I frowned at Fyrn’s casual use of Tallon’s name—she was his friend, no doubt, but the informality struck me as odd, and I thought back on previous conversations, trying to recall if she used it before. Perhaps he’d given her permission to speak so freely.
The prince, predictably, didn’t learn. Blow after blow, he drove at Kallias, each attack leaving him more frustrated than the last.
The bout ended as fast as it started. The king spun behind, slamming the sword’s pommel between his shoulder blades. Tallon collapsed, and Kallias growled something under his breath. This time, he didn’t step back. He loomed over the prince—a silent challenge. Clearly, Kallias was trying to teach him a lesson. But he refused to yield.
“Again!” Tallon barked, voice thick with frustration.
Kallias paced to the center, and Tallon rose—his movements slow, measured. My brow pinched at the pure malice in his glare. Then he lunged.
The king, though surprised, was not caught off-guard. He twisted, avoiding the sharp edge. But Tallon, quick and desperate, hooked an arm around his neck and used the momentum to slam his hilt into his right shoulder.
Greaves, ever stoic at his place near the wall, flinched. A grimace pulled his face taut.
Kallias doubled over, gritting his teeth with a wince as he rolled the prince to the ground, his weapon a flash of silver as it hovered just above Tallon’s throat. Fyrn gasped as the blade hung there, suspended in an eerie stillness.
This was wrong—and not because Kallias had my betrothed at sword-point. Unease slithered through me like cold fingers, my pulse quickening. This wasn’t just a sparring match anymore. It wasn’t tension between mentor and student, or father and son.
It was darker.
Wrath billowed off Tallon in waves as he lay in the sand, panting and disheveled. The bitter animosity radiating from him felt like a storm gathering—unrelenting and vicious. He spat something, and Fyrn and I leaned forward as if we might catch his words. Kallias’ gaze flicked toward us and I shrank back with a nervous swallow.
“No.” His command sent a ripple through the arena, and Fyrn recoiled into her seat.
The irritation pulling at her brow didn’t escape me. “What did he say?” I asked.
“I only heard the king,” she murmured, but her eyes betrayed her—shifting with something unsaid. There was more she refused to say.
Kallias turned on his heel, storming toward Greaves, who was already retrieving his mantle from the stand.
Tallon’s glare whipped to me, filled with the promise of vengeance so vehement it chilled my blood. A low hum of warning buzzed in my chest. I’d done nothing to provoke such fury, such ire. I straightened, lifting my chin in silent defiance. He could take that attitude and redirect it somewhere useful—like actually learning how to wield a sword.
Without waiting for the prince to rise, I stood, my movements deliberate. I dipped my head toward him, acknowledging his humiliation—then strode past Fyrn, who scrambled to her feet, and walked away. My pace didn’t falter. I was no longer interested in whatever game Tallon thought he was playing. I wasn’t impressed.
The evening meal passed in a quiet haze. The prince and I shared the same space, but the silence between us was a wall too thick to breach. Surrounded by a crowd, I was utterly alone. Besides Edith and Scythe, I knew no one here. Fyrn was across the room, wrapped up in conversation with some young women, all of whom kept sneaking glances at the dais.
Or rather—at Tallon.
I couldn’t understand why it annoyed me that they found him attractive. He had a certain boyish charm—bright green eyes and dark hair that fell across his brow. Yet I knew the darkness behind that gaze. The cruelty. The anger. It was impossible to reconcile the man he was with the face that captivated others. I hated I was destined to marry him, and I resented the fact that all the noblewomen saw something I didn’t.
When Kallias rose from the table, I watched him go, timing my escape by the seconds. As soon as I deemed it safe, I excused myself and practically fled the hall. It took more effort than usual to shake my guards, requiring me to insist on my freedom to roam—punctuated by a lofty chin raise that lacked conviction.
I managed to navigate the route to the rooftop, my steps quickening as I neared the stairs. The sun, the warmth, the wind on my face—it was what I craved.
And perhaps, the king’s company.
Hiking my skirts, I pushed forward and cleared the door to the balcony—only to find it empty.
Disappointment settled deep, and my shoulders sagged as I made my way toward the short wall. The sky was darkening, the fading yellow light bleeding into deep blue. No vibrant colors this evening, just the slow retreat of daylight—mirroring my heavy mood.
With a soft grunt, I hoisted myself up, letting my feet swing over the edge. Overgrown and wild, the garden below bled into a thick forest that bordered the untamed fields. The scene reflected the disarray inside me, the untended chaos of thoughts I couldn’t quiet.
I don’t know how long I sat there. Time seemed to stretch and bend. Eventually, the weight of my unease lifted, as if carried away on the breeze. My hair whipped around my face, and I closed my eyes, listening to the rush of wind as the sun disappeared beneath the horizon. Stars blinked to life far above, familiar and constant, though now viewed from a different angle—just like everything else.
“I didn’trealize today was so trying.”
Kallias’ voice snapped me from my thoughts, and I gasped, twisting to face him.
“If you throw yourself to your death, please wait until I leave,” he said with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, offering me a steaming mug. “It will look less like I pushed you.”
