Prince Alaric's P.O.V
The stone walls of the Erindale palace felt colder tonight, or perhaps it was just the weight of the secrets we carried. I walked several paces behind Solace, my eyes never leaving the slight tension in her shoulders. My mind was a battlefield of conflicting loyalties. To Aevum, I was a prince, a traitor, and a fugitive. But as I watched her—this fierce woman who carried the weight of a ghost kingdom in her blood—I knew my true duty had shifted. I would protect her and the people my father had neglected, even if it meant watching my own empire burn from the outside.
We reached the heavy oak door of her quarters in a silence so thick it was deafening. Solace turned, her face pale under the flickering torchlight. She offered me a tight, fleeting smile—a small crack in her armor—before disappearing inside.
I stood there for a long moment, listening to the soft thud of her boots hitting the floor and the quiet click of her lamp being set down. I knew her head was likely pounding with the same relentless questions that kept me awake. I didn't move until I was certain she had finally collapsed into sleep.
The next morning, the air was sharp with frost. I found her on the training grounds before the sun had even managed to bleed into the sky. I stood in the deep shadows of the stone archway, watching. She was magnificent. Her movements were fluid, her sword an extension of her very soul. She moved like water—soft one moment, a crashing wave the next. I could see her lips moving, as if she were listening to voices only she could hear, ancestral echoes guiding her steel.
But she was too focused on the blade. She was ignoring the raw, volatile power humming beneath her skin. I decided then that if she were to survive my father's hunters, she needed to be more than just a swordsman. She needed to be a Queen.
I stepped forward, shedding the cover of the shadows. Even with her eyes shut, she sensed me. In a blur of silver, her sword was at my throat, the cold edge of the metal biting into my skin. I didn't flinch. We stood frozen, a prince and a prodigy, until I decided the lesson had begun.
Solace's P.O.V
The cold steel of my father's sword was steady in my hand, the tip resting just over Alaric's pulse. My heart hammered against my ribs, but my breathing remained deep and even. We stared at one another, eyes locked in a silent war of wills. I was waiting for him to move, to speak, to apologize for intruding on my sanctuary.
Instead, the air around him suddenly buckled.
A wall of invisible force slammed into my chest. I didn't even have time to gasp before I was airborne. The world blurred into a chaotic mess of grey sky and stone until my back collided with the rough bark of an ancient oak tree.
"What the—" I choked out, sliding to the grass. The pain in my spine was a white-hot needle, and my vision swam with sparks of fury. I didn't think; I reacted.
Rage acted as a catalyst. My palms didn't just warm—they ignited. I scrambled to my feet, and with a guttural scream, I began hurling fireballs at him. One after another, great arcs of orange flame tore through the morning mist. Alaric didn't draw his sword. He simply pivoted, nudging the flames aside with flickers of his own energy as if he were brushing away annoying flies.
I poured everything into the attack, my teeth clenched so hard my jaw felt like it would break. But the more I threw, the faster my strength evaporated. My knees felt like lead, and my vision began to grey at the edges. I stopped, bent double and panting, the fire in my hands dying down to embers.
Suddenly, the wind itself turned into a weapon. A violent whirlwind of dust and air shrieked toward me. I dived into a roll, the gale whistling past my ear and splintering the wooden training dummy behind me.
"Do you want me DEAD?!" I screamed, my voice cracking with a mix of exhaustion and pure, unadulterated anger.
Alaric stood a few meters away, his hands folded calmly, his cloak barely ruffled. "I am testing your power," he said, his voice maddeningly level. "And it seems you have a long way to go. You let your anger drive you, and it burns through your energy like tinder. You focus so much on your sword that you've forgotten the blood in your veins is where your true strength lies."
He walked toward me and extended a hand, his expression softening just a fraction.
"Gee, thanks for the advice," I snapped, ignoring his hand and pushing myself up from the dirt. My pride felt bruised and bloodied. "Next time, maybe try a conversation instead of a near-death experience."
I trudged across the field to retrieve my sword, which had been tossed several yards away. I wiped the dirt from the blade and sheathed it with a sharp, final click. I took a deep, shaky breath, forcing the remaining embers of my rage to settle.
"I apologize for my actions," Alaric said behind me. The sincerity in his tone caught me off guard.
I paused, looking back at him with a tired, sardonic smirk. "Hmm. A prince who actually knows how to apologize? I thought that was a legend told to the peasants."
To my surprise, Alaric didn't offer a witty retort. He just let out a low, genuine chuckle that vibrated in the cool morning air. For the first time, the weight of our titles felt a little lighter.