It had been one week since Rowan got the letter, and nothing out of the ordinary had happened apart from one thing. The words on the letter were gone when Rowan picked it up in the morning again, as if they were never there.
The courtyard rang with steel. Rowan steadied his breath and shifted his grip on the wooden practice sword. Sweat clung to his brow, his tunic damp against his back. Aelric circled him in a low stance, eyes bright with the thrill of combat.
Bors stood a short distance away, arms folded across his thick chest, his grizzled face unreadable. The man had been their instructor for more than a year now. His voice, usually harsh, carried calm weight when he finally spoke."Again."
Rowan lunged. Their swords clashed, wood striking wood in a sharp rhythm. Aelric parried and countered, his movements quick and practiced. The younger prince had always been fast. Rowan had always been steady.
But today, something was different.
Rowan let his instincts guide him, the rhythm of his body sharper than before. His blade flowed into a strike that Aelric barely caught. Their feet scraped across the stone as they locked, muscles straining, each refusing to give ground.
Aelric's grin broke through the struggle. "Finally putting some heart into it, eh?"
Rowan said nothing, pushing harder until the lock broke. He swept his sword in a low arc, forcing Aelric to step back, then drove forward with a clean overhead strike.
Aelric tried to sidestep, but Rowan was faster. His blade thudded against his brother's shoulder, knocking him off balance and sending him stumbling.
The fight ended there.
Aelric froze, breathing hard, then laughed and raised his free hand in surrender. "Well done. That was clean."
Rowan straightened, lowering his weapon. His chest heaved, but he kept his face calm.
Bors walked closer, boots heavy against the stone. His single eye studied Rowan, then Aelric. "You both fought well."
Aelric grinned wide, no bitterness in his voice. "That was good, Rowan. Finally, you've beaten me."
Rowan dipped his head. "Thank you."
They both stood a moment, catching their breath, the air between them lighter than before.
Bors broke the silence with a low sigh. "You two are headed to the Crownlands in only a few weeks. I will push you harder than ever until then. It won't matter how well you spar here in stone courtyards if you freeze when real claws come for your throat."
His gaze sharpened, heavy with memory. "Next, I'll take you both into a beast zone. You will fight where death is real."
Aelric nodded quickly, still smiling. "Understood."
Rowan gave a quiet, firm answer. "Yes, Master Bors."
Bors said, "Go now. Rest while you can. Tomorrow, training begins again."
The two princes bowed and stepped away, their practice swords slung at their sides.
Bors looked at them both, his expression softening only a fraction. "I only wish I had more time to train both of you. But the world won't wait for my pace."
After the training, both Rowan and Aelric were going out of the palace, which they usually did every few days after training to get refreshed and enjoy the delicacies. They wore more normal clothes not to reveal their identities. When they slipped past the palace gates a short while later, a few men shadowed their steps at a distance. Their clothes were plain, but they were knights who always followed Rowan and Aelric when they were out of the palace as protectors.
The streets of the capital stretched before them, lively with vendors calling out their wares, carts rattling over cobbles, and the warm smell of roasting meat drifting on the breeze. Rowan let his shoulders ease slightly.
Aelric led him to a narrow street lined with stalls. "Here. Let's eat here. I forgot to visit last time. They have the best fried dumplings in the capital."
They stopped at a small shop with a wooden counter and steaming baskets stacked high. The shopkeeper's face brightened when he saw them. "Ah! Young master, welcome back."
Rowan accepted a basket from Aelric and bit into one of the dumplings. The crisp shell gave way to savory warmth, and for a moment the simple taste pulled a quiet smile from him.
"Told you," Aelric said with a mouth full of food.
They ate side by side, leaning against the counter, watching the flow of the street. People bustled past with baskets and bundles, voices rising and falling in the easy chorus of daily life. They were walking in the middle of a crowded market. For that brief moment, Rowan felt almost ordinary.
Almost.
The peace shattered with a roar of flame.
Rowan's instincts screamed. He turned just as a streak of fire hurtled through the crowd toward him, already burning whoever came in contact with it.
Aelric shouted, grabbing at his arm. But before the fireball could strike, a figure blurred into view. A ripple of mana split the air, and the flame dispersed harmlessly into sparks.
Rowan's eyes snapped to the man who had appeared. His plain clothes and hood were drawn low, but the sharpness of his stance was unmistakable. Ferris.
"Stay close!" Ferris barked.
The street erupted into panic. People screamed and scattered as cloaked figures surged from the crowd, blades flashing. Their focus was all on taking the princes' lives.
Ferris yelled, "Assemble all knights! Protect the princes!"
With that, knights disguised as civilians also came out and formed a tight circle around Rowan and Aelric as the fight started.
As Ferris and the knights were busy, a civilian standing not too far away ran toward Rowan with a sword in hand. Caught by surprise, Rowan raised his arm just as steel slashed down toward him. But a knight disguised as a passerby intercepted, his sword catching the strike, though not before the tip grazed Rowan's arm. Pain burned across his skin, blood wetting his sleeve.
"Rowan!" Aelric's voice cracked with fear, but he still drew his dagger, standing firm at his brother's side.
Another assassin lunged. The knight cut him down with a brutal swing. Ferris swept his hand, sending a surge of invisible force that knocked two more into the dirt.
By the time guards arrived, the assassins were already nearly wiped out. Before they could catch the remaining ones, the assassins acted in eerie unison. They bit down on something in their mouths.
Foam bubbled at their lips. Within moments, they collapsed, bodies jerking once before going still.
The street fell silent save for the shouts of guards corralling civilians back. The acrid smell of burned cloth and blood lingered in the air.
Rowan pressed his hand over his wounded arm, his face calm despite the sting. His eyes, however, were cold.
Ferris strode over, lowering his hood. His gaze swept the fallen attackers, his expression grim. "Fanatics."
Aelric's voice trembled. "They tried to kill us in the middle of the street—" but his words were cut off as Rowan said, "This has to be them," looking at the dead bodies of the knights and civilians blankly.
Ferris looked at Rowan sharply, as though measuring the weight of that answer. Then he said, low and firm, "Most likely. This might not be the last attempt. Stay alert. Both of you."
The disguised knights and guards began dragging the bodies aside, their faces set hard. The crowd whispered from a distance, fear buzzing like a hive.
Rowan tightened his hand over the cut, his thoughts turning not to pain but to the letter that still sat hidden in his chambers.
A warning unheeded. Now written in blood.