Nyra remained frozen beneath Soren, her mind a white wall of terror.
Soren’s eyes traveled downward to the band on his stomach, to the chest above him. His expression didn’t change. It didn’t have to. The silence was damning enough.
"Wow."
His voice was almost casual. Almost amused. And then he moved fast, fluid, reversing their positions in a single roll until she was beneath him again, her back pressed into the training floor, his weight pinning her down.
"Prince Thorne." He tilted his head. "Or should I say... Princess Nyra?"
She shoved him off and scrambled backward until her spine hit the wall. "Please. Please don’t expose me. I have to stay in this school. I have to help my brother. Please, Soren pretend you didn’t see what you just saw."
Soren rose slowly, brushing dust from his trousers. A smirk curved his lips. "Why should I pretend I didn’t just see breasts on a person who’s supposed to be male? I’ve been waiting for you to come clean since the moment you fell into my arms in that corridor." He stepped toward her. "The scent. The build. The way you flinch. I knew something was wrong."
He kept walking. She kept backing up until there was nowhere left. His hand gripped her jaw, tilting her face up. His eyes dropped to her lips.
"I guess the Moon Goddess was tired of your secrets."
Nyra squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her mouth into a hard line. His face moved closer. His breath ghosted across her lips.
Nothing.
She opened her eyes. He was staring at her, expression unreadable.
"What—what are you doing?"
He didn’t answer. Just looked at her until she thought she might unravel entirely.
Then he withdrew. Abruptly. Completely. He cleared his throat. "Pick up your band. We have a lot to cover before tomorrow. I’ll decide whether I keep your secret after I see how you perform in that match."
Nyra exhaled like a drowning woman breaking the surface. She bent down and grabbed the binding band. When she tried to wrap it around her chest, Soren’s hand closed over her wrist.
"Later," he said. "Right now, we train."
She hesitated. But he’d already seen everything. There was nothing left to hide. She nodded.
They trained. The sound of their harsh breathing filled the suite, and neither spoke of what had happened. But it hung between them anyway the truth, finally loose in the open air.
Morning arrived. Nyra stood before the mirror in the Undercroft dorm, wrapping her hands with steady fingers. Finn appeared beside her, already dressed in his training gear.
"Ready?"
"As I’ll ever be."
They left together Finn, Marek, Jasper, and Nyra walking through the cold corridors toward the grand hall.
The hall was enormous, dominated by a massive wolf sculpture at the front, its stone jaws open in a silent howl. The air smelled of old blood and sweat. Rows of chairs surrounded the central fighting circle. Students were already filing in, their voices a low roar of anticipation.
Corvin was waiting at the entrance. He smiled when he saw her. "Good luck today, Prince Thorne."
"Thank you."
He stepped closer, voice dropping to a murmur. "I’m almost done finding out what you’re hiding. A few more days, and it will all be over."
Her blood ran cold. She forced a smile. "I’ll be waiting."
They moved into the hall and found their designated seats near the fighting circle. The old bloodstains darkening the stone floor held Nyra’s gaze.
Then Soren walked in with Ragnar at his side. His dark gaze swept the room, found her face, and lingered. He smiled small, barely there and nodded once before continuing.
Ragnar caught Finn’s eye and gave an encouraging nod. Finn straightened visibly.
Marek wiped his eyes dramatically. "Did Soren Thornridge just smile at you?"
Nyra shrugged, fighting the blush threatening to climb her neck. Her friends laughed.
Behind her, Draven’s eyes bored into her skull. When their gazes met, he didn’t look away. Then his attention shifted across the hall, to where Killian sat among the crowd. Killian nodded. Draven nodded back. Killian’s eyes moved to Nikolai and Xavier, seated separately. An almost imperceptible tilt of his chin. A slight curve of their lips.
The signal had been given.
The lecturers entered in a procession of dark robes. The students rose and bowed. Valeria’s eyes found Nyra’s with cold satisfaction before moving on.
Proctor Vesper Kane delivered the opening speech. Nyra barely heard it.
The first match lasted less than five minutes. More followed. Jasper’s match went nearly twenty minutes a test of endurance but he emerged victorious. Marek won with quiet efficiency.
Then it was Finn’s turn. Ragnar tensed visibly, muttering something under his breath. Soren’s expression remained neutral.
Finn attacked first an uppercut that caught his opponent off guard. The match ebbed and flowed until Finn spotted the weakness: a slight favor in his opponent’s left ankle. He struck it hard. The other boy went down. Finn followed with a punch to the throat, a blow to the gut. The opponent yielded.
Ragnar shouted from the sidelines, pumping his fist. Finn caught his eye and grinned. Ragnar grinned back.
Then the announcer called: "Thorne Astrlyn versus Draven Grimscar."
The hall quieted. Nyra rose. Her friends murmured encouragement, but their voices felt distant.
She stepped into the circle. Draven stepped in opposite her. She looked toward Soren. His eyes softened just barely before the cold mask returned. She looked away. Bowed. Draven smirked and bowed back.
The match began.
Nyra attacked first. Don’t wait, Soren had said. She threw a punch caught him off guard followed with another. Draven recovered fast, dodging the third strike and answering with his own. They traded blows. Dodge and strike. Parry and counter.
Draven dropped low and swept her legs out from under her. Her skull cracked against the stone floor. The crowd gasped. Ragnar glanced at Soren. Soren’s face was calm. Too calm.
Nyra blinked away the dizziness. She rolled, hooked her arm around Draven’s neck, and pulled him into a chokehold. He clawed at her grip, gasping.
Then his hand moved strangely.
No one saw it. His finger slid under the tip of his glove, opening a hidden tube. Clear liquid dripped onto Nyra’s exposed wrist, absorbed instantly.
She felt a sudden weakness. Her grip loosened. Draven tore free and scrambled away.
She shook her head. The weakness faded. She pushed herself up.
They circled again. Draven’s smirk was back, certainty in his eyes.
Nyra attacked. An uppercut kick to his neck perfect form and Draven staggered. A punch to his stomach doubled him over. She struck his kidneys, the vulnerable places Soren had taught her to target.
Draven fell. She followed him down, raining blows until his arms dropped and his voice cracked. "Yield. I yield."
Blood poured from his nose and mouth. The announcer stepped forward. "Winner: Thorne Astrlyn!"
The hall erupted. Her friends screamed. Ragnar grinned. Corvin clapped with quiet satisfaction. Nyra found Soren in the crowd. He nodded, and there was something in his expression she’d never seen before something like pride.
She smiled.
Valeria gave the closing speech. Nyra barely heard it. The event ended. Students began dispersing.
Then Soren was there, pushing through the crowd toward her. "Congratulations."
The word was simple. The fact that he’d said it publicly was not.
Nyra opened her mouth to respond and swayed.
"Thorne?" Finn’s voice sharpened.
She coughed. Wet and tearing. When she pulled her hand away from her mouth, her palm was streaked with blood.
"Nyra!" Finn grabbed her arm. "What’s wrong?"
She tried to answer. The second cough was worse, violent, convulsive, shaking her whole body. Blood spattered her tunic. Someone screamed.
Soren caught her before she hit the ground, one arm around her back, the other cradling her head. Corvin was there a heartbeat later, his face pale.
"Move!" Soren snarled.
"He’s not breathing properly—"
"Move, Eldritch!"
The hall erupted. Lecturers shouted. Students pressed forward. Finn yelled for a healer. Marek held Jasper back.
But Nyra didn’t hear any of it.
Her body was ice. Her lips turned blue. Blood trickled from her nose, her ears, the corners of her eyes, a crimson mask spreading across her pale skin.
Soren’s heart slammed against his ribs. Something dark and primal clawed at his chest, something that felt terrifyingly like fear.
"She’s alive." His arms tightened around her. "She’s still alive." He whispered in his head.
His eyes lifted. Scanned the crowd. Searched for the face that would tell him who had just signed their own death warrant.
"Someone poisoned her."