~~~
.
.
.
Hazel had been making excuses to "visit" the training grounds more often, but the truth was simpler—she wanted to keep a closer eye on Gavriel. The shadows around him unsettled her, the way he lingered at the edge of conversations, watching, as if he carried secrets folded into his very being. And if Gavriel was going to slip, she would be there to see it.
This time, she dressed deliberately. A fitted training outfit—dark, sleek trousers that clung to her figure and a tunic cinched neatly at the waist. Her silver hair was tied back into a high ponytail, leaving her neck bare, her face glowing with a mix of determination and playfulness.
When she entered the training hall, the air seemed to shift.
The Elite men—Hades' most formidable soldiers—turned as one. Their weapons slowed, their stances eased. A ripple of surprise, then admiration flickered across their expressions.
"Well, well," drawled Darius, the broad-shouldered strategist with eyes as sharp as an eagle's. "The Queen consort graces us again. I'd almost think you enjoy our company."
Hazel smiled faintly. "Almost."
"You should wear your hair like that more often," chimed in Artemis, mischief glittering in his eyes. "Makes you look like a warrior goddess."
"Not just the hair," added Luke, tall and stoic, but his voice held a quiet warmth. "You've been training. It shows."
Compliments landed one after another, not shallow, but genuinely meant. And Hazel, though she kept her expression composed, felt heat rise in her cheeks. Her body was leaner, quicker, her movements sharper than ever before. For the first time in her life—this life—she didn't feel useless.
"Shall we?" she asked, gesturing toward the practice ring.
The men exchanged glances, grins breaking out. Darius gave a mock bow. "As you command, my Queen."
---
Hazel fought them in turn. The clatter of blades against wooden staffs, the sweep of her feet in quick spins, the way her body bent and leapt with impossible agility—each motion stunned them.
The clang of steel against steel echoed across the training ground, sharp as lightning but charged with laughter and banter. Hazel ducked under the swing of an obsidian blade, her silver ponytail whipping through the air, and drove her elbow hard into her opponent's side.
Her instincts were uncanny, sharper than she'd ever thought possible. She didn't just defend; she anticipated. She slipped past Luke's block, twirled away from Artemis' sweeping strike, and sent him sprawling with a perfectly timed kick.
"I thought you were supposed to be teaching me," she teased.
Cheers and laughter broke out.
Darius groaned, rubbing his ribs. "By the abyss… you fight like fire bottled inside a human shell. No wonder our king can't stop looking at you."
The other Elites roared in agreement, their voices carrying the familiar mix of respect and jest. Artimis wheezed from the ground, "did you see that spin? Like a silver string!"
"You move like a storm and shine like the moon. Silver hair tied up like that… You're distracting half the men before they can even block you."
Hazel rolled her eyes, cheeks warming despite herself. "You flatter me just to cover for your poor footwork."
"Or perhaps," drawled another—Luke, all wolfish grin —"we flatter you because you're the only one who makes us forget our blades in hand. And gods, that smile of yours? It could make even a demon surrender."
She tilted her head, silver hair clinging to her sweat-damp neck. "Careful, Luke. If you keep saying things like that, I'll assume you're trying to make me blush."
"Wouldn't that be a victory sweeter than any duel?" Luke countered with a grin.
Hazel laughed, chest warm. She didn't mind their teasing—because beneath it, there was genuine respect. They weren't treating her as a fragile Queen or a political wife; they treated her as one of them.
Darius clapped his hands together. "Tell me, Majesty, were you hiding this talent from us all along? Or are we simply lucky to witness your rebirth?"
The laughter that followed was infectious, but Hazel felt a strange thrill running through her veins. Not long ago she'd thought herself useless, nothing more than a pawn in a world she barely understood. Yet here she was, sparring with warriors who had centuries of battle behind them—and hearing their admiration not just for her skill, but for her beauty.
For so long, she had been weighed down by Hazel's past—her disgrace, her failures. But here… here she felt like something else entirely.
Even Gavriel, leaning against the far wall with his usual careless charm, let out a low whistle. "Grace and danger woven in one," he murmured, his eyes gleaming with unreadable intensity. "Truly… King Hades chose well."
Hazel stiffened under his gaze, unsettled by the way his words always seemed to drip with double meanings.
His lips curved in that dangerous smile that made her skin prickle, both in warning and in something she refused to name.
"You wear the training ground well, Princess," he called smoothly, his voice dripping like honey over steel. "Sweat suits you."
The Elites burst out laughing at his audacity, but Hazel forced herself to keep her composure. She would not give him the satisfaction.
"Careful, Gavriel," she shot back, twirling her practice blade once more. "Mock me too much and I might decide to spar with you next."
Gavriel's smile widened, his eyes gleaming like shadowed fire. "I'd be honored. Though I warn you… I don't hold back."
Hazel's pulse quickened despite herself, heat rising to her cheeks. Damn him. Even in the middle of camaraderie, even with her heart soaring from Miriam's secret romance, Gavriel's presence curled around her like smoke—inescapable, impossible to ignore.
---
Later, when training ended and the men lingered in the courtyard, Hazel wiped sweat from her brow as the Elites moved on to their own drills. She leaned against a rack of spears, catching her breath, when she noticed Stefan across the yard.
Tall, with shoulders cut like stone, Stefan was usually the most reserved of the Elites. His green eyes missed nothing, his strikes precise, his silence heavy with authority. But today, his sharp focus kept faltering. Hazel followed his gaze—and caught the flicker of a smile curling at her maid Miriam's lips.
Miriam. Sweet, quiet Miriam, who had spent so long in the shadows of others, now stood by the training fence, holding a basket of water flasks. Stefan's gaze lingered on her with an intensity that would have melted steel. Miriam, for her part, looked down quickly, though not before Hazel spotted the faintest flush rising in her cheeks.
Hazel's heart skipped with delight. She had been worried her maid would forever be trapped in the chains of servitude, too timid to dream of such things. Yet here it was—something tender sparking between two people who never seemed to look twice at anyone else.
Hazel walked over, casual but curious.
Miriam's cheeks were flushed, her words tripping over themselves, but she didn't look away. There was a spark there, undeniable.
At least Miriam had a crush. And judging by the way Stefan's eyes softened when they rested on her, it wasn't one-sided.
Hazel approached, draping an arm playfully around Miriam's shoulder. "You two looked awfully deep in conversation."
Miriam's face went crimson. "Y-Your Majesty—"
Stefan chuckled quietly. "We were discussing combat stances. Nothing scandalous."
Hazel arched a brow. "Of course. Because discussing combat stances makes cheeks burn red and hearts race."
Miriam swatted her arm, mortified. "Stop!"
But Hazel only laughed, the sound bright. Then she leaned closer, lowering her voice so only Miriam could hear. "If you like him… don't just wait. Where I come from, we believe in a little boldness. Drop hints. Find excuses to talk. And if he gives back the same energy, trust it."
Miriam's eyes widened. "Boldness?"
Miriam bit her lip, torn between embarrassment and the faintest flicker of hope.
"Yes," Hazel whispered, squeezing her friend's hand. "You deserve something that makes your heart race. Don't let it slip past you because of fear."
When Hazel stepped back, she caught Stefan watching them, amusement and curiosity flickering in his gaze. And though Miriam still stammered, there was a small, determined glint in her eyes now.
Hazel felt warmth bloom in her chest. For herself, she carried burdens too heavy to name. But for Miriam… she wanted lightness, joy, the kind of affection that could be chosen freely.
And as the sun dipped lower, casting the training yard in hues of gold and shadow, Hazel realized that for all her spying on Gavriel, these visits gave her something unexpected—pride, friendship, laughter. For the first time in a long while, she felt alive.