She woke with the taste of smoke in her mouth. For a moment, she didn't remember where she was. The room was quiet, still. Morning light filtered softly through the curtains, but her chest felt tight. The dream lingered. Cold wind against her skin. The scent of blood. A boy—a younger version of Prince Sebastian—standing alone in the middle of something ruined. His hands were stained. His eyes were empty in a way that didn't match his age. She sat up slowly. It hadn't felt like imagination. It had felt like memory.
The door opened without a knock. Sebastian stepped inside. He paused when he saw her awake. "You're quiet," he observed.
She studied him carefully, searching for traces of the boy she had seen. "Were you alone?" she asked softly.
His expression shifted—just slightly. "Alone?" he repeated.
"In the war," she said. "When you were younger." Silence stretched between them. He did not ask how she knew. He simply looked at her longer than usual. "It was a long time ago," he said finally. That wasn't a denial.
She swallowed. "I saw it," she admitted. "I don't know how. But I saw it." Something unreadable flickered in his gaze. Instead of questioning her further, he changed the subject. "You shouldn't dwell on dreams."
"It didn't feel like one." That made him still. For a moment, neither spoke. Then she surprised him. "I want to learn how to use a sword."
His brows lifted slightly. "A sword?"
"Yes."
"For what purpose?"
She held his gaze. "So I can protect you." The words left her mouth before she could reconsider.
For a heartbeat, he stared at her. Then he laughed. Not cruelly. Not dismissively. Genuinely amused. "You intend to protect me?" he asked, stepping closer.
She felt heat rise to her face but didn't look away. "You were alone back then. I don't want you to be alone again."
The laughter faded. Something softer replaced it. "You believe I require protection?" His voice lowered.
"Everyone does," she replied quietly.
He studied her like she was something new. Strange. Unexpected. Then, to her surprise, he nodded. "Very well. I will train you myself."
Her eyes widened. "You will?"
"I don't entrust what is mine to just anyone," he said calmly. His words carried an edge of possessiveness that made her pulse quicken.
He turned toward the door, then glanced back at her. "Be in the courtyard at dawn tomorrow. And wear something you don't mind ruining."
She blinked. "Prince Sebastian?"
"Yes?"
"If I defeat you one day…"
A faint smile curved his lips. "You won't."
For the first time that morning, the heaviness in her chest eased—just a little.
The next hours passed in a blur. She dressed carefully in a combat outfit that was both practical and striking: fitted, flexible material that hugged her form without restricting movement, dark with subtle leather straps and a sash that caught the light, her hair pulled back tightly yet still framing her face. She looked… ready. Powerful. Confident. She paused briefly, imagining him watching her. A shiver ran down her spine. Not from fear, but something else entirely.
She traced the hilt of a practice sword she had borrowed from the armory, feeling its cold weight. Her mind flicked back to the dream: the boy standing alone in blood, the sense of isolation. She could not ignore it. She would not. She needed to be strong. She needed to be ready.
By the time she reached the courtyard, the first slivers of dawn brushed the sky with gold. The training grounds were empty except for him. He stood there, straight, composed, watching her approach.
Sebastian's gaze lingered on her. In that instant, she saw something in his eyes she hadn't before: a flicker of admiration. Quiet, almost hidden beneath his disciplined control. She looks… ready. Too ready. Focus, Sebastian, he thought, shaking himself back into reality.
"You're punctual," he said. "Good. That will serve you well."
"I won't be late," she said firmly.
He studied her for a long moment, as if assessing not only her readiness but something deeper—her resolve. Then he nodded. "Very well. Let us begin."