Chapter 10
?──── Serenya ? ────?
I decide against going to dinner. Mother won’t be happy, but maybe she’ll understand. My chest is already tight at the idea of another forced smile, another polite laugh. I don’t have the strength tonight.
I give the guards a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes as they open the doors for me.
They bow when I pass, as always, and I nod back in acknowledgment.
The grand hall yawns before me, warm torchlight dancing across the walls.
For a moment, I consider going left toward my tower chambers, crawling into bed, and shutting the world away.
Instead, I keep walking straight ahead, then right, down the familiar corridor to my parents’ chambers.
I reach their doors at the same time as Anna, one of the royal healers. She startles slightly, then dips into a bow. She’s a few inches shorter than my five-nine.
“Good evening, Your Highness,” she says softly.
“Please, Anna, rise. And you can just call me Serenya.” I soften my words with a smile, trying to ease her stiffness.
She straightens, smiling back as some of her chestnut hair slips free from her braid.
“You may take the rest of the evening off. I’ll tend to my father tonight.”
She gives me a knowing smile before she bows again. “Of course. Thank you, Princess Serenya.”
Her footsteps fade down the corridor, leaving me with the guards in front of the heavy carved doors.
They push them open quietly, so as not to disturb my father if he’s sleeping.
The air inside smells faintly of smoke and the lavender oil my mother prefers.
I pad toward the bedroom and knock softly before slipping inside.
The only sound is the fire crackling in the hearth. My father sits propped up against the headboard, black hair falling just lower than his shoulders, a book open in his hands. He looks up, and the way his face lights when he sees me makes my eyes fill with tears again.
“Renya,” he says, smiling. “I thought you had dinner with the champions tonight.”
I climb up onto the bed, sitting cross-legged to face him. “I’m skipping it.”
He raises a brow, about to scold, but I rush ahead.
“I know, I know. I shouldn’t skip it. But I just…” I trail off, searching for the words. “I just couldn’t. I’m so tired, Father. Not physically. Just…here.” I tap my temple, then press my palm briefly to my chest. “I didn’t feel like pretending tonight. I didn’t feel like forcing a smile.”
His gaze softens, all sternness gone. “I know a great deal about forced smiles in this court. Do you want to talk about it?”
I consider it for a heartbeat. I almost give in, but tonight, I don’t want to unravel myself. I just want to be.
“I think I’d rather not think about it.” I nod toward his book. “Will you read to me while I heal you?”
“Of course,” he says, without hesitation.
He starts reading, his voice warm and steady, the same way he used to read me to sleep as a child.
I place my hand over his chest and let my shadowlight flow into him.
In the mornings, I always hold back a little magic, conserving strength for the day, but tonight, I pour it all into the fight.
I know it won’t rid him of the sickness—it never does—but I refuse to stop trying.
If I can’t win, then at least I can keep it at bay.
His voice falters mid-sentence, and I glance up to find his eyes drifting shut.
The book slips slightly in his hand. Carefully, I take it, marking his page, and set it on the table.
I pull the blanket higher over him and pause.
My father, once larger than life, who had seemed untouchable, indestructible, now looks so small beneath the blankets.
My throat tightens until it almost hurts.
Why is life so cruel to those who deserve better?
The walk back to my tower feels longer than usual. My chambers used to be closer, but when I was younger, I begged to move to the tower. The view from up there had always enchanted me. Eventually, my parents relented, and I’ve never given it up since.
The halls are quiet this time of night. Guards stand at intervals, and I smile at each of them.
They bow back, always so proper. I hate it.
That’s why I love training. In the sparring ring, they don’t treat me like Serenya the princess.
They treat me like Serenya the warrior. Once, I was feared for what I could do on the battlefield.
That Serenya may be gone, but sometimes, it’s nice to pretend she’s still here.
As I pass two guards laughing and speaking in hushed tones, I catch fragments of their conversation. “...came back from Elarion looking like they just came home from war.” My brows furrow, but I don’t linger.
I turn the next corner, colliding with a solid chest.
“Oof!” I stumble back and glance up.
Aren. His light brown hair brushes his shoulders. A neatly trimmed beard frames his jaw, and his deep blue eyes catch mine. Heat rises in my cheeks before I can stop it.
“Oh stars, I’m so sorry, Aren,” I laugh nervously. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
His lips twitch. “It’s my fault, Princess.” He pauses. “You missed dinner. Is everything okay?”
No. “Yes. Something had come up. I was just heading back to my chambers.”
“May I walk you?”
The offer surprises me, though I find I don’t mind. Perhaps it would be nice to have some company.
“I’d like that,” I say with a small smile.
He falls into step beside me, keeping a respectful distance.
“So.” I glance at him. “You were a soldier from Virid . What drew you to the Trials of the Fated?”
“My sister wanted me to enter, so I did. She was bedridden, and we couldn’t afford a healer strong enough to cure her illness. I knew if I won, I could get her the treatment she needed.” His tone is matter-of-fact, but his jaw tightens.
“So your goal is a healer, not the crown?” I ask carefully, no judgment, only curiosity.
“It was…” He keeps his eyes forward, clenching his fists. “My sister passed away a couple of weeks ago.”
I come to a stop and turn to him. “You’re a good brother.
Willing to participate in a deadly game for her.
She was lucky to have you.” I don’t apologize or tell him it will get better, because I know how it feels to lose someone you love.
And those words? They don’t actually help. Instead, I ask, “What was her name?”
For the first time, his expression softens, just slightly, but it’s enough.
“Adelise.”
“That’s beautiful.” I hesitate, then add. “Will you tell me about her?” I hope he doesn’t mind me asking. I know, if someone asked about Kallan, I wouldn’t hesitate to talk about him. No one ever has, though. But people like Adelise and Kallan deserve to be talked about—remembered.
We continue, and he tells me about his sister. She was only eight years old, and he’d taken care of her since their parents passed. She loved riding horses before she became ill, and she loved to sing. My chest aches as I listen, as if his burdens add weight to my own already heavy list.
By the time we reach the stairs leading to my chambers, we are talking about the trouble he would get into growing up. I’m laughing at something Aren has said, but it abruptly dies when we reach the top, and I see them.
Koen and Torin.
“Isn’t a princess supposed to have a guard posted outside her chambers?” Koen drawls.
“Um…yeah,” Torin says, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s supposed to be me tonight.”
What in the hells are they doing here? I don’t have the energy for this.
Torin knocks on the door. Koen shifts impatiently beside him, but before either of them can say anything, I clear my throat. They both startle, turning quickly to face me.
Crossing my arms, I arch a brow. “Torin, lovely to hear you still remember your duty. Now, if you could actually do it …”
He steps forward, giving me a better view of his swollen eye and bloody knuckles. Oh, that’s what the guards had been whispering about.
“Where were you?” Torin asks. “You skipped dinner, and you’re only just now arriving at your chambers. And…” His gaze flicks to Aren at my side.
“If you cared about my whereabouts, then you should have done your job. You know…being my personal guard.” I clutch my chest. “I could’ve been captured…or worse.” My voice drips with mock concern.
He rolls his eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”
I turn to Aren, placing a hand lightly on his arm. “Thank you for walking with me. I really enjoyed our talk.”
He nods, unreadable once again. “Any time,” he says, turning away.
We wait in tense silence until his footsteps fade. I turn back to find Koen staring at the stairs that Aren disappeared down, jaw clenched , looking ready to get in another fight. I’m not sure what that is about. For my own sanity—what’s left of it anyway—I choose to ignore it.
“You both look absolutely terrible,” I say with a small laugh, crossing my arms again. “If only I had an Orb of Vaelith to capture this. I could show all the other guards. Oh, and Alira! They would all love to see it. The mighty Torin—”
“Okay, we get it,” he interrupts. “Can you heal us?”
I drop my arms, my smile fading. “I can’t.” I had used too much magic healing my father.
“What do you mean? Why?”
I hesitate, glancing at Koen. I don’t talk about my father to many people. Sharing this…with him, especially? It feels like too much.
Torin ’s eyes soften in understanding. “Oh.”
We stand in silence.
“What?” Koen asks, looking back and forth between us.
I ignore his question. “What even happened to you two? I missed one dinner, and this is the result.” I gesture to their bruised faces.
“Tavern brawl,” Torin says simply, like it’s all the explanation I need. Maybe it is.
I sigh and step past them to my door. “Come in. Let me grab a snack, and I’ll do what I can. I’ll at least try to heal the worst and most obvious injuries.”
They follow me into the sitting room. Koen sinks onto the sofa in front of the hearth with a groan, while Torin tends the fire. I take a sweet roll Alira brought earlier and join them, sitting in a winged back chair to the side of the sofa.
“How is King Thalon?” Torin asks quietly.
My head snaps to him, but he reassures me. “It’s okay, Ren. You can speak of it in front of Koen.”
I hesitate, then breathe out, shoulders tight. “He’s…unchanged. I keep trying, but I can’t…” My voice breaks. “It won’t let go.” I feel Koen’s gaze, but I don’t meet it.
“We’ll figure it out. There must be a way to heal him,” Torin says.
“I hope so,” I whisper.
We sit in silence as I finish the roll. When I’m done, I clear my throat. “Let’s get this over with. Who’s first?”
“Sorry, Koen, but I’ll go first. Alira is probably wondering where I am,” Torin says.
“ Even she knows you’re slacking, or else she’d expect you to be standing guard outside my door,” I mutter. “I’ll only do your face. The rest will have to wait until tomorrow.”
He smiles sweetly, sitting on the short, round table in front of my chair. “Thank you, Ren.”
I roll my eyes, hovering my hands over his face.
“I always forget how different your healing magic is,” he mumbles. “Your shadowlight feels weird. I don’t like it.”
“Then don’t ask me to heal you,” I snap .
I finish quickly, then wave him off without looking. “You may leave.”
“Thank you. Love you,” he calls over his shoulder.
Silence washes over us after the door shuts behind him. I glance at Koen. He’s still studying me like I’m a puzzle he can’t solve.
“You’re staring,” I say.
“Don’t get the wrong idea. I just like to keep track of dangerous things,” he replies.
“Careful. Worrying about a threat makes you more vulnerable to it.”
His eyes lock onto mine. “I’m not scared.”
“You should be.” My voice is quieter than I mean for it to be.
We stare for a long moment, neither willing to look away first—that is, until my shadows begin to stir again and I force my eyes away.
“I can’t heal everything. You’ll have to tell me what hurts most. I’ll also fix…” I wave in front of his face, grimacing. “…your face.”
“Oh, please, little shadow. With the way I’ve caught you looking at me, I think you might actually like my face…maybe even more bruised.”
I scoff. “Cocky again, tavern boy.”
He smirks. I narrow my eyes and begin healing him, starting with his face, then the worst injuries as he points them out. Sweat beads on my forehead, spots gathering in my vision. I stop when I know I can’t push further.
“There. The rest will have to heal naturally,” I say, looking away, trying not to let him see how close I am to passing out.
“Thank you,” he says, and I am momentarily taken aback by the softness in his tone.
I stand, swaying.
He frowns. “Are you okay?"
“I’m fine. You may go. Bright and early training tomorrow. Don’t be late,” I say, turning toward my bedchamber. I sway again, quickly placing a hand on the wall for support.
He approaches hesitantly. “Do you… Do you need help getting to bed?” He rubs the back of his neck like he’s uncomfortable.
“I said I’m fine,” I snap , forcing myself forward.
He hesitates again, then nods, quietly retreating.
Once I hear the door close, I exhale a sigh of relief and stumble the rest of the way to my bed. Sleep quickly claims me, merciful and deep.