------------? ? ? ? ?------------
Koen
I sit alone on a bench near the edge of the training yard, still catching my breath. My shirt clings to me, dirty and damp with sweat. The small bruise on my jaw throbs—a souvenir from Serenya’s elbow.
I exhale through my nose.Damn her.
She fights like a storm—sharp, fast, and unpredictable. Beautiful in a way that makes me feel things I don’t understand.
Gods, that moment when our swords locked and our eyesmet. She looked like she’d seen a ghost.
I shake my head and lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
None of this makes sense. Not the strange feelings I get around her. Not the way my magic stirs in my chest like it’s trying to remember itself. Not the fact that I, a village boy with no training and no title, amnow part of some royal contest that could end in marriage to someone who clearly doesn’t like me.
My jaw clenches. I have to remind myself again:You're not here to win. You just need to survive. Then you can go home and forget all about this.
Standing, I make my way back inside, passing by the silent guards. The palace looms around me—grand and cold. For just a moment, I miss the quiet of Zea's Hollow so fiercely it hurts.
------------? ? ?? ?------------
The banquet hall gleams with golden light from the chandeliers burning overhead. Voices murmur in a hush that only deepens when Queen Zephyra rises to speak. Her gown shimmers like starlight, her gold crown gleaming.
“You have survived your first trial,” she says, her voice calm but edged with something that makes the room still further. “However, not all returned. Five of you remain. Aleric fell within the catacombs.”
The words hit hard. Even Lioran, smiling a moment ago, lowers his eyes. Aren mutters a prayer under his breath. Only Osric seems unfazed.
“You will have two weeks,” the queen continues, “totrain, recover, or do whatever you believe is necessary to prepare for the next trial. However, its nature will not be revealed until the appointed day. Use your time well, as the trials do not grow easier.”
She lets her gaze sweep across each of us. “Eat, drink, and learn who you fight beside…and against. That, too, may save your lives.” She sits, lifting her goblet as though nothing weighty has been spoken at all.
When she finally dismisses us to our meal, the clatter of dishes and the low hum of conversation fill the space again. Silver trays of roasted pheasant and goblets of wine parade past. I eat, but my thoughts keep drifting to the empty chair at the head of the table. Serenya didn’t come.
I tell myself it doesn’t matter. Yet, I find myself wondering why.
Torin slides into the seat beside me, tossing a hunk of bread onto my plate. “Eat more. You still look half-dead.”
I smirk faintly. “That’s generous. I’d say about three-quarters.”
He chuckles, tearing into his own portion like he hasn’t eaten in days. When the plates are cleared and the queen has long since retired, he leans close and says, “You want to get out of here? Elarion’s taverns are livelier than this graveyard. Ale that actually tastes good. Music. Dice games.”
I hesitate. “I don’t know…”
“Come on,” he presses, grinning. “One drink. It won’t kill you.” He tilts his head. “Probably.”
I almost refuse, but the thought of sitting alone in the palace with nothing but my own bruises and silence makes mepush up from my chair. “Fine. One drink.”
The walk to the tavern is quiet until we reach the city streets. They are alive with lanterns lit by magic, the smell of spiced bread drifting from a bakery still open, and children weaving through alleys despite the hour.
“You know,” Torin says eventually, “when you stumbled out of that portal after the Trial, I thought you were done for. There was blood everywhere. You looked like hell.”
I snort. “Thanks.”
“I mean it,” he says, shooting me a sidelong glance. “Youdoing all right? For real?”
“I’ll live. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
He hums skeptically but lets it drop.
