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Nyxaris.

That name. I knew it from somewhere outside of these walls, though the memory hovered just out of reach.

A cold, sharp realization hit my ribs. My father hadn’t just tolerated him—he had kept him close, branding him with a dead woman’s name just to keep a chokehold on a walking weapon.

SEVENTEEN

The frost on the mats didn’t melt under our boots; it shattered, scattering silver shards across the stone like crushed glass.

My breath rose in thick, ragged clouds between us, my lungs burning for oxygen in the biting morning air. Every muscle from my shoulders down to my calves throbbed with the weight of four continuous hours on the floor.

Caspian didn’t look like he’d just put me through the dirt. His gold hair still caught the pale morning light, but the slate of his eyes seemed deeper, as if the shadows crowding him were quietly swallowing the brightness whole. He stood completely balanced, dark fighting leathers slick with sea fog, his training blade held low and entirely relaxed.

And yet, a strange, hollow fatigue was already tapping at my bones—a ghost of a draft pulling the lingering heat straight out of my veins toward him.

The reality of who he actually was—the trueborn heir of Ilasari, a high lord’s dangerous secret hidden right in front of the crown—hung suffocatingly between us. It turned the chilly air taut, making the fresh marks on my arms hum with a dull, restless heat.

I lunged forward, steel cutting a sharp arc through the mist in a rapid downward strike to force his parry.

Caspian didn’t even lift his sword. He simply stepped sideways—a minute shift of his hips that let my blade slice empty air. Before I could reset my footing, his armored forearm struck the small of my back, driving me forward. I stumbled, my boots skidding on the slick granite. My teeth clenching hard to keep a grunt behind my lips.

“Too wide on the entry,” Caspian growled, his low voice cutting through the wind. “You’re throwing your weight forward before you’ve confirmed the target. A child from the outer provinces could read that.”

“I was giving you room to remember your manners, Captain,” I shot back, spinning on my heel. I adjusted my stance, pulling my left shoulder back, though my fingers shook slightly against the leather grip.

He closed the distance, his broad frame blocking out the pale winter sun. “You’re wasting your nights, Trouble. Soren told me you spent another five hours in the stacks pulling scrolls from the First Age.”

Too slow. Easy for him to say when he moved like he bent time.

I hated that he was right. A legendary sword wouldn’t fix anything if I couldn’t wield it.

“A relic might give me a slight advantage against a heir no one’s seen in twenty years,” I muttered, my voice tight.

Kaelor.

I had seen him. I knew I could take him in the ring—unless he had just been toying with me on the mats all along, letting me win to feed me a dangerous, false sense of security.

“The only advantage you have is me,” Caspian said softly, the words heavy in the cold air.

He lunged without warning.

I reacted on instinct, bringing my steel up to catch his blade with a loud metallic crack that sent a vibration straight up my forearms. Instead of pulling back, Caspian pressed his weight forward, crowding my guard until his face was inches from mine.

I twisted, trying to duck beneath his arm, but his free hand shot out. A sharp flash of movement caught my eye—shadowed fingers, wreathed in a faint, coiling dark, locking hard around my waist to redirect my momentum. The touch was immediate, a sudden wave of heat as my front was pinned flat against his leather vest.

For a second, neither of us moved. His blue eyes dropped to my lips before snapping back, his grip on my waist tightening.

“You’re leaning into me, Trouble,” he murmured, a faint smirk touching his mouth.

“I’m calculating the distance required to break your jaw, Captain,” I retorted, keeping my tone flat to mask the sudden, violent thrashing of my pulse.

My gaze dropped to his hand. Wrapped tight around my waist, his fingers weren’t just calloused—there was a faint, bruised obsidian haze bleeding beneath his skin, a writhing dark that tasted like ash on the back of my tongue.

“What was that?” I breathed, my voice dropping. “On your hand.”

Caspian didn’t blink. The slate of his eyes hardened into an abyss. “Nothing.”

“Stop hiding behind your mask,” I snapped, dropping the defensive armor of our banter entirely. “Just let me in.”