Dawn came slow and gray.
Nyra had not slept.
She sat on the edge of her bunk, still wearing the clothes she’d fled in, her eyes raw and swollen. The tears had stopped somewhere around the third hour of darkness, replaced by a hollow ache that sat behind her ribs like a stone. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw them Valeria’s hands on his chest, his mouth on hers, the way he had looked at Nyra across the room with something that might have been guilt.
She didn’t want his guilt. She didn’t want anything from him.
That was the lie she was telling herself this morning. She intended to hold onto it as long as she could.
"Nyra." Finn’s voice was gentle. He’d woken ten minutes ago and had been watching her with barely concealed worry. "What happened last night? You went out and didn’t come back for hours."
"Nothing happened."
"You look like you’ve been crying."
"I’m fine."
"You’re not fine. You’re the opposite of fine." He sat down on the bunk across from her, his easy humor replaced by something more serious. "Did someone hurt you? Was it Soren? I’ll kill him if it was Soren."
"It wasn’t Soren." The lie tasted bitter. "I just couldn’t sleep. The full moon. It affects me differently."
Finn didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. That was one of the things she appreciated about him, he knew when to pull back.
"Alright," he said. "But if you need to talk, I’m here. We’re all here."
Marek grunted in agreement from his bunk. Jasper looked up from his book, his sharp eyes missing nothing, but he said nothing at all.
"Thank you," Nyra whispered.
She didn’t deserve friends like these. Friends who waited outside the healer’s wing. Friends who offered to kill the Sword Sovereign on her behalf. Friends who had no idea she was lying to them every single day.
The bell rang. Morning classes were about to begin.
Nyra stood, straightened her tunic, and buried her heart somewhere deep where no one could touch it.
Today, she would face Soren. Today, she would confront whatever was between them.
Today, she would not cry.
The training ground was cold and empty when she arrived.
Soren was already there, as he always was, moving through his morning drills with mechanical precision. His shirt was off despite the chill, and she could see the scratches on his back faint red lines that had not been there yesterday.
Valeria’s marks.
The sight of them made something twist in her stomach, but she forced her face into neutrality. She was Prince Thorne today. Not Nyra. Prince Thorne, who had no reason to care about scratches on his trainer’s back.
"You’re late," Soren said without turning around.
"I’m exactly on time."
"On time is late. We’ve discussed this."
She dropped into her warm-up stretches without arguing. The tension between them was unbearable a physical thing that crackled in the air like lightning waiting to strike. Neither of them spoke about the lake. Neither of them mentioned the way she’d fled from his room, the way he’d followed, the words that had passed between them under the willow tree.
I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Nyra. And it terrifies me.
The memory of her real name on his lips made her hands tremble.
"Your form is sloppy," Soren said, interrupting her thoughts. "Your stance is too wide. You’re distracted."
"I’m not distracted."
"You are. And distraction in the Mistwood will get you killed." He crossed his arms. "The Shadow Trials are in two days. Draven has been training specifically to defeat you. He knows your weaknesses. He knows you favor your left side. He knows you hesitate before committing to a strike."
"Then I’ll stop hesitating."
"Will you? Or will you freeze the way you froze last night?"
The words hung in the air like a thrown blade. Nyra’s hands curled into fists.
"That was different."
"Was it?" He stepped closer. "You saw something you didn’t like, and you ran. You didn’t fight. You didn’t confront. You fled. What will you do when Draven has you pinned in the Mistwood? Will you run then too?"
The accusation hit her like a slap. But beneath it was something else something that sounded almost like self-loathing. He wasn’t just criticizing her. He was criticizing himself.
"At least I wasn’t the one who told someone to stay away and then did exactly what I said I wouldn’t do." Her voice came out harder than she intended. "At least I’m not the one who spends every full moon with a woman I don’t even care about."
Soren’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. "Careful, little prince."
"Or what? You’ll make me do push-ups? You’ll call me weak? You’ve done all of that before." She stepped toward him, the silver light pulsing hot beneath her skin. "You asked me why I cared. You asked me why it bothered me. So let me ask you the same thing. Why did you follow me to the lake? Why did you tell me your wolf calls me something you’ve never called anyone? Why did you say my name my real name like it meant something?"
"I don’t know."
"You do know. You just won’t admit it."
"I could say the same to you."
They stood inches apart, the air between them thick and crackling. His dark eyes bore into hers, and she could see the war happening behind them the push and pull of a man fighting a battle he had already lost.
"Why do you care who I spend my full moons with?" His voice dropped to a rough whisper. "Why did it hurt you to see me with Valeria? What am I to you, Thorne?"
"I don’t—"
"Answer me."
She couldn’t. The words were there, lodged in her throat like stones, but she couldn’t force them out. Because saying it would make it real. Saying it would mean she had feelings for a man who had just been with another woman. Saying it would shatter the careful walls she had built around her heart.
"That’s what I thought." Soren stepped back. The distance between them felt like a chasm. "You accuse me of not admitting things, but you can’t admit them either. You want me to be honest with you, but you won’t be honest with yourself."
"That’s not fair."
"Life isn’t fair. The Shadow Trials aren’t fair. Draven won’t be fair." He turned away. "Training is over. We’ll resume tomorrow. Be on time."
"Soren—"
"Tomorrow."
He walked out of the training ground without looking back.
Nyra stood alone in the cold morning air, her fists clenched, her heart a battlefield, and the words she couldn’t say burning in her throat like fire.
Corvin found her an hour later in the library.
She was sitting in the darkest corner she could find, a book open in her lap that she hadn’t read a single word of. Her eyes were dry, but the evidence of the night was still written on her face the shadows beneath her eyes, the pallor of her skin, the way her hands trembled slightly when she turned the pages.
"You look terrible," Corvin said, settling into the chair across from her.
"Everyone keeps telling me that."
"Perhaps because it’s true." He studied her with those sharp, calculating eyes. "Full moon was difficult?"
"You could say that."
"I spent mine in the laboratory. The lunar properties amplify certain potions. It’s the best time for complex brewing." He paused. "I assume your night was less productive."
Nyra looked up at him. "What do you want, Corvin?"
"Straight to business. I appreciate that." He leaned forward. "I want to give you something. For the Shadow Trials."
He reached into his satchel and pulled out a small vial filled with a liquid that shimmered silver and gold. He set it on the table between them.
"What is it?"
"A protective potion. It won’t make you invincible, but it will slow the effects of any toxin that enters your bloodstream. Given your history with being poisoned, I thought it prudent."
Nyra stared at the vial. The liquid inside swirled slowly, catching the light. "Why are you helping me?"
"I’ve been asking myself the same question." Corvin’s voice was quieter than usual. "At first, I told myself it was scientific curiosity. You’re a puzzle I want to solve. Your blood is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. But that’s not the whole truth."
"Then what is the whole truth?"
He was silent for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was strange almost vulnerable.
"I don’t know yet. But I’m going to find out." He pushed the vial toward her. "Take the potion. Use it if you need to. And whatever happens in the Mistwood, don’t die. I still have questions."
"That would be a shame. Dying before you’ve finished interrogating me."
"Exactly." He stood. "Good luck, Prince Thorne. You’re going to need it."
He left without waiting for a reply.
Nyra picked up the vial and held it to the light. Protection. An ally she hadn’t expected. A serpent who might not be as cold-blooded as he pretended.
She tucked the vial into her pocket.
Killian found Draven in the training grounds, beating a wooden dummy into splinters.
"You’re nervous," Killian observed, leaning against the wall.
"I’m not nervous." Draven’s fist slammed into the dummy’s jaw. "I’m ready."
"Are you? The last time you faced Thorne, you lost. Despite the poison."
"The poison was supposed to work faster. You said it would kill him before the match ended."
"And yet he survived. Because Soren went into the Forbidden Forest and brought back the antidote. Because Corvin followed him and made sure he didn’t die along the way." Killian’s voice was cold. "Thorne has powerful protectors. What do you have?"
Draven turned, his chest heaving. "I have you."
"Do you?" Killian pushed off the wall and walked toward him. His movements were slow, predatory, the way a cat approaches a bird. "I’ve been very generous with you, Draven. I’ve given you my time. My attention. My body. And in return, I’ve asked for one thing."
"I know. I won’t fail this time."
"You can’t afford to fail." Killian stopped inches from him, close enough to kiss. "The Mistwood is prepared. The trap is in place. All you have to do is lead Thorne to the marked location. The terrain will do the rest."
"And if he doesn’t follow?"
"Then you make him follow. You’re bigger than him. Stronger than him. You’ve been training for this. Thorne is still recovering from the poison. He’s weak. Tired. Emotionally compromised." Killian reached up and cupped Draven’s jaw. "You can do this. I believe in you."
Draven’s eyes softened. The way they always did when Killian touched him. "I’ll do it. For you."
"I know you will." Killian kissed him slow, deep, rewarding. "And when it’s done, we’ll celebrate. Just the two of us."
He pulled back, leaving Draven breathless and wanting.
"The day after tomorrow," Killian said. "Don’t disappoint me."
He walked away, and Draven watched him go with something that looked almost like worship.
That evening, Nyra went to the training ground alone.
The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose, and the air was cool and still. She stood in the center of the stone floor, closed her eyes, and reached for the silver light.
It came more easily now. The hum beneath her skin rose to meet her call, and when she opened her eyes, her hands were glowing.
She moved through the forms Soren had taught her the strikes, the blocks, the footwork but this time, she let the light guide her. It flowed through her limbs, correcting her stance, sharpening her strikes. When she punched the training dummy, it didn’t just rock back. It splintered.
She stared at the cracked wood. The silver light pulsed in her veins, stronger than it had ever been.
I am not weak.
I am not the Ghost of the Weak.
She had been hiding her whole life. In the palace. In the academy. Behind her brother’s name and her brother’s face. But the seal was breaking, and so was she.
Whatever waited in the Mistwood, she would face it. Not as Thorne. Not as the prince who couldn’t shift.
As herself.
That night, a note slipped under her door.
Nyra picked it up, her heart already sinking before she read the words.
Your secret will not stay hidden forever. The full moon sees everything. And so do I.
No signature. No identifying marks. Just the words, written in a careful hand that could have belonged to anyone.
She crumpled the note and threw it into the dying embers of the hearth.
Someone knew. Or someone suspected. Either way, the walls were closing in.
Two days until the Shadow Trials.
Two days until everything changed.