There is no place for softness in the nightbound lands of Achyron. But the monster in him still howled every time her knees buckled.
When she lunged at Riven, clumsy but determined, a ragged pride filled Kael’s chest.
Maris might be breakable, but she has a sparkle within her.
Kael watched until the ache of it was nearly too much to bear. Maris stumbled again, nearly tripping over the circle’s edge as Corin pivoted to strike her practice blade away. Her breathing came ragged and sharp, cheeks streaked with sweat and a bright smear of blood at her lip where she’d bitten herself.
Enough.
Kael moved down the steps of the dais with slow, measured grace. The hush that fell across the courtyard was immediate: the soldiers, even Astrielle, lowered their gazes as he passed.
He stepped into the circle, cutting through Corin’s crisp command before she could continue.
“That is sufficient.”
His voice echoed through the practice yard like a bell tolling death.
Riven turned, mouth opening in protest, but he caught the silver light in his eyes and closed it again.
Maris stood there, dagger still raised, trembling. Her pale green eyes widened as he approached, those strange starbursts around her pupils catching what little sunlight bled through the castle’s dark towers.
Kael stopped a hair’s breadth from her, so close he could scent her: sweat, leather, the faintest trace of fear. And beneath it, something sweet that no perfume could mimic.
Mine, his mind snarled again, low and possessive.
He lifted a hand and, with deliberate care, brushed a strand of black hair from her damp cheek. Her porcelain skin was marked with bruises already blooming like violets, raw and vulnerable. He felt every eye on them, Corin’s amused glimmer, Riven’s stoic indifference, Astrielle’s poisonous rage but he did not care.
“Enough for today,” he said, voice low, meant only for her. “You will not be trained into dust on the first morning.”
Maris swallowed, throat working, but did not drop her blade.
“I… I can keep going,” she stammered, defiance trembling like a flame.
Kael’s mouth almost curved. Foolish. Brave.
“No,” he said, softer this time, quietly only for her. “Rest. Or you will break.”
His eyes lingered on the bruises at her wrists where the dagger’s handle had dug too deep, and that strange twist of worry gripped him again.
Why does she matter so much?
But he had no answer. Only the sense that if she shattered in this yard before the court, a piece of him would shatter with her.
He turned to Valea, voice snapping like a whip:
“See she is fed. And no one touches her.”
Valea bowed low. “Yes, my King.”
He did not miss Astrielle’s clenched fists at the edge of the ring, or the way her vengeful eyes burned with a hate that might one day boil over. He would love nothing more than to have a reason to put the brat in her place.
He stepped back, gaze locked on Maris one last time as she lowered her blade, breathing hard but refusing to look away from him.
A knot formed in his chest, cold and unfamiliar.
You will survive, he thought, silently. Because I will not let you die.
As Kael strode from the practice yard, cloak trailing behind him, the whispers of the soldiers rose about their King, about the strange human, about how everything was shifting.
