Chapter 46
Chapter
Forty-Six
KAEL
T he forest is alive with sound—the rustle of leaves in the wind, the distant call of birds, the sharp clang of steel as Sable and Torin move in perfect synchronicity. They fight together as if they’ve been doing this their entire lives, the movements fluid, almost effortless. It’s maddening.
I grit my teeth, my eyes tracking them as they take down the training dummies we’ve set up, each one obliterated with calculated precision. Torin's blade arcs in a flash of silver, while Sable moves like water, quick and deadly. She’s good. Too good.
And then there’s me and her.
Another misstep. Another failure.
Her blade nearly catches me across the arm as we move out of sync again, my parry too late, her strike too early. We’re supposed to be practicing counterattacks, but it’s like trying to fight with a shadow that’s constantly moving in the wrong direction. I curse under my breath, stepping back as she glances at me, her chest heaving with exertion.
“Careful, little huntress,” I snap, the frustration bleeding into my voice. “The point is to hit the enemy, not your partner.”
Her glare could melt ice. “Maybe if you actually moved when you were supposed to, we wouldn’t have this problem.”
Torin bursts into laughter from the sidelines, leaning on his sword like he’s watching the best comedy show of his life. “You two are a disaster. Maybe we should just let Sable handle everything. At least she doesn’t trip over herself.”
“Shut it, Torin,” I growl, but he’s already grinning like an idiot.
Finn steps forward, his ever-calm presence a sharp contrast to the chaos between us. “Enough,” he says, holding up a hand. “We’re taking a break. Torin, come with me. Kael, you and Sable need to sort out whatever this... mess is. If you don’t, the Trials will eat you both alive.”
I start to argue, the words forming on my tongue, but Finn’s already walking off, Torin trailing after him with a wink in Sable’s direction. Of course. Leave me here to deal with this disaster alone. I turn back to her, scowling.
“This is stupid,” I mutter, brushing past her toward the nearest tree. I lean against it, arms crossed, trying to ignore the fact that she’s staring at me. “We don’t need to ‘sort anything out.’”
“Oh, really?” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Because it sure looks like we do.”
I don’t respond, the weight of her gaze pressing down on me. She steps closer, her breaths still heavy from the fight, her face flushed. “Why are you like this?” she asks, her voice softer now, but there’s an edge to it. “Why are you so cold, so... distant? ”
I stiffen. “I’m not distant.”
She scoffs. “You’re practically a glacier, Kael. Torin and I work fine together. Finn and I work fine together. But with you, it’s like running into a brick wall.”
I look at her, the frustration bubbling up again. “Maybe because you went and bound yourself to Torin. Did you even think what that would do to me?" I run a hand through my hair, messing up its perfect styling. "I didn't even know it was possible to bind yourself to more than one person."
Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t back down. “Of course I didn’t know. Do you think I planned this? Do you think I chose it?”
“You didn’t have to complete it with him,” I snap, the words cutting sharper than I intend. “You had to consent. It doesn't work if you don't. It changes things between us.”
Her expression hardens, and she steps closer, her voice rising. “Does it? Or are you just making excuses because you don’t want to deal with the fact that maybe the problem isn’t me? Maybe it’s you.”
I clench my jaw, the air between us thick with tension. “It impacts our bond,” I say, my voice low. “You can’t tell me it doesn’t.”
She crosses her arms, glaring up at me. “You love Finn and Torin, don’t you?”
“What?” The word comes out harsh, confused.
“You love them,” she repeats, her tone softer but insistent. “And it doesn’t affect how you feel about either of them, does it? Just because you love one doesn’t mean you can’t love the other. Love isn’t something you split between people, Kael. It grows. It expands.”
The word hits me like a blade to the chest. Love . I stare at her, the confusion twisting inside me. “Love?” I echo, the word foreign, strange on my tongue .
She shifts uncomfortably, brushing it off. “You know what I mean.”
But I don’t. I step closer, closing the distance between us, my voice dropping to a low growl. “No. I don’t know what you mean. Explain it to me.”
She looks up at me, and I see something in her eyes that isn’t defiance or frustration. It’s... vulnerability. “I mean,” she starts, her voice faltering for a moment, “that maybe... if we’re going to make this work, you have to let me in. I need to understand who you are, Kael. What made you this way.”
I laugh bitterly, shaking my head. “You think knowing my past will change anything? It won’t.”
“Maybe it will,” she says, stepping closer. Her voice softens, a gentle plea. “Maybe it’ll help us understand each other. I want to know you, Kael. The real you. The one beneath all the ice.”
Her words cut through me, raw and unrelenting. I turn away, staring into the forest, the memories clawing at the edges of my mind. “It’s not a story you want to hear.”
She steps beside me, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll tell you mine,” she says, and there’s a softness in her tone that I don’t know how to handle. “And it’s a sad story too. Maybe we can find some comfort in that. Together.”
The word together sticks in my mind, twisting something deep inside me. I glance at her, the weight of her gaze pulling me in. She looks so... sincere. And for the first time, I feel something other than frustration. I feel the bond between us shifting, growing stronger, even as I try to resist it.
Her hand reaches out, brushing against my cheek. The touch is light, tentative, but it sends a jolt through me. I freeze, unsure of what to do, but I don’t pull away. Her touch is warm, soft, and I hate how much I crave it .
“You don’t have to tell me everything,” she says, her eyes searching mine. “But let me in, Kael. Just a little.”
I close my eyes, the memories pressing against me like a storm. When I open them again, I see her watching me, waiting. “Fine,” I say, the word heavy with the weight of what I’m about to share. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She smiles faintly, and the warmth of it almost breaks something inside me. “I can handle it.”
I look away, the forest around us blurring as the memories begin to surface. “We’ll see.”