Chapter 10
TEN
Eirabella
I’m shaken awake by a gentle hand on my shoulder the next morning. Blearily blinking, I look up at the face of a young woman who must be around my age, maybe younger, her soft brown eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and determination.
“Good morning, Lady Eirabella,” she says softly. “I’m Brienne, your maid. Prince Rylan is ready and waiting for you on the training grounds.”
I groan inwardly, the events of the previous day flooding back in an overwhelming rush. I was exhausted when I finally stumbled into this room last night, barely taking in the new surroundings before collapsing onto the bed.
“Please, don’t call me that,” I murmur as I sit up, still half-asleep. “I’m not a lady. Just call me Eirabella, or Eira for short.”
Brienne hesitates, then nods. “As you wish, Eira,” she replies, her tone still respectful but with a hint of warmth now .
In the morning light, I can now see the room is more luxurious than anything I’ve ever slept in, soft sheets, a thick comforter, and a warmth that wraps around me like a comforting embrace. But none of that matters now, not when I have to face Rylan again after the disastrous encounter in the throne room.
As Brienne fills a basin with water, I watch her, curiosity and envy prickling at the edges of my thoughts. “Is your Strength water?” I ask, trying to keep my tone casual.
She glances up, her expression surprised. “Yes, it is,” she says with a small smile. “I can do simple tasks like this, but not much else.”
A pang of jealousy shoots through me. “I can’t even manage that,” I admit, my voice tinged with frustration. “You make it look so easy.”
Brienne’s smile softens with understanding. “Don’t worry. With Prince Rylan as your trainer, you’ll be doing much grander things soon enough. You’re to be our future Aquilith, after all.”
Her words are meant to be encouraging, but they only remind me of the enormous expectations placed on me. I force a smile, trying to mask my anxiety.
As I wash, Brienne moves to lay out my training clothes, a simple set of fighting leathers. The leather pants are dark and supple, designed for movement rather than decoration. The tunic is fitted, but not uncomfortably so, with reinforced panels at the shoulders and elbows. Sturdy boots lace up to the knee, apparently well-suited for the rigorous training I’m sure lies ahead.
As I dress, my mind drifts back to the conversation I had with the king after Rylan stormed out of the throne room yesterday. The memory of the king’s calculating gaze, the way he spoke with a mixture of charm and threats, still sends a slimy shiver down my spine.
“Do I have a choice in this?” I had asked him.
The king had smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course, my dear. You always have a choice. You can choose to embrace this opportunity, to become something greater, something that will bring you prestige and honour. Or, you can choose to decline and face the consequences of your past... indiscretions.”
My stomach had twisted at his words. “Consequences? For… my indiscretions?”
“Come now, Eirabella,” the king had said, his tone almost patronising. “You’re no stranger to the laws of this land. Thieves and those who harbour them are not looked upon kindly. You don’t think that the courts don’t know about your past, do you?”
Sweat had sprung over every inch of my skin. Fucking. Samfer.
The king had continued, “You could be thrown into the dungeon alongside the other criminals, or worse. And what would happen to those who didn’t turn you in? Your friends, all those villagers who have lied to the King’s Guards to cover for you… are you willing to risk their safety?”
My heart had pounded in my chest as the weight of his words sank in. “You wouldn’t,” I had whispered, though I knew the truth in his eyes.
“Wouldn’t I? Criminals have no place in our society, dear,” the king had replied, his smile sharpening. “But you have a choice, Eirabella. Stay here, train hard with Prince Rylan and enter the trials to become a Keeper, protect the realm, and hold a position of great power and privilege. Or spend the rest of your days rotting in the dungeon with your friends, thinking about what could have been. ”
There had been no real choice, of course. Not after I’d remembered the looks in the eyes of the prisoners taken on their way to the dungeons. I had clenched my fists, feeling the bite of my nails against my palms, and forced the words out. “I’ll do it. But only if you promise my friends won’t ever be punished for protecting me.”
The king’s smile had widened, and he’d nodded approvingly. “Very well, follow through with your promises, and I’ll see to it that they remain untouched.”
“And one more thing,” I had added, meeting his gaze head-on. “Once I’m successful, once I’ve completed my training, you…will grant Ryl—, er, Prince Rylan what he is owed as part of his deal with you. No more conditions.”
The king’s expression had darkened slightly, suspicion flickering in his eyes. “Do you have any idea of what it is he has asked for?”
I had simply shaken my head.
“Do you wish to know?” the king had pressed.
Yes. “Only if and when he wishes to tell me.”
The king had smirked. “And why is it so important to you that he gets what he wants?”
I couldn’t tell him why. I didn’t know. “That’s between the prince and me, Your Majesty,” I had replied, holding my ground.
For a long moment, the king had simply stared at me, weighing his options. Finally, he had nodded slowly. “Very well. If you succeed, I will honour your request. But know this, Eirabella—you will have to prove yourself worthy. If not, you all will suffer.”
I spot him immediately—Rylan, the Crown -fucking- Prince, when I step out onto the training grounds. He’s standing with his back to me, but his form is unmistakable even from a distance. I’m struck by how effortlessly he holds himself, the strength in his posture, the way he seems to command the very air around him. It’s almost overwhelming, the sheer presence he exudes, like he’s a force of nature in human form. My reaction is visceral—I’m both drawn to him and deeply unsettled by the intensity he radiates.
As he turns to face me, his expression is as unreadable as ever, those piercing eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. But it’s not warmth. There’s barely a trace of humanity, let alone of the man who’d helped me in the woods, no hint of the person who might have cared. Instead, there’s only the seasoned warrior, the Celestaris, cold and detached, his walls firmly in place.
“You’re late,” he snaps.
My temper instantly rises to the surface. “You didn’t tell me what time to meet you.”
“Early. That’s when we meet for training. Every single morning. And I know exactly what you’re capable of,” he says, his tone bossy, “so don’t even try to pretend there are things you can’t do.”
The words hit me like a slap. There’s no softness, no kindness in his voice.
Without another word, Rylan steps forward and raises his hand. The air around us shifts, and I watch in stunned silence as he summons a massive wave out of thin air. The water builds quickly, a towering wall of liquid power that surges toward us with a force that makes the ground tremble. Just when I think the wave is about to crash over us, drowning us both, Rylan flicks his wrist, and the wave freezes in place, the water solidifying into a crystalline wall of ice.
The frozen wave hangs in the air, a testament to his incredible control. My heart pounds in my chest as I stare at the spectacle, my mind struggling to comprehend the level of skill required to perform such a feat. Then, with a casual wave of his hand, Rylan disperses the ice, the frozen water dissolving into mist and rising into the sky. The mist gathers and shapes itself into a cloud, forming the silhouette of a majestic eagle, wings spread wide, before it dissipates entirely, leaving no trace of the wave behind.
I stand there, speechless, my mind reeling. I could never do that. No one could ever teach me to do that. The thought is a cold, hard truth that settles in my gut like a stone.
“By the first trials, I’ll expect you to be able to do that. And more.” Rylan offers no other words of encouragement, no acknowledgment of my awe or despair. Instead, he turns to me with that same impassive expression and orders, “We’ll start small. Conjure a wave.” He points to the middle of the field. “Right there.”
He is… kidding, right? But his eyes tell me he’s not, so I nod, though my confidence is already waning. I close my eyes and try to focus, feeling about my surroundings and inside myself for any sign of magic.
I breathe in deeply, trying to calm my racing heart. “Feel the water,” I tell myself. “Just visualise it.” I stretch out my hand, focusing all my will on drawing water out of the air. I picture it condensing and pooling into a small stream, but nothing happens. My hand drops in abject failure.
Rylan’s eyes narrow as he watches me struggle. “Try again,” he demands, his tone sharp and impatient.
I grit my teeth and try again, this time putting more force behind my will. I can almost feel it, the water, but it slips away like sand through my fingers. I clench my fists, frustration boiling over as I fight to control the element that has always eluded me.
“Focus,” Rylan snaps, his voice cutting through my concentration like a blade. “You’re not even trying.”
“I am trying!” I retort, my voice cracking under the pressure. But it’s no use. I can’t do it.
Rylan crosses his arms, his expression hardening if that’s even possible. “You’re too tense. Relax your mind, let the energy flow naturally.”
I nod, though my frustration is mounting. How am I supposed to relax when he’s glaring at me like that? I take a deep breath, forcing myself to loosen the tension in my body. I close my eyes again, trying to clear my mind, to feel the water’s pull. But every time I get close, every time I think I might finally have it, the connection slips away.
“Again,” Rylan commands, his voice growing colder with each failed attempt.
I try over and over, each time failing to squeeze even a drop of water out of the air. My muscles ache from the strain, sweat drips down my forehead, and my frustration reaches a boiling point. I can feel his impatience like a physical weight pressing down on me, his presence looming over my every failure.
I want to scream at him, to demand that he help me instead of just barking orders, but all I can do is stand there, my hands clenched into fists, my body trembling with exhaustion and anger.
“Again,” he commands, his voice like ice.
I try once more, but it’s no use. My magic feels frozen, locked away where I can’t reach it. The more I try, the more it slips away, leaving me with nothing but the bitter taste of failure. Echoes of Samfer’s threats trickle like ice in my veins, making everything worse.
Rylan’s eyes bore into mine, and for a moment, I think he might actually yell at me, but then he just shakes his head, his expression a mix of disappointment and frustration. “You’re not focusing,” he says, his tone harsh. “You need to control it. Find the source of your power.”
“I told you, I am trying, asshole,” I whisper, the words barely audible. But even as I say it, I know it’s not enough. I’m failing, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
The training continues, and with each passing moment, my frustration and exhaustion grow. Rylan pushes me relentlessly, making me feel smaller and more inadequate with each passing second. By the time the session ends, I’m drenched in sweat, my muscles aching, my spirit thoroughly crushed.
I’ve accomplished nothing. Nothing at all.
Just when I think it’s over, that I can finally retreat and lick my wounds in peace, Rylan speaks again. “You’re expected in the combat room in the castle,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Listen and learn. I’ll see you here tomorrow. We’ll try again. Don’t be late.”
His words are a command, not a suggestion, and before I can muster a response, he turns and walks off, leaving me standing there, completely drained and seething with resentment. I watch him go, my hands clenched into fists at my sides, the hatred burning in my chest like a wildfire.
After the gruelling training session with Rylan, my legs feel like lead as I make my way to the combat room in the castle. Every step sends a dull, jarring ache through my body, a reminder of how I’ve already failed so miserably this morning. The thought of facing more challenges today is almost too much to bear, but I force myself to keep moving. I have no other choice.
When I arrive at the combat room, I’m taken aback by its size. The room is enormous, with high ceilings and walls lined with every weapon imaginable—swords, spears, maces, so many exotic armaments I can’t even name. The floor is marked with various training areas, each sectioned off for different types of combat. The sheer scale of it all is overwhelming, and for a moment, I just stand there, trying to take it all in.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spot a familiar figure, a friendly face.
Mathis.
Mathis is here, standing near one of the weapon racks, inspecting a sword. A wave of relief washes over me at the sight of him, and before I can second-guess myself, I walk over to him.
“Mathis!” I call out, my voice a mixture of surprise and relief, hoping it’s my friend Mathis and not Captain Corvane who’ll greet me.
He looks up, a smile spreading across his face as he sees me. “Eira,” he says warmly. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here so soon. How was your first session with Rylan?”
I can’t help but grimace at the memory. “It was… difficult,” I admit, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. “He’s not exactly the most patient teacher.”
Mathis chuckles, nodding in understanding. “Rylan’s methods can be a bit… intense. But he’s one of the best. The strongest magic wielder I’ve ever met. If anyone can help you unlock your potential, it’s him.”
I shrug, not entirely convinced. “It doesn’t feel that way right now.”
“Give it time,” Mathis says, his tone reassuring. “You’ll get there.”
Before I can respond, a group of about fifteen people enters the room. They’re all dressed in training gear, their expressions serious as they assess the space and each other. I notice two figures break away from the group and make their way toward us. One is a tall, muscular man with short-cropped hair and a stern expression. The other is a woman with a lean, athletic build, her eyes sharp, appraising.
The man speaks first. “I’m Master Kaelen, the weapons master here. And this is Chasina,” he nods toward the woman beside him, “our hand-to-hand combat expert. We are the senior trainers here at Aetherhold.”
Chasina steps forward, her gaze appraising as she looks me over. “You must be Eirabella,” she says, her tone neutral but with a hint of curiosity. “New to combat, I assume?”
I nod, feeling a little out of my depth. “Yes, this is all… new to me. I give a good headbutt, but that’s about it.”
Chasina smirks, a glint of something almost predatory in her eyes. “You won’t be saying that for long. I’ve already assured Prince Rylan.”
I glance at Mathis, hoping for some reassurance, but he’s just nodding. “Listen and learn from them, Eira,” he says with a wink, echoing Rylan’s earlier command.
My stomach drops at those words, but I nod, determined not to show any weakness. “What exactly do I need to learn combat for?” I ask, my tone a little sharper than intended. “I thought Keepers just used their Strengths.”
Mathis gives me a sympathetic look. “Do you know what a Keeper does, Eira? They’re the protectors of the realm, and that means being prepared for anything. Understanding combat and fighting is essential. You’ll learn about military strategy as well. It’s not just about wielding your element. It’s about using it effectively in battle, alongside traditional methods. Remember when you mentioned how you liked how we used our water and fire to fight in the woods? This is where you’ll learn it.” Then he adds, turning to Master Kaelen and Chasina, almost as an afterthought, “Also, Prince Rylan told me to tell you two: Don’t go easy on her. He’ll know .”
Chasina leads me over to an empty spot on the mat. “Your magic is a weapon, but so is your body. But you know what else your body is? It’s your weakness. If you can’t fight hand-to-hand and you ever get separated from your magic, you’re vulnerable. And out there, vulnerability and weakness can and will get you killed.”
The gravity of her words settles over me, and I nod, understanding a little more about why this training is necessary. “Oh, I know all too well about not having use of my magic. All right,” I say, rolling my shoulders. “Where do we start?”
The next hour is a blur of movement, frustration, and pain. Chasina drills me on the fundamentals—how to stand, how to move, how to throw a punch without losing my balance. It’s all overwhelming, especially with the group of nearby, more experienced trainees watching, their eyes occasionally glancing my way with a mix of curiosity and judgement.
It becomes clear very quickly that I’m the least skilled person in the room. My movements are awkward, my strikes lack power, and I’m constantly losing my footing. Every time I make a mistake, Chasina is there with a sharp correction, her tone growing more impatient with each failure.
“Come on, Eirabella,” Chasina urges, her voice rising with impatience. “You need to hit harder than that. You’re holding back.”
“I’m not—” I start to protest, but she cuts me off with a swift kick to my ribs that sends me sprawling to the floor. The pain is sharp, instant, taking my breath away, and I curl up on the ground, clutching my side. The room spins around me, and for a moment, I wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake accepting the king’s deal.
Chasina steps back, her expression unreadable. “Back on your feet. Lesson one: Pain is inevitable. It’s how you react to it that matters.”
I grit my teeth, forcing myself to my feet despite the throbbing pain in my side. “I never said I was in pain,” I manage, though I can’t hide the wince as I straighten up.
Chasina nods, a glimmer of respect in her eyes. “Good. Lesson two: never ever let your guard down. Again!”
I’m still holding my side, the hair in my braid trying to escape in every direction, when I step into the disciples’ quarters, grateful that I am just a few steps away from collapsing in the privacy of my room. My hand reaches for the handle when I hear a soft voice call my name.
I look up to see Queen Annalyne herself shuffling toward me, flanked by two of her ladies-in-waiting. “Eirabella,” she says again gently, her voice like a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. “I’ve been told you’ve had quite the day.”
I nod, unsure of what to say, and manage a small curtsy, trying not to grimace from the pain. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
She smiles, reaching out to offer my arm a comforting pat. “You’re doing well, my dear. It’s not easy, what you’re going through, but I believe you’ll come out of it stronger.”
“You’re very kind, Your Majesty,” I reply, a burning in the back of my eyes, grateful for her kindness, even if I’m struggling to believe her words.
The queen’s gaze lingers on me for a moment longer before she nods to her ladies-in-waiting and begins to leave. Before I can disappear into my room, though, one of the women hangs back, her expression sharp and disdainful .
“I’m Julietta. It must be so difficult,” she says, her tone dripping with condescension, “for someone like you to keep up in a place like this. But you’ve lasted a day, which is longer than I would’ve guessed.”
I blink, taken aback by the blatant hostility, but I recover quickly. “There’s certainly been challenging moments,” I reply, with a dramatic sigh. “Of course, not everyone I met today has been a raging bitch.”
Her eyes narrow and she steps closer, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. “You should watch that tone. Rylan wouldn’t appreciate hearing about you acting above your station.”
My heart skips a beat at her mention of Rylan, but I refuse to let her see any weakness. “Oh, I see the misunderstanding. You have me mistaken for someone who cares what the prince thinks,” I shoot back, giving her a mock look of apology.
Shock flashes across her face, but she quickly transforms it into a smirk and leans in even closer. “Oh, but you should,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “Rylan and I have… an understanding. And I’ll make sure he knows exactly what kind of trouble you’re causing.”
I force myself to hold her gaze emotionlessly, but the words sting more than I want to admit. “Please do. I know he’ll jump at any chance he can get to talk about me,” I say coolly, before entering my room and closing the door with an echoing slam before the mask slips.
Once inside, I sink against the door, the weight of her words settling heavily on my shoulders. I tell myself that I don’t care, that her threats mean nothing to me. But deep down, the doubt lingers. I can’t shake the nagging worry that maybe, just maybe, Julietta’s words hold more truth than I want to believe.