Chapter 14
?──── Koen ? ────?
The courtyard is quiet, save for the sound of our blades meeting and the low rasp of our breaths. The cloudy sky makes for a darker training session this morning.
I adjust my grip on the sword with sweat already slicking my palm. Across from me, Serenya moves with a grace that makes it hard to look away. Even now, even after nearly two weeks of sparring together, she barely seems winded while training me.
“Again,” she says, circling me.
My jaw tightens, and I nod. The blade feels heavier today. Or maybe it's my nerves. There are two days until the next trial. I still don't feel ready.
We clash again, steel ringing out sharply. I try to anticipate and counter her moves, but fail.
She twists behind me, sweeping my legs out, and I hit the ground with a grunt, sword clattering away.
Her favorite move .
“You’re still letting your weight lead your swing,” she says while standing over me with one brow raised.
“I’m not made of air like you,” I mutter, dragging myself to my feet. “Some of us carry actual muscle.”
“Then use it to your advantage,” she says flatly. “Instead of swinging it around like a sack of potatoes.”
“Charming as always.”
I glance at her and catch the briefest twitch on the corner of her lips, like she’s fighting the urge to smile, before she retrieves my sword and tosses it to me.
It’s ridiculous, dangerous even, the way I find myself watching her now.
Not just because of how skilled she is. Not just because she’s beautiful.
..though I can’t deny that she is. Her white hair shimmers softly in the muted light, and there is something about the way she squints into the falling mist—slightly raising her chin—that makes my thoughts scatter, as if the world around us has disappeared and there is only her.
I can’t help but wonder if she ever allows herself to smile, truly smile, not the guarded expression she wears for the courts.
She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re staring again.”
I blink. “I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“Maybe I was just trying to figure out where that stick went that’s always up your—”
“Careful,” she warns.
I grin despite myself.
She steps forward again, lifting her blade. This time, the strike comes fast, but I’m faster. Our swords lock, pressing between us.
Too close.
Her breath hitches just slightly, but her expression doesn’t change this time.
I can feel it, though. That flicker of something that always shows up in these moments. Tension strung tight between us like a bow ready to snap.
“You know, little shadow, you don’t have to be so damn cold all the time,” I say softly.
“I’m not cold,” she says in a low voice. “I’m careful.”
Our swords slide apart, and we circle again, slower this time.
Two days.
Whatever the next trial holds, it will push us men further. Maybe even to the edge. I don’t know if I will make it through, but I realize. I want to. Not just for myself or my friends. But maybe for something else now. Someone .
“Is that all for today?” I ask when she finally lowers her blade.
Her eyes flick toward the sky, hands resting on her hips. “You’re better than you were.”
“Not exactly high praise.”
“I’m not exactly your court bard, tavern boy.”
I laugh softly. “That would be terrifying.”
She gathers her gear in silence and makes her way back to the palace, quiet and composed. And I, goddess help me , can’t keep my eyes from following her as she goes. I let out a slow breath.
From the far end of the training yard comes a low whistle, startling me.
Turning, I find Torin and Alira watching, again, arms crossed, grins wide.
“I hate both of you,” I mutter, walking toward the weapons rack.
Alira just laughs. “You’ve got it bad.”
I ignore them. But as I turn away, I let my fingers brush the hilt of my blade—the one Serenya had handed me—and tell myself it doesn’t mean anything.
Even if it does.
────────────? ? ?? ?────────────
The garden around me shimmers with color that doesn't feel real, moonlilies glowing faintly in the dim light. Stone paths, overgrown with moss. The sound of distant bells. A scent I can’t name, something wild and familiar.
A figure appears like smoke through the hedges, barefoot and laughing. The soft green fabric of her gown catches the breeze like river water.
Serenya.
She looks younger. Looser. Like the weight of titles hasn’t yet settled onto her shoulders. She beams at me.
“There you are,” she says, stepping toward me. “I thought you’d given up.”
I don’t speak. I can’t. A flicker of longing stirs within me at the sight of her.
“Aren’t you going to say something?” she asks, playfully tilting her head. “Or are you still mad I beat you in training?”
I finally find my voice. Only, it isn’t my voice. Not quite. It comes from my mouth, my body, but deeper, calmer.
“I let you win.”
She scoffs, eyes gleaming, and I laugh. At least, it feels like laughter, but I don’t remember choosing to. Everything feels submerged. As though I’m watching through someone else’s eyes.
She reaches for my hand, and we run. Away from the garden and through the shadows, until the palace is only a silhouette behind us. We collapse into a field, breathless and wild.
Her face is above me. Soft with moonlight. Her fingers pressed to my chest.
“I wish this didn’t have to end,” she murmurs.
I want to say it won’t, but the words get caught in my throat.
“I love you, Kallan,” she whispers.
With that, the world collapses.
I sit up, gasping. Chest tight. My shirt soaked through.
My room is dim with an early dawn light, and a bird is chirping outside the window like nothing has changed.
But everything has.
Kallan.
I knew that name. Everyone did. The fae warrior who died protecting Serenya during the battle at Oxhaven. The one whispered about in ballads. My mother had told me the stories before her illness took her.
I run a hand through my damp hair and frown. Why did she say his name? Why did it feel so real ?
I’d dreamed of strange places and shadows I couldn’t name before, but never like this. I have never dreamed of her . Never Serenya .
My eyes drift toward the window. I shake my head. I’m going insane.
Still, the weight of her fingers against my chest, from the dream, lingers . So does her voice.
I love you, Kallan.
The dream clings to me like smoke. Even after splashing cold water on my face and walking the entire length of the garden wall until it’s time to be at breakfast, it lingers, unspoken and unfinished. A field of wildflowers. Her voice. Just not how she speaks to me now.
No sharpness. No disdain. Just aching, open affection. It makes no sense.
I wasn’t myself in the dream. And yet, I was.
The palace’s smaller dining hall buzzes with low conversation as I step in behind the others. The long table near the windows is laid with an impressive spread of warm breads, fruits, fresh cheeses, and honeyed meats, but none of it really registers.
I take the empty seat at the end. Torin gives me a brief nod from across the room. Serenya is already seated at the head of the table, sharp-eyed and composed, speaking to Asbel.
She laughs lightly at something he says, and for a moment, I just watch her. The tilt of her head. The way her fingers curl slightly around her glass. It’s all familiar in a way it shouldn’t be.
She looks over, catching me staring. Her brow arches. “Is there something on my face, or are you just trying to remember what manners look like, tavern boy?”
It was the kind of jab she’d tossed my way before. Biting, casual, almost amused. Normally, I would have smirked, fired back with something cocky just to watch her bristle.
Not today, though.
I blink, looking away, and mumble, “Sorry.”
That gets her attention. The silence is brief, but noticeable.
Torin shoots me a sidelong glance. Asbel raises an eyebrow, and Lioran shoves a piece of bread in his mouth to cover his grin.
Serenya leans back in her seat, eyes narrowing slightly. “That’s it? No clever retort?”
I force a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Guess I’m not feeling clever today.”
“You did it, Ren. You broke the grump,” Lioran says, still grinning. His use of her nickname makes my teeth grind.
“You’re not falling apart already, are you?” she says, voice still teasing, but gentler now, like she is trying to draw me out, poke at the version of me she’d come to expect.
I shake my head, staring down at the plate in front of me. “Just tired.”
Tired of dreams I don’t understand. Of feelings I can’t explain.
Something is wrong with me. It has been since the moment I laid eyes on this palace.
I need to remind myself that I’m not here to care what she thinks.
I am here to survive. To win, maybe. To make something of myself. To get back to my village whole .
Yet…that look in her eyes from my dream haunts me.
I love you, Kallan.
Her voice keeps repeating in my mind, no matter how hard I try to shut it out. I don't want to hear it anymore—I just don’t know how to make it stop .
The rest of the meal carries on without me. Laughter. Light jabs between the other champions. Serenya joins in here and there, poised but present, watching them all with a calculating eye.
Saying little, I just pick at my food, barely touch my drink, and only glance her way once more, just long enough to see her not looking at me. Somehow, that stings more than anything.
When the meal finally ends, I almost slip back to my chambers without having to talk to anyone. Almost.
“What's wrong with you, Koen?”
The words slice through the quiet corridor, and my jaw tightens automatically.
I freeze, turning to face Serenya. The one person I don’t want to deal with right now.
My muscles ache, my head pounds from the training, from the lack of sleep, from that damn dream that won’t leave me.
Every step I’ve taken since leaving the dining hall has been toward solitude, and here she is, like a blade across my path.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I say, keeping my tone neutral, forcing calm I don’t feel.
Her gaze sharpens, her eyes pinning me in place. “Did something happen?”
I glance at the ceiling, needing to escape, needing to put some space between my patience and her scrutiny. The exhaustion presses against me, heavy, almost suffocating. Why the hell does she care? She makes it very clear she doesn’t like me—sometimes even goes out of her way to show it. So—
“Why do you care, Serenya?” The words slip out colder than I intended, but I don’t take them back. My hands ball into fists at my sides. I can feel my teeth clenching, making my jaw ache.
Her blink is small, but I catch it. Surprise. Not many speak to her like that, and maybe that gives me a little satisfaction.
When she doesn’t answer, I sigh harshly, sharp enough that it echoes in the empty corridor. “I’m not in the mood for games today. You don’t really like me. You’ve made that perfectly clear. Many times. So why do you care?”
There’s a beat of silence. Her laugh comes then, low, dry, almost venomous, and it stings more than I expect. No warmth, no lightness. Just a reminder that she holds all the power here.
“You’re right,” she says finally, her tone clipped and controlled. “I must have forgotten myself for a moment. Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.” Without waiting for a reply, she pivots sharply and storms down the corridor, booted footsteps echoing behind her.
I stand there, hands trembling slightly from both exhaustion and anger. My gaze lingers on her retreating form, the curve of her back, the tilt of her shoulders.
I run a rough hand down my face, fingertips pressing into the tense muscles along my jaw and cheeks. A bitter laugh escapes my throat, but it’s hollow. My feet finally carry me forward, each one heavy and reluctant, toward the door of my chambers.
I let out a long, shuddering breath, open the door, and step inside. Alone. I should be glad, but even in solitude, her presence lingers in my mind. I tell myself it’s the exhaustion, the dream, the endless training…but I know it’s more.
The quiet is absolute, but it doesn’t bring relief. I sink onto the edge of my bed, muscles trembling, chest tight, and realize I’m still replaying her laugh, her gaze, her words. And I’m not sure I want to stop.