Kalyn Josephson

The training grounds were empty, the first wisps of evening mist coiling over the castle corridors and down along the grass. Ericen was already running through drills with a practice sword in one of the rings. I blinked. He was shirtless.

Lean, corded muscle pulled taut with every motion, his movements tight and controlled. I felt my eyes widen reflexively before wiping the expression off my face a second before he spotted me.

He smirked, as if knowing he’d unsettled me. “Centerian fights are shirtless. Makes it easier to see the blood.”

“Of course. That’s very important.”

He offered me a hand, and I grasped it, letting him haul me into the ring with an ease that made my heart stumble. This was not going to be an easy fight.

He snorted derisively. “Oh well. What’s another disappointment in a sea of failures?”

“I wouldn’t call that a failure,” I replied.

His silver-blue gaze lifted to meet mine, and the intensity behind it pinned me.

“It’s difficult to walk against the wind.” Another Trendellan proverb from Caliza’s husband. “It takes strength.”

Then, in what I mistook for another punch, he tackled me to the ground.

The ring floor gave only slightly, compressing just enough to spare my back, the air gushing out of my lungs in a loud gasp. Ericen was easily twice my size, his heavy body pinning me with little effort.

He grinned, then clearly thinking he’d settled the matter, peeled his hand off my arm to wipe the sweat from his brow. I punched him in the jaw.

He blinked, and then he smiled. A real smile, not the stupid one-sided smirk or the grin that made me want to gut him.

“You’re better than I gave you credit for,” he said.

I’d just about regained my breath enough to talk. “You’re not.”

He laughed, the sound strangely rich and menacing at the same time, and rose, offering me a hand.

Would he fight against me?

As though he felt my eyes on him, the prince paused in his drills to face me, his bare chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. “Taking notes?” he asked with a catlike grin.

I didn’t smile. “What if you lose?”

“I won’t,” he replied without hesitation.

“Strength comes in many forms,” she said. “The lion fears only the fox.”

Res cocked his head.

“Focus on the source of power inside you,” I said, repeating words I’d heard Estrel whisper to hatchlings first discovering their magic. “Imagine it as an extension of yourself.”

Res swayed, sending groan-like sounds along the cord, before spreading his wings and falling flat onto his back.

I blinked. He lifted his head gently, as if checking that I was looking, then let it flop back down.

“Is he okay?” Caylus asked.

A low rumble in Res’s throat mirrored the vibration of feeling he sent down the cord between us. Something that translated loosely to food food food.

I groaned, dragging my hands down my face. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I crossed my arms. “You’re not getting anything until you make some more lightning, you overgrown chicken.”

Another cooing noise reverberated in Res’s throat.

A nearly full moon illuminated Ericen in the door frame. He stopped when he saw me awake, the color draining from his face. He was a ragged mess, his hair nearly as chaotic as Caylus’s and his clothes unchanged.

Kiva stiffened. “What do you want?”

“To check on her,” he said quietly.