Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The training grounds of the castle were vast, a wide expanse of dust and grass bordered by towering stone walls, glinting in the harsh light of the sun. The air smelled of sweat and metal, the distant clanging of steel on steel echoing through the space as guards sparred in the background. Rows of weapons glinted in the sunlight—blades, shields, and spears lined neatly on racks, their edges sharp and gleaming. It was a place built for war, not for women who had grown accustomed to royal gowns and courtly games.
I stood at the side of the field, adjusting the unfamiliar fabric of the training clothes Bertha had shoved at me earlier. Pants. Actual pants. I hadn’t worn pants in years, and the stiff leather belt bit into my waist as I tried to tug it into place. The fabric was practical but strange, clinging in places I didn’t expect and freeing me from the confines of the dresses I’d become so used to. It felt like a different kind of armor.
“Princess,” Vivienne’s voice drawled from behind me, her tone laced with amusement. I turned to find her leaning against the wall, her chestnut hair cascading down her back in soft waves, a dagger twirling casually in her fingers. She was dressed in her training gear, but somehow, she made it look like something from a courtesan’s wardrobe. The way her eyes sparkled, always assessing, always calculating, reminded me she was far from harmless. “You must be thrilled to be here. Pants really suit you.” Her lips curved into a teasing smile. “Aren’t you excited? Your first lesson in self-defense.”
I rolled my eyes, ignoring her as best I could. “I’m sure it’ll be a learning experience.”
“Oh, no doubt,” she said, sauntering closer. “We wouldn’t want anything to happen to our newest addition. Not when the Dragon King is so interested in you.” Her voice lowered to a mock whisper, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Ciaran’s favorite wife now, aren’t you?”
Before I could respond, Lyra strode into the training yard, her dark braid swinging behind her like a whip, her black eyes narrowing as she took in the scene. Every step she took was deliberate, her presence commanding, as though she owned the very ground beneath her feet. The daughter of a warlord, she didn’t bother hiding her disdain for anyone who wasn’t her equal—or more importantly, her rival.
“Look at you,” Lyra said. “Out here in the training yard, ready to fight. How adorable.” She tossed a dagger in her hand, the blade glinting in the sunlight. “But I’d be careful. The battlefield is no place for the weak.”
She let the dagger fly, and it sliced through the air, the wind whistling as it whizzed past my face and buried itself into the target just behind me. My heart skipped a beat as I froze, the blade so close I could feel the brush of air against my skin. A shiver raced down my spine, the unspoken threat clear in her eyes.
“Oops,” Lyra purred, her smile dangerous. “My hand slipped.”
“Careful, Lyra,” Isolde’s voice slashed through the tension, quiet but firm as she stood beside Maris, her dark hair flowing over her shoulders like a waterfall. “It wouldn’t do to accidentally kill someone during training. The king wouldn’t appreciate that.”
Lyra shrugged, a gleam of amusement in her eyes. “Accidents happen.”
I scowled, the tension in the yard thickening as I stared her down, my fingers itching with the familiar pull of ice just beneath my skin. But before I could react, a soft chant drifted through the air. Selene, standing at the edge of the field, her golden braid gleaming in the sunlight, hands raised in a prayer that seemed more passive-aggressive than pious.
“May the light of the sun god protect us all in this time of training,” she intoned, her eyes fluttering closed as she cast a glance in my direction. “Especially from those who bring chaos into our midst.” Her voice dipped into a darker note, heavy with meaning. “And may we be vigilant against the forces that seek to tear us apart from within.”
Therynne, standing beside me, let out a heavy sigh. “This is a waste of time,” she muttered under her breath, her fingers tapping against the book she clutched. “I could be studying, but instead, I’m here… swinging a sword.” She glanced up at me, her eyes bright with exasperation. “Do you know how many hours of research I’m missing? Chronomancy doesn’t study itself, you know.”
“You could have refused,” I offered, though I already knew her answer.
Therynne gave me a sideways glance. “Refuse an order from the king? Hardly. Besides, it’s good to humor the others from time to time. Even if it is a complete waste of mental energy.”
“Focus on the task at hand, Therynne,” Lyra snapped from across the yard, her eyes gleaming with annoyance. “We’re not here to discuss your books. We’re here to learn how to defend ourselves.”
“And it’s not really that complicated,” Vivienne added with a smirk, eyeing me as she twirled another dagger in her hand. “You just point the sharp end toward your enemy.”
I clenched my fists, trying to push down the growing frustration bubbling inside me. They all seemed so at ease with this, so comfortable in their roles—except Therynne, who clearly wanted to be anywhere but here. And then there was Lyra, always pushing, always testing.
Maris and Isolde moved gracefully through the yard, both going through the motions without complaint. Maris’s gentle nature didn’t seem suited for combat, yet she held herself with a quiet strength. Isolde, however, moved like a shadow—silent, deliberate, her focus razor-sharp. There was something about her calm that unnerved me, as if she was far more dangerous than she let on.
I tried to focus on the rhythm of the training, but my thoughts kept drifting, the tension in the air thickening with each passing second. Therynne had begun talking—no, rambling—about the mechanics of combat, her fingers twitching as she gestured toward the different movements. “It’s all about the angle,” she said, her voice matter-of-fact, despite the chaos around her. “If you calculate the trajectory of the blade, the force required to parry?—”
Vivienne interrupted with a snicker, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she spun a dagger in her hand. “Darling, no one’s doing math out here. Maybe that’s why you keep getting hit. You’re overthinking it.” She shot me a glance, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “What about you, Princess? Think you’ve got it in you to keep up with us?”
“Enough games!” Lyra screamed. She then stalked toward me, her black eyes cold and unyielding. “Fight me, Aeliana.”
I stiffened, the air growing heavier as Lyra approached. This wasn’t the first time she’d tested me, but there was something more dangerous about the way she moved now, her fingers flexing around the hilt of a dagger. My heart raced, the weight of the training grounds pressing down on me. Isolde paused mid-step, her gaze flicking to me, while Maris’s gentle expression tightened with worry.
“Fight you?” I repeated, trying to keep my voice steady, though my pulse thundered in my ears.
Lyra grinned, her eyes glinting with malice. “What, scared?”
I swallowed hard, glancing around the yard. Rhydian had appeared at the edge of the training ground, leaning against the wall, watching with his usual disapproving scowl. He hadn’t been around earlier, probably off doing whatever Ciaran had assigned him. But now, he was here, and his gaze was locked on me.
“Come on, Aeliana,” Lyra taunted, her voice dripping with venom. “Show us what the Dragon King’s favorite can do.” Her words were deliberate, meant to provoke.
I gritted my teeth, feeling the chill of ice stirring beneath my skin. “Fine,” I snapped, stepping forward, the familiar cold seeping into my veins. “Let’s do this.”
The moment I moved, Lyra was on me, fast and merciless. Her dagger flashed in the sunlight as she lunged, aiming for my shoulder. I barely dodged, my heart slamming against my ribs as I spun away, the cool air of the training yard rushing past me. I summoned the ice, my fingers tingling with power, but Lyra was relentless.
She swung again, the blade slicing through the air toward my midsection. I raised a wall of frost, a shield of shimmering ice that blocked the attack just in time. The force of the impact reverberated through me, but Lyra didn’t let up. She kicked at the ice, shattering it, her movements swift and precise.
“Is that all you’ve got?” she sneered, circling me like a predator, her dagger gleaming. “You’ll never survive if you keep hiding behind your magic.”
I stumbled backward, the ground uneven beneath my feet. Panic flared in my chest as I struggled to keep up with her relentless pace. She was stronger than I had anticipated, faster, and every movement she made was calculated to throw me off balance. I raised my hand, summoning another surge of frost, but it wasn’t enough.
Lyra struck again, this time aiming low, and I wasn’t fast enough. Her foot hooked behind my ankle, and in one swift movement, she swept my legs out from under me. I hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of me as I gasped for air. My vision blurred for a moment, the sun glaring down on me as Lyra loomed overhead, her dagger poised above my windpipe.
“Oops,” she said, her smile widening, the tip of the blade hovering inches from my skin. “Looks like you’re not cut out for this after all.”
I froze, my body tense as fear gripped me, the cold weight of her power creeping into my mind. The shadows around us seemed to lengthen, dark tendrils curling at the edges of my vision as Lyra’s umbrafyre began to seep through the air. It was suffocating, her power feeding off my fear, the darkness coiling tighter around me.
“Maybe I should finish this now,” she whispered, her eyes narrowing as she pressed the blade closer.
Suddenly, a flash of movement caught my eye—Rhydian, stepping forward, his hand already on the hilt of his sword, his face a mask of barely controlled fury. “Back off, Lyra,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. His muscles tensed, ready to intervene.
Before Rhydian could act, the air shifted.
“That’s enough!” Ciaran’s voice thundered through the training yard, and everything seemed to freeze.
Lyra’s blade stopped just shy of my throat, and she spun around, her eyes narrowing at the sight of Ciaran striding toward us, his eyes blazing with fury. His presence seemed to suck the air out of the space, the soldiers training nearby halting their movements as they watched the king.
“I said, that’s enough,” Ciaran repeated, his voice deadly calm now as he stepped between me and Lyra. “Is this how you practice self-defense, Lyra? By nearly killing your opponent?”
Her lips curled into a sly smile, the dagger lowering ever so slightly. “Just a little practice, my king. You know how it is—sometimes you need to push someone to their limits.”
“Careful,” Ciaran warned, his gaze never leaving hers. “I won’t have my wives killing each other.” His tone was cold.
With a final sneer, Lyra stepped back, sheathing her dagger with a flourish. “As you wish, my king.” She cast one last glance in my direction, her eyes gleaming with barely concealed contempt. “But I’d watch your back, Aeliana.”
She turned on her heel, stalking over to where Maris and Isolde were standing.
Ciaran turned to face me then, his amber eyes searching my face as he crouched down beside me. “Are you hurt?”
I shook my head, still catching my breath, but the tremor in my hands betrayed the fear that remained just beneath the surface. “I’m fine.”
His gaze flicked to Rhydian, who had stepped forward, his hand still resting on the hilt of his sword. “You were supposed to be watching her,” Ciaran said, his tone intense.
“I was,” Rhydian replied. “I stepped in when I needed to.”
I swallowed hard, feeling the warmth of his body near mine, his presence filling the air between us. The scent of him—woodsmoke, leather, and something distinctly him—clung to the space, making it hard to focus. “I… I’m fine,” I stammered, still recovering from Lyra’s attack, but the words sounded hollow, uncertain.
Rhydians eyes, however, scanned me as if to verify the truth in my words. “Good,” Rhydian said gruffly, though his tone had softened, just a fraction. He walked up to me, blocking the king from view. He didn’t move away, instead leaning in closer, his breath warm against my ear. “You need to be faster,” he murmured.
The dagger in my grip felt heavy as he steadied my wrist, his fingers strong and sure. “Here,” he instructed, “strike here.” He adjusted my arm, positioning me for the perfect hit, our bodies moving together in synchrony. His hand slid over mine with a controlled confidence, and I could feel the strength in his grip, the power he wielded with such ease.
The solid weight of his body behind me made my skin flush, my breath hitch. Rhydian’s presence was magnetic, and the space between us seemed to shrink until I was hyperaware of the closeness, the way his voice rumbled in my ear.
“Widen your stance,” he muttered, his hands moving down to my thighs with gentle pressure. “Like this.” His voice dropped, intimate and commanding.
I obeyed without thinking, adjusting my feet, but the rush of heat that surged through me made it impossible to ignore the way his fingers brushed my skin. Every move felt deliberate, intentional, and I could feel the tension radiating from him—raw, almost possessive. His body was too close, his touch too sure.
“Is it just me, or is it getting a bit warm in here?” Vivienne’s laughter followed her words, her lips curved in a knowing smirk as she twirled a dagger between her fingers. “Careful, darling,” she teased, “you might make someone jealous.”
Rhydian stiffened behind me, his grip on my wrist tightening before he finally let go, stepping back to create distance.
Just then, Ciaran moved into my line of sight, his presence immediate and commanding. He stepped closer, his eyes glinting with amusement. His attention flickered between me and Rhydian for a brief moment, as though he were assessing the situation, before his focus returned to me.
“You like to attract attention, don’t you, Princess?” Ciaran said smoothly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.“Let’s see what you’ve learned.”
My heart pounded as he reached out, his fingers brushing the hilt of the knife still in my hand. “When the Dragon King faces you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath brushing against my skin, “you’ll need more than ice. You’ll need to be willing to strike—no hesitation.”
My grip tightened on the dagger, the frost that had already started creeping along the blade now thickening under his scrutiny. I could feel the cold spiraling out from my fingertips, and for a moment, the blade shimmered with a thin layer of ice. Ciaran watched the frost grow before he raised his eyes to mine once more.
His fingers stayed on the icy blade in my hand, tracing its edge with a steady, deliberate touch. The cold didn’t seem to bother him; if anything, it only made him more focused. “You have power,” Ciaran said again. The rich tone of his words vibrating through the air between us. “But control is everything.”
“I’m trying,” I murmured, the frustration clear in my voice.
“Try harder,” he whispered.
My grip tightened on the hilt, the chill of the ice grounding me as anger flared in my chest. Lyra had pushed me too far. I stepped forward, ready to strike, ready to show her that I wasn’t as weak as she thought, but before I could make a move, Ciaran was there—his hand shooting out to grab my wrist, stopping me in my tracks.
In one swift motion, he pulled me close, his body pressing against mine, his grip firm but not painful. My breath hitched, the sudden closeness knocking the wind from my lungs. His face was inches from mine, his lips curving into a wicked smile as he leaned in, his breath hot against my ear.
“You look good holding a blade,” he whispered, his voice low and intimate, each word curling around me like a caress. His grip on my wrist loosened slightly, and his other hand brushed against the small of my back, the heat of his touch searing through the thin fabric of my dress.
Before I could respond—before I could even process the storm of emotions swirling inside me—he released me, stepping away with an easy grace. His eyes flickered with satisfaction, as if he knew exactly what effect he had on me. My pulse thrummed in my ears, and I could feel the heat in my cheeks, the way my body had responded to him despite my better judgment.
I tried to steady my breathing, my mind still reeling from the way his touch had set my skin alight, the way his words had wrapped around me like a dark promise.
This wasn’t over.
Not by a long shot.