The silence in the classroom was absolute. Draven stood frozen, his bravado crumbling under Corvin’s cold gaze.
"I asked a question," Corvin repeated. "What is going on here?"
Nyra’s hand found Finn’s wrist. "Don’t," she whispered, blood dripping from her nose. "It’s not worth it."
But Finn was already standing. "She was just trying to leave, and Draven tripped her. He called her names. Mocked her. She fell face-first into the stone, and everyone laughed. That’s what’s going on."
Corvin’s head turned slowly toward Draven. "Is that true?"
Draven’s mouth opened and closed. "I—it was just a joke—"
"Fun." Corvin tasted the word like something rotten. He pulled out a chair, turned it around, and sat down. Lucian and Orion took seats on either side of him.
Corvin crossed his legs and smiled. It was not a kind smile. "Fight," he said.
Everyone stared.
"I’m sorry?" Draven’s voice cracked.
"You wanted to have fun, didn’t you? So fight. Both of you. Right here."
Nyra didn’t hesitate. She drove her fist into Draven’s throat.
He choked, staggering backward. The second punch caught his jaw. The third slammed into his ribs. By the fourth, he was on the ground, arms raised to protect his face.
"Look at that," Lucian murmured. "She’s improved."
"Faster than before," Orion agreed. "Smarter, too. She’s aiming."
Corvin watched with quiet satisfaction.
Draven recovered enough to swing back. His fist split Nyra’s lip open. She grabbed his collar, pulled him up, and slammed him back down. His skull cracked against the stone.
"Yield," she spat, blood spraying from her lips. "Yield, Draven."
"I yield! I yield!"
She released him and stumbled back, chest heaving. The classroom was silent.
Corvin stood and clapped slowly. "Now that is how a prince should act. Though you’re still lagging behind where you should be." His eyes swept over her. "Come here."
Nyra pointed at herself, incredulous.
"Yes, you. Come."
She glanced at her friends. Finn looked torn between pride and worry. Marek gave a slight nod.
She walked toward Corvin. Before she could speak, his hand closed around her wrist firm, unyielding and he pulled her out of the classroom, Lucian and Orion falling into step behind them.
"Where are you taking me?" Nyra tried to pull free. "Corvin—"
"Stop struggling. You’re making a scene."
"I don’t care about making a scene! Let go—"
He didn’t. He pulled her through the corridors until they reached his private suite. Lucian and Orion peeled away without a word. Corvin pushed the door open and guided her inside. "Sit."
"I’m not sitting. I’m not answering your questions—"
"Sit."
She sat. Her legs were shaking.
Corvin disappeared into the adjoining room. When he returned, he carried a wooden box filled with vials, clean cloth strips, and a jar that smelled sharply of herbs.
She stared at the supplies. The protest died in her throat.
He pulled a chair in front of her, close enough that their knees nearly touched, and opened the jar. "Hold still."
"What are you doing?"
"Treating your wounds. Obviously." He pressed the cloth to her split lip, and she hissed. "You fought well. Better than last time. Soren’s training is showing."
"I thought you hated Soren."
"I do. That doesn’t mean he’s incompetent."
She sat rigid as he worked. His fingers brushed her jaw when he tilted her face toward the light. She stared fixedly at the wall over his shoulder.
"You’re very still. Are you always this tense when someone helps you?"
"I’m not used to being helped."
"Clearly." He reached for a small vial. "This will help with the swelling."
"Why are you doing this?" The question came out more vulnerable than she intended.
Corvin’s hands paused. "I’m helping the weak. It’s part of my job as a senior student. Nothing more."
Nyra scoffed. "Right. Because you’re known for your charity work."
"Are you suggesting there’s more to it? That I might have some ulterior motive for helping a male like you?" His voice dropped. "Because if that’s what you think, little prince, then you’re delusional."
She lifted her chin. "Does someone need a reason to help a male like you? Can’t a person just be good for no reason?"
Corvin stared at her. Then he laughed genuine, surprised, almost warm. "No thanks. Being good for no reason sounds exhausting."
Nyra pulled back, touching her lip where the salve had numbed the pain. "Thank you. But I have another class. I should go."
He nodded, already turning away. "Try not to get punched again. It would make my work here pointless."
She left. The door clicked shut.
Corvin stood in the silence, looking at the blood-stained cloth in his hand. Her blood. Pale. Silvery. Wrong for any normal Alpha.
He lifted the cloth to the light and smiled.
"Let’s see what you’re hiding, Prince Thorne."
In a storage room on the east wing, three figures gathered in dim torchlight.
Nikolai leaned against the wall. Xavier sat on an overturned crate, tossing a knife between his hands. Killian stood near the door, expression dark.
"How far along is your plan?" Nikolai asked. "With the person you’ve been distracting yourself with."
Killian’s lips curved into something not quite a smile. "Don’t worry. It’s handled. Everything is in place for tomorrow."
"You’re certain?"
"Draven will do exactly what I told him to. He’s too eager to please me to refuse." Killian’s voice dripped with contempt. "All we have to do is watch."
Xavier’s knife stopped spinning. "And if it doesn’t work?"
"Then we try something else. But it will work. The Ghost of the Weak won’t know what hit him."
Nikolai studied Killian for a long moment. "See that it does. Lord Varek is not a patient man."
"He’ll have his dead prince. One way or another."
They dispersed as quietly as they’d gathered.
Evening painted the garden in amber and rose. Soren sat on a stone bench beneath an ancient oak, watching leaves spiral down. Ragnar stood beside him.
"Do you have any hope for the prince?" Ragnar asked. "Tomorrow’s match. Do you think he’s ready?"
"We shall see. I’ve done my part. I can’t fight for him."
"I’ve heard his opponent is Draven Grimscar. The same one he embarrassed in that classroom fight."
"Then he’ll be out for blood."
"Most likely."
A long pause. Soren turned his head slightly. "And your trainee? Finn Harlan?"
Ragnar’s scarred face cracked into something resembling a smile. "He’s trying. Not as hopeless as I first thought. Kid’s got more guts than sense, but guts count for something."
"They do."
Ragnar shifted his weight. "Full moon’s coming."
"I’m aware."
"Have you thought about how you’ll handle it? Since you still don’t have a mate?" Ragnar’s tone was carefully casual. "Will you use Valeria again? Or is there someone else?" A beat. "The prince, perhaps?"
Soren’s voice was ice. "You should focus on your own wolf, Ragnar. How will you satisfy yours? Will you pick a random male student like you do every full moon, since your wolf prefers men?"
Ragnar shrugged, unbothered. "Who knows? Maybe my wolf will pick you this time." He stepped closer, a teasing glint in his eye. "We do spend an awful lot of time together."
"If you come an inch closer, you’re ready to die."
Ragnar burst into laughter, loud and genuine. Soren looked away, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
Later, Nyra sat cross-legged on her bunk. Finn was pacing. Marek was sharpening a knife. Jasper was reading, though his focus was clearly divided.
"Draven," Finn said for the third time. "Of all people, it had to be Draven."
"He’ll turn this into revenge," Nyra said quietly. "I humiliated him today. He won’t hold back."
"Then don’t hold back either." Marek didn’t look up from his knife. "You beat him once. You can beat him again."
"That was different. He wasn’t expecting me to attack. He won’t make the same mistake twice."
Jasper closed his book. The small sound drew everyone’s attention. "You’re forgetting something."
"What?"
"You’ve been trained by the Sword Sovereign himself." His sharp eyes met hers. "Draven has been trained by his own arrogance. Those are not equal things."
Finn grabbed her shoulder and squeezed. "You’ll be fine. You hear me? You’ve got this."
Marek nodded. "You’ll defeat him."
Jasper opened his book again. "You’ve got this," he echoed. Coming from him, it felt almost like a prophecy.
After dinner, Nyra made her way to Soren’s suite. The corridors were quiet. She pushed open the door. He was waiting.
"How are you feeling?"
The question caught her off guard. "Fine," she said, steadier than she felt. "I’m ready."
Soren nodded. Then his fist flew toward her face.
She didn’t see it coming. Her body locked up but at the last second, Soren diverted his hand and punched the wall beside her head. Stone dust showered her shoulder.
"What," he snarled, "have you been learning since you came here?"
Nyra couldn’t breathe.
"Fight back!" He threw another punch, pulling it just short of her ribs. "Don’t dodge attack! You can’t win by defending forever. Now, throw a punch!"
She hesitated.
"If you hesitate one more time, I will not pull my next punch. Do you understand?"
She threw a punch. Weak. Pathetic.
"Is that all you have?"
She threw another. And another. Each met with cold critique.
"Again. Harder."
She threw the tenth punch, and Soren caught her wrist. "That is not how to throw a punch."
He moved behind her. His body pressed against her back. His hand adjusted her stance, nudging her feet apart. His other hand wrapped around hers, guiding her arm.
"Like this," he murmured, breath fanning across her neck. "Feel the difference?"
She couldn’t feel anything except the heat of him.
He stepped around to face her. "Again."
She threw the punch. Better.
"Fair." He dropped into a fighting stance. "Now spar with me. No pulled punches. Show me what you’ve learned."
The match was brutal. Soren gave no mercy, but his strikes never landed always pulled, always redirected, forcing her to move faster. She was drenched in sweat, muscles screaming.
Then his foot hooked behind her ankle. The world tilted. She hit the ground with Soren on top of her.
Instinct took over. She rolled, flipping their positions until she straddled him, knees pinning his hips, hands braced on his chest.
Something loosened.
She felt it before she understood it the binding band slipping, the tension releasing. It landed on Soren’s stomach with a soft, damning thud.
Her loose training shirt hung open. Beneath it, nothing but her bare chest.
Her breasts.
Visible. Exposed. Right above him.
The world stopped.
Nyra looked down at Soren. Soren looked up at her. His eyes drifted downward to the band on his stomach, to the chest above him, to the truth she could no longer hide.
I’m screwed. He’s caught me. It’s over. It’s all over.