Velaris Estate – Morning After the Ball
The halls of the Velaris estate were unusually quiet the next morning. The grandeur of the previous night's celebration still lingered in the faint aroma of wine, roses, and melted candle wax. Servants bustled silently, clearing the remnants of festivity, careful not to disturb the fragile peace that had settled.
Kaelrin had risen before dawn, as was his habit. Training sword in hand, he stood at the edge of the practice yard, sweat running down his temple as he repeated precise forms drilled into him since childhood. Each strike against the training post echoed sharp, disciplined, controlled.
And yet his mind was anything but disciplined.
Every swing brought back the image of Lyra's smile beneath the ballroom chandeliers. Every pause between his strikes reminded him of the stars above the oak tree.
She remembered too… I could see it in her eyes.
He drove his blade forward harder, the wood splintering slightly under the force.
"Still trying to beat destiny with brute strength?"
The familiar teasing voice cut through the morning air. Kaelrin froze, recognizing it instantly. Slowly, he lowered his sword and turned.
Lyra stood at the edge of the courtyard, her gown replaced with a simple dress of pale lavender, her hair tied loosely. She looked almost out of place in the stern, disciplined yard — yet to Kaelrin, she had never belonged anywhere more.
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Playful Banter
"You shouldn't be here," Kaelrin said stiffly, sheathing his blade.
Lyra tilted her head, smirking. "And yet, here I am. What will you do? Scold me? Throw me out?"
His jaw tightened. "This is the training yard. It's not for—"
"—for princesses?" she finished for him, stepping forward with deliberate grace. "Or is it just not for me?"
He sighed. "It's dangerous. You don't understand—"
"Then teach me."
Her words hung in the air, sharp as a blade.
Kaelrin blinked. "What?"
Lyra clasped her hands behind her back, feigning innocence. "Teach me. A strike or two. A proper stance. I'm tired of being told what I can't do, Kael. And I trust you more than any swordmaster."
He stared at her, torn between refusal and something far more dangerous — the warmth that spread in his chest at her trust.
After a long silence, he muttered, "You'll regret this."
Her smile widened. "I never regret my choices. Especially when they involve you."
---
Lesson in the Yard
Reluctantly, Kaelrin handed her a wooden practice sword. She struggled to lift it properly, almost losing her balance.
"It's heavy!" she complained.
"That's because you're holding it wrong." He stepped behind her, adjusting her grip, moving her stance. His hands brushed against hers, firm yet careful. The distance between them narrowed until she could feel his breath against her ear.
"Keep your feet apart. Balance matters more than strength."
Lyra tried to mimic his form, failing miserably. The sword wobbled. She laughed at herself, the sound bright and unrestrained.
"Hopeless," Kaelrin muttered, though the corner of his lips curved upward before he could stop it.
Lyra caught the faint smile and smirked. "Was that… a compliment in disguise? From the mighty Kaelrin Velaris?"
He rolled his eyes and repositioned her again. "Focus."
But she wasn't focusing — at least not on the sword. Her eyes lingered on his, on the rare softness that broke through his stern mask.
"Kael," she whispered, suddenly serious. "You've changed. But also… you haven't. You still carry the weight of the world on your shoulders."
He stiffened, retreating a step. "It's not weight. It's duty."
"And what about your promise?" she asked softly. "The one we made beneath the stars?"
His heart lurched. For a moment, he saw not the young woman before him, but the little girl with muddy shoes and bright eyes, swearing eternal loyalty under the oak tree.
He forced himself to look away. "Children make foolish promises."
Her face fell, just slightly, but enough for him to notice. "Do you really believe that?"
Kaelrin clenched his fists. "I have no luxury to believe otherwise."
---
The Shadows Between Them
Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths. Finally, Lyra lowered the wooden sword, her expression unreadable.
"Then maybe I'll just have to remind you," she said quietly.
Before he could respond, she handed the practice blade back and turned to leave. Her steps were graceful, but her shoulders carried an uncharacteristic heaviness.
Kaelrin watched her go, every instinct in him screaming to call her back, to apologize, to admit that the promise still burned inside him.
But the chains of duty tightened, holding his tongue.
He struck the training post again, wood cracking under the force, as if punishing himself for the words he hadn't said.
From the shadows near the courtyard gate, a pair of unseen eyes watched them both — sharp, calculating, dangerous.
And with a smirk, the observer whispered, "So, the Duke's heir still clings to old promises. Interesting. Very interesting."
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Chapter End – To Be Continued