Kaelen POV
I make my way toward the training grounds. I haven't held a sword in days, and now my hands itch for the weight of it. As I near the ring, the familiar clink and clash of steel reaches my ears.
That's odd. I gave explicit orders for the grounds to be cleared.
I climb the steps, and there she is—the one person who would dare disobey me.
Nyriane.
She moves like she was born for the blade, her form sharp and deliberate as she spins and drives her sword through the chest of a training dummy, splintering it off its post. The ruined straw figure crashes to the dirt.
"Didn't know you knew how to wield a sword," I say behind her. "Let alone use it."
She whirls around, startled—but only for a moment. Then she smirks, smug and defiant, her hair loose in the wind.
My heart misses a beat.
Gods, she's stunning like this.
"I trained here as a child," she says easily. "And at Dresdened Castle. Had to pass the time somehow."
She turns away and slashes through another dummy with controlled ferocity.
"How are you in single combat?" I ask, stepping into the ring and picking up a wooden training sword—a waster.
"I can hold my own. Though I've never fought a warlord."
"Interesting," I murmur, weighing the waster in my hand. It feels like a splinter compared to what I'm used to. "Then let's change that, shall we?"
She shrugs and stoops to reach for another wooden blade.
"No," I tell her. "Keep your sword."
Her brow arches. "You'll face Liraith with that stick?"
"Liraith?" I echo.
"My sword," she says with a tilt of her chin. "She's merciless. But if you want to go in with a toothpick, that's your choice."
"I'll take my chances against Liraith."
To her credit, Nyriane doesn't hold back. She moves with calculated speed—fluid, efficient, deadly. I'm caught off guard by how precise her form is. For a moment, I forget the match entirely. I forget everything.
And that's my first mistake.
In one clean arc, she brings her blade down and splits my wooden sword in two. Cold steel comes to rest against the side of my neck.
"Head wasn't in the game, was it, Lord Commander?" she teases, eyes gleaming.
But I don't let her win so easily.
Before she can blink, I grab her wrist and twist. She gasps as the sword clatters to the ground, and I spin her around, trapping her arms behind her.
"You're good," I breathe into her ear. She shivers at the closeness. I force myself to ignore it, or I'll lose control. "But not great."
I release her gently and crouch to retrieve her sword, offering it back.
"You hold back. You're afraid to draw blood," I tell her. "That hesitation will cost you."
She takes the blade slowly. "And what if I hurt you?"
I can't stop the smile that pulls at my mouth.
"In the training ring, I'm not Kaelen and you're not Nyriane. I'm the enemy. Treat me like one."
"That doesn't make much of a difference, does it?" she quips.
I chuckle. "Fair enough. But listen—before you even raise your blade, you start the fight here." I tap a finger to her temple. "Never lose eye contact with your opponent. Intimidation can cut deeper than steel."
"But how am I supposed to watch my surroundings?"
"Eagle eyes," I say.
She frowns. "Pardon?"
"An eagle takes in everything at once. You need to train your body and mind the same way. Eyes forward, ears open, senses aware. Know what's in front of you, beside you, and behind you."
Nyriane shifts her weight, still confused but trying to absorb it.
"If you want, I could train you. Daily."
"Really? You'd do that?" she asks, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
"I'd quite enjoy it, in fact," I say, reaching up to tuck the rest of her hair behind her ear.
"If I kiss you now," I murmur, stepping closer, "will you let me?"
She says nothing, only stares into my eyes.
I dip my head, waiting—one second, two—before finally pressing my mouth to hers.
Sweet gods.
I missed this.
Her lips move urgently against mine. I deepen the kiss, teasing her with my tongue. She clings to my shoulders, breathless, needing, mine.
When I finally pull away, her lips are red and full, glistening in the afternoon sun. It takes everything in me not to claim them again.
"Lord Commander!" a voice shouts from the path. One of my guards runs into the ring, breathless. "The council has summoned you. They're gathered at the keep."
"The council?" I echo, annoyed. "I'll be there shortly."
"I should go freshen up for dinner," Nyriane says softly. "Will you be back in time?"
I nod. "I'll make sure of it."
I press a quick kiss to her lips, then force myself to walk away, the taste of her still on my tongue.
---
"What is the meaning of this?" I demand as I enter the council room. "Why summon me without notice?"
Harlin steps forward. "We've received word, my Lord. One of the men who aided in Saelow's escape has been captured. He's being transported to Aureliath as we speak."
"Then why wasn't I informed earlier?"
"We needed confirmation, Lord Commander. And…" Harlin hesitates. "The council had… concerns."
"Concerns?" My tone sharpens. "This is about Nyriane, isn't it?"
"She is not a suspect," I snap before he can speak. "I expected better from you, Harlin."
"My loyalties lie with you—and the Queen," he replies, calm but firm. "But I believe it's in her best interest that this information be kept from her… at least for now."
General Harrow steps in. "We trust you, Commander. If you believe she's loyal, we support your decision. But given her connection to Saelow, we think it best she remain unaware for now."
I breathe slowly through my nose. "Very well. I'll keep it to myself. For now. But if I decide she needs to know, I will tell her."
I'll deal with the council's doubts later. For now, I'll focus on what matters.
"Inform me the moment the prisoner arrives."