Chapter 16 #3
Valen stands nearly as tall as me. Silver-blue eyes, steady and sharp as ever. He’s been by my side for eleven years—mentor, advisor, soldier.
And, somehow, friend.
“I can’t risk the realm,” I say.
The words come out hard. Final. But Valen doesn’t blink. Doesn’t budge.
“What if it helps the realm?” he counters, voice quiet. “What if it’s not about the realm at all?”
I study him carefully.
There’s no way he could know.
Gods, he can’t.
The real reason I can’t be with her—the truth I’ve buried so deep it barely feels real anymore.
But just in case, I deflect.
“By the Elemental gods, you always talk in circles,” I mutter.
Valen’s mouth quirks—something between a smirk and a sigh. “Only when the straight line gets ignored.”
I shake my head. “Well, now you’re just being a stubborn ass.”
But he’s not done.
“She’s not just the Spiritborn, Thane. She’s a person. And so are you.”
I scoff, low and humorless. “That luxury passed me by a long time ago.”
His gaze sharpens. “No,” he says. “You just keep giving it away.”
He spins—slow, clumsy, dramatic—and tosses me a look like he just won the godsdamn war.
And then, with the firelight dancing around him and soldiers clapping in time, he says loud enough for me to hear, “Better a stubborn ass than a fool.”
The grin vanishes as quickly as it came. Replaced by that maddening, knowing calm he wears when he’s landed a blow that cuts too close.
Then he turns away, vanishing into the dancers like he didn’t just gut me in front of the fire. And all I can do is stand there, hands fisted at my sides, pretending his words didn’t land exactly where he aimed.
I can’t let myself feel for someone who is the fucking prophecy incarnate. She is the key to ending the Shadow Forces. To finishing this bloody war.
And I’m the one who has to train her for it. To lead her into it.
If I fall for her—if I let her in—it could cost the realm its only chance at peace.
Kieran says something that makes her laugh, and it hits me low, sharp. The kind of sound you don’t know you need until you’re aching for it.
And then—she kisses him.
Quick. Careless. Just a flicker of contact.
But it lands like a blow. I don’t move—don’t flinch. But inside, something shatters.
This is better. This is how it should be.
She shouldn’t be with me—for more reasons than I can count. Not just because of what’s at stake. But because if she gets close . . . if I let her in . . . I’ll only put her in danger.
Danger beyond being the Spiritborn. Beyond the war.
Me.
She pulls back, still laughing, and Kieran grins like he’s won something. Like he has any idea what it means to hold something that bright.
And for a heartbeat, they look perfect together. Effortless. Free. Not burdened by shadows. Not born for ruin.
I tell myself it’s nothing. That it’s better this way.
But I’m lying—and I know it. Because I felt it. That twist of something real. Raw.
Impossible.
The part of me that still wants.
I turn away before that part wins. Before I reach for something I can’t afford to need.
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 already taken 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’t that drunk.
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’s ignoring 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.
Ouch.
We step onto the training field, the sun already glaring down, merciless. It drives another spike of pain through my skull, the heat oppressive.
My legs feel like lead. Thane, of course, moves with that same precise, effortless control—his shoulders taut, his posture just a little too rigid.
I feel like I’ve been scraped off the floor. And not just because of the wine.
Because of last night. Because I put myself out there. Because I kissed someone else just to pretend I didn’t care—and all I wanted was for him to look at me like he did before he turned away.
But I won’t let him see that.
Thane turns, that stupid mask of control still on his face.
“The enchantments will be lighter today so you’re going to feel the hits more than other times. But this will ward against serious injury.”
He lifts a hand. Elemental magics shimmer across the training field—settling over us like a spring rain.
I swallow the rising bile. Not only is he training me when I have the hangover from hell, he’s going to make the hits feel harder.
Great. Full impact, no but lasting damage. Lucky me.
I fold one leg, ankle to backside, stretching, then the other. Then I brace myself. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”
The moment I move, he’s there. No hesitation. No warning.
He sweeps in low, forcing me to react—my sluggish body barely keeping pace. I parry the first strike, but he’s relentless. A punch. A sidestep. A sharp kick to my ribs.
I block some. Not all. Pain flares where the kick landed. I stumble, breath hissing through my teeth.
“Sloppy,” he says, flat. “You’re slow.”
“I’m hungover,” I say through gritted teeth, holding my side.
“Your enemies won’t care,” he snaps. “Dig deeper.”
I blow out a breath, shaking off the pain.
Fine.
If this is how he wants to play it—I’ll play.
I summon fire to my palms. Flames roar to life—crackling at my fingertips. I hurl a blast toward him.
He dodges effortlessly, counters with a surge of fire. Our blasts collide mid-air—heat flaring between us before flickering out. Then he’s moving again—fast. Too fast for my sluggish mind to track.
A sharp strike to my arm. Another to my leg. I barely catch my balance before I’m forced to defend again.
I throw another fireblast—angry, unfocused—but he meets it with his own. His flames twist around mine, redirecting the heat in a perfect arc that dissipates harmlessly into the air.
I curse under my breath. He’s not just testing me. He’s making a point.
Fine.
I shift—call on the earth beneath me. The ground bucks like a catapult, hurling me forward.
The sudden momentum catches him off guard—just for a breath. But it’s enough.
Thane reacts fast—fire blazing from his palms. He blasts the rock midair, shattering it into debris. The flames don’t stop there—they roar forward in a scorching wave, licking at my skin.
Instinct takes over.
I yank the moisture from the air, summoning a swirling torrent of water that crashes into the fire. Steam explodes between us in a blinding, hissing cloud, obscuring my vision. But I’m still catapulting forward, unable to stop the momentum.
I crash into Thane.
We hit the ground hard, the air knocked from my lungs. Before I can fully register what’s happening, we’re rolling—limbs tangling, weight shifting, bodies colliding.
Fighting for control. Fighting for breath. Fighting—each other.
And maybe something else entirely.
He recovers first, flipping us with practiced ease until he’s on top—pinning my wrists to the ground, his body braced over mine. His breath is ragged, chest rising and falling. He’s all tension and heat and barely leashed restraint.
My heart slams against my ribs, but whether it’s from the fight or something else, I can’t tell.