Chapter 9
?──── Serenya ? ────?
The sun has barely crested the horizon, spilling faint gold through the high windows of my chambers, when I give up on sleep entirely. The sheets twist around my legs as I shove them away and stand.
My shoulders are stiff, my body taut with a restless energy I cannot shake.
Pulling my gray robe around me, I step onto the balcony.
The morning air greets me in a cool rush, sweeping across my skin.
I grip the stone railing and lean into the wind, letting the chill ground me here, in the present, when my mind keeps trying to slip elsewhere.
Far off, the courtyard lies in silence. Just yesterday, it had been full of noise and clamor, guards hurrying the contestants away to the healers after the catacombs trial. My gaze lingers on that place, and though I don’t want them to, my thoughts drift to Koen.
I didn’t mean to care. But when I saw him stumble out of the portal, battered and bloodied, at the very last second, relief had struck me sharp and fierce, a warmth I hadn’t invited—-one I didn’t know what to do with.
It had been so long since I felt something like that, and instead of comfort, it made me sick.
Despite the nausea, I couldn’t stop myself from going straight to the healer’s wing, my feet moving of their own accord. Once I was there, something even worse happened. My shadows betrayed me… again.
Without my command, without my consent, they slipped out and reached for him, trying to nestle against his wounds as I healed him. They have never done that for anyone but Kallan. Not once in all these years. Seeing them choose Koen hurt more than any blade ever could.
I don’t want to move on. I don’t want to open those pieces of myself again. I will marry because I must, because it is expected, but I will not let my shadows get attached. I will not let myself get attached.
And Koen…he may be the closest thing to ruining that resolve.
I hate it. I hate him.
Or…maybe I don’t.
That is the true problem, because I want to hate him. I need to.
My arms fold tight across my chest, nails biting into my sleeves. The wind pulls strands of hair loose around my face as I whisper into the quiet morning, “What is happening to me?”
Just like my shadows, my thoughts are traitors, and they turn again. This time, to Dimitri.
He had stood across from me just yesterday in the ruins, after years of silence. He was calm, collected, too perceptive for comfort. He had looked at me not with contempt, not with gloating or cruelty, but with something far worse—something quieter. Something like he used to.
It made my chest ache. He shouldn’t look at me like that. Not after what he did. He betrayed me. He stood beside his father while Kallan bled out on the battlefield.
“Something is stirring,” he had said.
Elowen.
I exhale hard, my fingers tightening on the balcony stone. I don’t trust him. I can’t. Yet, the unease in my chest isn’t only grief or rage. It’s doubt , too. Doubt in my kingdom’s safety. Doubt in Queen Elowen’s fake smiles. Doubt in the future that looms like a storm cloud above my head.
What if he’s right?
I tear myself away from the railing. I need a distraction.
Inside again, I close the balcony doors.
Stripping the robe away, I trade it for my leather tunic, boots, and gloves.
The familiar weight settles against me, comforting in its own way.
Once I'm dressed, I make my way outside to the barracks.
I need sweat, bruises, and the ache of muscles forced past their limit.
I need a blade in my hand. Something to silence the war inside my head.
The ring of steel carries across the training yard. I slow, drawn to it. The clang repeats, quick and uneven. I step around the wall of the barracks and halt.
Torin is in the sparring ring. Opposite him, sweat plastering dark hair to his brow, tunic clinging, stance laughably poor, is Koen.
Of course .
His golden eyes flick to me as soon as I step forward, like he felt me before he saw me. His expression is guarded and unreadable, save for the flicker of something I can’t name.
“I thought they kept royalty away from the commoners,” he says, lowering his practice blade with a casual arrogance that makes my teeth clench.
“I’m not here for you.”
Torin notices me, surprise softening into a grin. “Morning, Ren. I was just finishing up—”
“ Finishin g up? With him ? He holds that sword like it’s a broom.”
Koen shifts, resting the blade flat against his shoulder with deliberate ease. “You were much more likable yesterday.”
I don’t even dignify him with a glance. “I came to spar,” I tell Torin.
He hesitates, glancing between us, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Actually, you might be the better teacher today.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
He gives me an apologetic shrug. “I have to meet Captain Merek, and you’re right, Koen still needs practice. So…”
My glare sharpens. “You want me to train him?”
“I’d rather not,” Koen cuts in immediately.
“Good,” I snap . “Because I don’t want to.”
Torin claps his hands together once, already retreating. “Perfect. Glad you both agree. I’ll be back in an hour.”
Crossing my arms, I stare at him with narrowed eyes as he strides away.
When I turn back, Koen is watching me. The exasperation is still there, but now something else glints beneath it. Challenge.
“Well?” he drawls. “Are you going to scowl me into becoming a better swordsman, or are you actually going to train me?”
I march across the training ring, grip a practice blade, and mutter, “You’ll wish I had just scowled.”
He smirks. And that only fuels my irritation.
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I spin, blade slashing in a sharp arc that Koen barely blocks. His stance is better than I originally expected, but he’s still too slow. I duck beneath his swing and slam the flat of my blade into his ribs. He grunts, stumbling.
“I thought you said you were a fast learner,” I taunt.
“I am ,” he pants. “You just teach like you’re trying to kill me.”
“Because that’s what the trials will do.”
“You say that like you’re not actually enjoying this.”
I narrow my eyes. “I’m enjoying proving you’re not as clever as you seem to think you are.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “You think I’m clever?”
I lunge without warning, enjoying watching him scramble to dodge. Our swords echo in the training yard as they clash.
“Gods, you’re insufferable,” I snap .
“And you’re terrifying,” he shoots back, sidestepping neatly. “It’s kinda charming.”
My cheeks burn, betraying warmth I don’t want. “Is flirting with me your way of coping with failure?”
“No,” he parries sharply, stepping closer than I expected. “It’s my way of coping with you, little shadow .”
I sweep his leg, but he quickly leaps clear—too quick for someone just learning.
“You’re better than when we started,” I admit grudgingly. “Less flailing.”
“I’m thrilled to have reached the ‘not flailing’ milestone,” he replies flatly.
I press into his guard, blades locked between us. His eyes catch mine—golden, intense, and unreadable. My breath stumbles, and my shadows begin to stir.
For a heartbeat, something shifts in his eyes. Recognition? Pain?
He blinks, and it’s gone.
My pulse pounds as I shove him back harder than necessary. He stumbles, dropping his guard.
“Focus,” I bark. “Stop staring.”
“I wasn’t—” he falters, frowning. “I just…I thought…”
“I don’t care.” My voice is sharp. “That’s enough for today. You’re distracted. Fight like that, and you’ll get yourself killed.” My eyes begin to sting, tears threatening to fall.
No, no, no. I haven’t cried in years. Why now?
He stares at me, chest heaving, bewilderment shadowing his features.
My hands begin to shake as I drop my sword to the ground with a clang, then turn, refusing to meet his gaze again. Each step away feels like peeling something raw open inside of me.
The moment I clear the training yard, and I’m certain he can’t see me, I quicken my pace. By the time I reach the gardens, I’m running. Past the hedges, through the trees, until I burst into the wild stretch of flowers beyond.
My knees hit the earth, and the tears I was trying so hard to hold back spill free.
What was that? Why do my shadows want him? Why do I feel this pull, like threads wanting to bind me to him? What kind of cruel joke are the gods playing on me?
I was finally doing better. I hadn’t wept in years. I stayed within these palace walls, yes, but I’d built a fragile peace.
Now, because of him and this strange feeling I get whenever he’s around, I can’t stop the tears.
The worst part is, he has no idea. No idea of the war inside me. The storm he’s ignited.
If this is how I feel after only two days , how will I survive until the end of the trials?
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Koen
I sit alone on a bench near the edge of the training yard, still catching my breath. My shirt clings to me, dirty and damp with sweat. The small bruise on my jaw throbs—a souvenir from Serenya’s elbow.
I exhale through my nose. Damn her.
She fights like a storm—sharp, fast, and unpredictable. Beautiful in a way that makes me feel things I don’t understand.
Gods, that moment when our swords locked and our eyes met. She looked like she’d seen a ghost.
I shake my head and lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
None of this makes sense. Not the strange feelings I get around her.
Not the way my magic stirs in my chest like it’s trying to remember itself.
Not the fact that I, a village boy with no training and no title, am now part of some royal contest that could end in marriage to someone who clearly doesn’t like me.
My jaw clenches. I have to remind myself again: You're not here to win. You just need to survive. Then you can go home and forget all about this.
Standing, I make my way back inside, passing by the silent guards. The palace looms around me—grand and cold. For just a moment, I miss the quiet of Zea's Hollow so fiercely it hurts.