The morning light filtering through the lecture hall windows felt like a personal insult. Every muscle in Nyra’s body screamed. Her shoulders burned. Her arms trembled whenever she lifted her quill. Her back was a symphony of aches she hadn’t known a body could produce.
She shifted in her seat and winced.
"Alright, princeling?" Finn leaned over, keeping his voice low. "You’re moving like an old man."
"Soren," she managed. "Push-ups. Lots of them."
Ah. Say no more." Finn winced in genuine sympathy. "I heard he’s brutal with new trainees, but a hundred push-ups on the first day? That’s not training. That’s a grudge." He rubbed his own shoulder, where Ragnar had put him through grappling drills that left him sore but functional. "Ragnar’s no pleasure walk either, but at least he lets me breathe between sets. Sometimes. When he’s feeling generous."
"When is he ever feeling generous?"
"Fair point. Never."
Jasper, seated on her other side, glanced at her posture with clinical assessment. "Your trapezius muscles are knotted. I can give you a massage when we get back to the dorm. I’ve studied basic muscle therapy—"
"No." The word came out sharper than intended. Nyra forced a smile. "I mean thank you, Jasper. But I’ll be fine. Just need a few stretches."
Jasper’s sharp eyes lingered on her for a moment too long. "If you say so."
She looked away, heart hammering. A massage meant hands on her back. Hands on her back meant discovering the bindings. Discovering the bindings meant death.
She stretched her arms above her head and pretended not to notice Jasper still watching.
The lecturer dismissed them with an announcement that silenced the room.
"Before you leave. An announcement."
The room quieted. Beside Nyra, Finn froze mid-stretch.
"Your next sparring assessments will take place in three days’ time. Unlike your first round, these will be observed and scored by a full panel of senior lecturers. The results will determine your preliminary ranking for the season." Aldric’s cold gaze swept across the first-years. "Pairings will be posted tomorrow morning outside the main hall. I suggest you all prepare accordingly. Dismissed."
A ripple of nervous energy passed through the students. Excited whispers. Worried mutters. Somewhere behind her, she heard Brock Grim’s distinctive laugh and the words "hope I get the Ghost again."
Nyra’s stomach dropped so fast she felt dizzy.
Three days. Three days to recover from the beating she’d already taken. Three days to train with a man who seemed to hate her. Three days to somehow become good enough that she wouldn’t be humiliated in front of the entire academy again.
"Three days," Finn said, echoing her thoughts. "That’s nothing."
"That’s everything," Marek corrected quietly from behind them. "Three days with Thornridge. You’ll either improve or you’ll die. There’s no middle ground with him."
Jasper nodded. "He’s not known for his patience."
Three days to learn how to fight like an Alpha.
It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
But it was all she had.
Valeria Morvane moved through the corridors of the senior wing like a woman who owned them.
She had dressed carefully today—a deep burgundy gown that clung to her curves, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, her lips painted the color of dried blood. Every guard she passed looked twice. She noticed none of them.
She only had eyes for one door.
Soren’s private suite was unlocked. It always was. He didn’t fear intruders; intruders feared him. She pushed it open and found him exactly where she expected standing over a wooden table covered in training schedules, his back to the door, his shirt already half-untied from his own workout.
"Soren."
He didn’t turn. "Valeria. I don’t recall inviting you."
"You never do." She crossed the room slowly, letting her hips sway. "But you also never send me away."
She reached him. Pressed her palms flat against his back. Felt the heat of his skin through the thin fabric.
"I’ve missed you," she murmured. "The last full moon, you barely looked at me. You’ve been distracted."
His silence was answer enough.
She stepped around him, trailing her fingers across his chest as she moved. Her hands found the hem of his shirt and tugged upward, exposing the carved planes of his abdomen. She pressed her lips to his collarbone. Then lower.
"Valeria."
"Don’t talk." She kissed his chest, right over his heart. "You think too much lately. Whatever it is, the prince, the rankings, whatever’s got you brooding let it go. Let me help you relax. The way I used to."
Her fingers worked at the remaining ties of his shirt. The fabric fell away completely, pooling on the floor behind him. She pressed closer, her body molding against his, her mouth tracing a slow, deliberate path down his sternum. His skin was hot. His pulse was steady. He wasn’t pushing her away.
But he wasn’t pulling her closer either.
"Soren," she breathed against his skin. "Stop thinking."
The door creaked.
Valeria’s lips stilled. Her head turned.
The door creaked.
Nyra stood frozen in the doorway, one hand still on the handle, her face cycling through shock, horror, and something that looked almost like disgust before settling on pure, paralyzing embarrassment.
Time splintered into a series of horrible, frozen images: Valeria’s lips on Soren’s bare chest. Soren’s hand catching Valeria’s wrist mid-caress. Valeria’s head turning, her expression shifting from desire to shock to pure, incandescent fury.
"You," Valeria hissed.
"I—I’m so sorry." Nyra stumbled backward, her face burning. "I didn’t mean to—I’ll come back later—"
"Get out."
The words came from Soren.
Valeria’s lips curved into a vicious smile. "You heard him, little prince. Get out."
"No." Soren’s voice was ice. He looked at Valeria. "I was talking to you."
The smile died on her face. "What?"
"You heard me. Leave."
"Soren, you can’t be—"
His eyes met hers. Whatever Valeria saw there made her step back. Her hands fell to her sides. Her expression crumpled from fury to disbelief to something that looked almost like grief.
"This isn’t over," she whispered. "This isn’t—"
"It’s over right now."
She grabbed her shawl from the chair and swept toward the door. When she passed Nyra, she stopped. Leaned close.
"Watch your back, little prince." Her voice was venom wrapped in silk. "Sooner or later, everyone falls. And when you do, I’ll be there to watch."
She was gone.
The door slammed shut behind her. The echo faded. And Nyra was alone with Soren, who stood shirtless in the center of the room, watching her with those unreadable dark eyes.
Nyra swallowed. Her throat clicked dryly.
"Aren’t you ready for training?"
His voice was low. Almost casual. It was the casualness that terrified her most.
"Or would you prefer to continue where Valeria left off?"
He took a step toward her.
Another.
Nyra’s back hit the door. There was nowhere left to go. Her hands pressed flat against the wood behind her, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps, her heart pounding so hard she was certain he could hear it.
He stopped inches away. Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his bare chest. Close enough that she could see the faint ring of gold bleeding into his pupils. Close enough that his scent pine and leather filled her lungs until there was room for nothing else.
"Well, little prince?" His head tilted. His voice dropped to a murmur. "Which will it be?"
Nyra couldn’t answer.
She couldn’t breathe.
She couldn’t do anything but stare up at him with wide eyes and pray pray to the Moon Goddess who had abandoned her, pray to anyone who might be listening that he couldn’t see right through her.
Don’t let him see. Please. Don’t let him see.
Soren’s gaze dropped to her lips. Lingered there.
Then he stepped back.
"Stretch," he said, his voice back to ice, as if the last thirty seconds had never happened. "We start in two minutes. And if your form is as pathetic as yesterday, you’ll wish I’d sent you away instead."
He turned and walked to the center of the training floor.
Nyra sagged against the door, her knees weak, her lungs burning, her mind spinning with a single, terrifying thought:
I’m in danger. From him. From the way he makes me feel.
And she had no idea how to fight that.