FORTY-FOUR #2
Do you still need help with that?
Always delivered with a smile and always in front of an audience.
And then there are the rumors. I’ve heard the whispers and snide remarks that always find their way back to me.
She’s strong, sure, but is she really Fire Clan material?
A few months ago she was tending crops. Now we’re supposed to trust her with the future of the realm?
If Thane stopped standing beside her, how many people would still follow?
Power isn’t enough. Leadership takes more. And from what I hear, she still leans on Thane and the others too much.
Ardyn never says those things to my face. No. She lets the words travel, allowing them to settle into conversations and spread through the keep, planting doubt exactly where she knows it will take root.
And now, here we are.
I’ve worked too hard for this. I fought through doubt, through pain, through every voice—including my own—that ever questioned if I belonged here. And for fuck’s sake, there’s a war coming. This ends now.
My voice cuts through the hall.
“Let’s fucking go, Ardyn,” I say, my tone even despite the anger simmering beneath it. “Or are you just full of words and bullshit?”
A ripple moves through the hall. The other warriors who had been training fall silent, their attention shifting toward us. One by one, they begin gathering along the edges of the mat, drawn by the challenge now hanging in the air.
Low murmurs break through the quiet as warriors gather around the mat.
“Didn’t think she’d take the challenge,” someone mutters.
Another voice answers, amused.
“Oh, this is going to be good.”
A handful of warriors exchange glances and begin placing bets, the soft clink of coins changing hands carrying through the hall. The sound only adds to the anticipation building around us.
Ardyn looks pleased, as though this was exactly the outcome she wanted. Beside me, Lyra tenses, but I shoot her a quick look, silently urging her to stand down.
This is mine to handle.
The warriors around us step back, clearing space. The room grows quieter as we move onto the mat, every eye in the hall following us. But I barely notice.
All I see is Ardyn. Her perfect composure. Her measured movements. The challenge gleaming in her eyes.
I step forward, my gaze locked on hers. For the first time since this began, her smile slips completely.
Good.
I’m done letting her chip away at me with whispers and rumors. If she wants a fight, she can have one.
Lyra catches my elbow, her fingers tightening around my arm.
“You don’t have to do this,” she says, her voice low and urgent. “She’s jealous and throwing a tantrum. Fuck her.”
Before I can respond, Rowena steps forward as well, her hand settling on Lyra’s shoulder. Her expression is a complicated mix of frustration and protective instinct.
“No, Lyra,” she says firmly. “Amara has to fight now. This is the Fire Clan way, and no matter how angry I am at Ardyn, it’s too late to back down.”
Lyra stares at her. “Are you serious, Rowena? Fuck the Fire Clan way.”
She hisses the words under her breath, low enough that only the three of us hear them. For once, Lyra shows a hint of discretion. Bless the gods.
Rowena turns to look at her, completely unflinching.
“If Amara backs down now, every person in this room will remember it. They won’t remember why. They won’t remember that Ardyn provoked her. They’ll remember that the Spiritborn walked away from a challenge.”
Lyra’s green eyes flash. “I don’t care.”
“I know,” Rowena says quietly. “But the rest of them will.”
I pull free of Lyra’s grip and straighten, turning to face them both.
“No,” I say, my voice sharp with finality. “I’m ending this. Here and now.”
This isn’t about proving anything to Ardyn anymore. It’s about drawing a line and making it clear that she doesn’t get to keep pushing until she finds a weakness. For the first time, I stop worrying about being polite.
If she wants to test me, then she can finally see exactly what she’s been asking for.
Ardyn’s smile widens, dark and dangerous, as though she has finally gotten exactly what she wanted.
“Okay, then,” she says, her voice smooth and calculated. Her gaze drifts toward the weapon racks lining the wall.
“Welcome to the dance, Spiritborn. Weapons?”
I raise an eyebrow, meeting her challenge head-on.
“Why, Ardyn? Do you think you need them?”
Her eyes flash with irritation, but she doesn’t back down.
“Okay, then,” she snaps, her tone sharpening. “No weapons. No magics. Just you and me.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Her gaze drops briefly to my right hand before returning to my face.
“And no protective enhancements.”
Rowena steps forward immediately, disbelief flashing across her face.
“Ardyn, this is insane.”
I don’t take my eyes off Ardyn.
“No, Rowena,” I cut in. “I agree.”
Rowena turns toward me, clearly prepared to argue, but whatever she sees in my expression stops her. Her jaw tightens, her protective instincts still bristling beneath the surface, but after a long moment, she gives a reluctant nod.
Ardyn wastes no time. She shifts into a fighting stance, her movements precise and controlled, her eyes bright with anticipation.
“Let’s see what you’ve got then,” she says before gesturing toward the ring on my finger. “The ring comes off.”
I look down at the dark metal band and suppress a smile. Fair enough. One good punch with a ring like this could split skin open. Without hesitation, I pull it off and hand it to Rowena.
Ardyn rolls her shoulders back as she steps onto the mat, her leer sharp and knowing. Every movement is precise, controlled. Years of elite Fire Clan training made visible in the way she carries herself.
I step forward and settle into my stance.
The crowd shifts around us, warriors pressing closer to the edges of the mat as they wait for the first strike.
Ardyn lifts her chin. “Try to keep up, Spiritborn.”
Then she moves, fast, a front kick aimed directly at my ribs.
I twist aside at the last possible moment, feeling the rush of air as it passes. The force behind it is undeniable.
I catch her wrist and twist, trying to turn her momentum against her.
It’s the right counter, one Thane, Garrick, Rian, and Jarek have drilled into me countless times, but Ardyn flows with the movement instead of fighting it.
She pivots smoothly through the hold before I can lock it in, her elbow crashing into my forearm with practiced precision.
Pain shoots up my arm as my fingers spring open.
“Too slow.” Her voice is sickly sweet.
We begin circling each other, neither willing to overcommit. The training hall falls quieter with every passing second.
“Look at you,” Ardyn sneers. “Acting like you belong here.”
Her gaze drifts over me, openly dismissive.
“You’ve always been out of your depth, Amara.”
The smile widens.
“A village girl playing a Lady.”
I let the words hit, but they don’t sink in the way she wants them to. Not anymore. I tilt my head and offer her a smile of my own.
“And yet, here you are, desperate to prove yourself.” I lower my stance, shifting my weight as I watch her closely. “Tell me, Ardyn, what does that make you?”
Her plastered smile tightens, irritation flashing across her face. Then something colder settles over her features.
“What would you know about fighting for power?” she asks, her voice calm, almost measured. “I was born into it. Raised for it. Since childhood, every lesson, every expectation, every sacrifice was made for one purpose.”
She takes a step toward me.
“People like you think kingdoms are built on courage.” She shakes her head. “They’re built on order. On bloodlines. On people willing to make the hard choices so everyone else can sleep peacefully.”
Her lip curls.
“You walked into our world and began tearing at its foundations without even realizing it.”
“I spent years preparing to stand beside Thane. Years preparing for the future everyone said would be mine.”
Her gaze locks onto mine.
“And then you arrived.”
The words hang between us.
“The title. The future. Him.” Her hazel eyes burn. “All of it was supposed to be mine.”
As soon as the words leave her lips, she closes the distance between us.
Ardyn moves fast, dropping low as she shoots for a takedown. Her shoulder slams into my waist, driving me backward. My feet skid across the mat, but I refuse to go down.
The impact rattles through me.
She’s strong. Years of Fire Clan training and disciplined technique power every movement.
I shift my weight and drive my elbow toward her shoulder, but she catches the strike on her forearm before it lands. My opening disappears instantly. Her knee drives into my thigh, stealing my balance for a heartbeat, and she twists free before I can recover.
“Predictable,” she murmurs.
I circle away, forcing space between us. My leg throbs where she’d struck it.
Around us, the training hall falls silent.
I grit my teeth and press forward anyway. I drive my knee toward her ribs, but she pivots outside the strike with frustrating ease. My momentum carries me a fraction too far, and she punishes the mistake immediately. Her fist cracks against my ribs before I can reset.
Pain blossoms through my side.
I backpedal, forcing space between us as we begin circling again.
She’s not just strong. She’s technically better. Every movement is economical. Every counter arrives before I can finish my attack, as though she already knows what I’m about to do.
Ardyn’s smile returns, smaller now but no less infuriating.
“Is this what he’s taught you?”
I don’t answer.
“I expected more.”
Ardyn sneers, her voice low and venomous. “I built my life for this kingdom. For him. We were meant to rule together. Everyone knew it. And then you, some insignificant little peasant, stole him away. With your wide-eyed innocence and your false humility.”
She takes a step closer, her gaze sharp enough to cut.
“You didn’t earn him. You don’t deserve him. You just existed, and somehow he handed you everything.”
Somewhere behind me, I hear Lyra shout, “Bitch!”