.
But it doesn’t erase the weight pressing against my temples. Or the quiet shame curdling somewhere beneath it.
I groan, rubbing my forehead as I spot the others gathering. Kieran catches my eye and winks—grin infuriatingly bright for someone who drank as much as I did.
I give him a stiff wave, my face heating at the memory of last night. At least I didn’t sleep with him. I wasn’tthatdrunk.
I have no idea where Thane is, and I tell myself I don’t care.
I absolutely do not care.
I sigh, stretch, and brace for another grueling lesson with Valen. Magics training might be rough with an unforgiving headache, but at least it wouldn’t involve getting knocked on my ass repeatedly.
I start toward the training hall—before I get far, a shadow falls across my path.
“You’re not going there today,” comes Thane’s voice—cool, sharp, and far too close.
I blink up at him, stomach twisting. I already feel sick. Now this?
I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “Thane, I can barely see straight right now.”
His expression remains unreadable, but his tone leaves no room for argument. Of course it doesn’t. It never does.
“The war doesn’t care if you’re hungover,” he says, crossing his arms. “The Shadow Forces won’t take a day off just because there was a party. You’re with me today—hand-to-hand and elemental control.”
I drag my feet toward the training field, each step a punishment for last night’s choices. Midday heat presses down—dry, relentless, making everything worse.
I mutter something about cruel and unusual punishment, but Thane doesn’t respond. Either he didn’t hear me—or he’signoring me on purpose.
I risk a glance at him. Composed, as always. Not a trace of exhaustion, not a single indulgence visible. Of course not. Warlord of the Fire Clan. Leader of the realm. Always in control.
Meanwhile, I feel like death wrapped in regret.
“Pick up the pace, Amara,” he says, still not looking at me. “Unless you’d rather I carry you.”
I scowl at his back but force my legs to move faster. “I’d rather you reconsider this whole lesson and let me die in peace.”
Thane doesn’t even crack a smile. Just exhales—sharp, silent, stone-faced.
I threw the words out lightly, hoping to get a smirk, a quirk of the mouth.
Anything to crack the armor.
Nothing.
Just that same impassive wall. Still holding me at arm’s length.
“You did this to yourself,” he says.
