Chapter 60

Chapter 60: Chapter 60

The second week of training began with a cold rain that turned the grounds to mud and did nothing to dampen the instructors’ enthusiasm for brutality.

Nyra stood in the sparring circle, her chest heaving, her arms trembling with exhaustion. Across from her, a senior Alpha named Petra Ironwood cracked his knuckles with the casual confidence of someone who had been doing this for years. He was built like a fortress—broad shoulders, thick arms, a stance that said he had never been knocked down in her life.

"Again," Senior Lecturer Marrow ordered from the edge of the circle.

Nyra raised her fists. Petra lunged.

The fight was over in seconds. Nyra’s defenses crumbled under the sheer force of Petra’s assault, and she hit the mud with a gasp, her back screaming in protest. The crowd of watching students let out a collective wince.

"Pathetic," Marrow said, though his voice was more clinical than cruel. "You’re still favoring your left side. You’re still hesitating before counter-strikes. And you’re still fighting like someone who’s afraid to get hurt." He made a note on his clipboard. "We’ll work on it. Again."

Nyra pushed herself up. Her arms shook. Her vision blurred at the edges. But she raised her fists.

Petra lunged. Nyra went down again.

"Enough." The voice cut through the training ground like a blade.

Soren stepped into the circle, his dark eyes fixed on Nyra with an intensity that made her stomach flip. He was supposed to be training his own group on the other side of the grounds, but apparently he’d been watching.

"Thorne. With me. Now."

Nyra glanced at Marrow, who shrugged. "Thornridge outranks me. Go."

She followed Soren to a quiet corner of the training grounds, away from the watching eyes of the other students. The rain had plastered his dark hair to his forehead, and his jaw was tight with barely contained frustration.

"What was that?" he demanded.

"Training."

"That wasn’t training. That was a slaughter. You’re not ready to face seniors yet. You’re still recovering—"

"I’m fine."

"You’re not fine. You can barely stand. Your blocks are slow, your counters are nonexistent, and you’re fighting like—"

"Like what? Like a weakling?" The word came out sharper than she intended. "Go ahead. Say it. You’ve said it before."

Soren’s expression flickered. "I wasn’t going to say that."

"Then what were you going to say?"

"I was going to say you’re fighting like someone who’s afraid of revealing what she really is." He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "You’re holding back, Nyra. I can see it. Every time you fight, you’re pulling your punches, hiding your true strength. Because you’re afraid someone will notice. Someone will figure out you’re not Thorne."

"I’ve been hiding my whole life. It’s not exactly easy to stop."

"I know. But the showcase is in three weeks. The Silvermoon students arrive in one. The King arrives after that. If you keep holding back, you’ll be exposed. Not because anyone discovers your secret, but because you’ll fail. Publicly. In front of everyone." He paused. "I’m not trying to be cruel. I’m trying to prepare you."

"You have a funny way of showing it."

"I’m aware." He reached out and took her hand, his thumb brushing over her bruised knuckles. "But I can’t protect you if you won’t let me. And I can’t train you if you won’t trust me."

Nyra looked at their joined hands. The warmth of his touch seeped through the cold and the exhaustion and the frustration. "I do trust you."

"Then stop holding back. In training. In everything. You’re stronger than you think. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it." He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "Stop hiding from yourself."

She wanted to argue. She wanted to tell him that hiding was all she knew, that letting go of the mask felt like standing naked in a room full of enemies. But the words wouldn’t come.

"I’ll try," she said instead.

"That’s all I ask."

He released her hand and stepped back, the professional mask sliding back into place. "Report to the eastern training circle at dawn tomorrow. We’ll work on your counters."

"Yes, Sword Sovereign."

He almost smiled. "Don’t call me that."

"Would you prefer ’jerk’?"

"Thorne."

"Thornridge."

He shook his head and walked away, but not before she caught the ghost of a smile on his lips.

The afternoon training session had barely ended when Valeria appeared at Nyra’s elbow.

She moved silently, her dark hair pulled back in its usual severe braid, her expression composed and pleasant. It was the pleasantness that unsettled Nyra the most. Valeria had never been pleasant. Not to her.

"Prince Thorne. A moment of your time?"

Nyra tensed instinctively. "What can I do for you, Miss Valeria?"

"I’ve been watching your training sessions. You’ve improved significantly since the beginning of the term, but there are gaps in your technique. Areas that Thornridge’s combat-focused training doesn’t address." Valeria’s smile was practiced, careful. "I’d like to offer you private sessions. Strategy. Tactics. The kind of skills that win showcases and wars."

Nyra’s guard went up immediately. "Why?"

"Why not? You’re one of our most promising first-years. The King is coming. I want the academy to put its best foot forward." Valeria tilted her head. "Unless you have a reason to refuse?"

The trap was subtle but effective. Refuse, and she looked ungrateful. Refuse, and she raised suspicion about why she didn’t want extra training. Accept, and she put herself alone with the woman who had spent months trying to destroy her.

"I accept," Nyra said, because she had no other choice. "When do we start?"

"Tomorrow evening. The strategy room in the east wing. Don’t be late." Valeria’s smile widened. "I have a feeling we’ll learn a great deal from each other."

She walked away, and Nyra watched her go with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

This is a trap, Luna said flatly.

I know.

A very obvious trap.

I know.

And you’re still going to walk into it?

Do I have a choice? If I refuse, she’ll know I’m hiding something. She’ll dig deeper. She’s already suspicious—I can see it in her eyes. If I can make her think I trust her, maybe she’ll back off.

Or maybe she’ll use the private sessions to get closer to you. To find out what you really are.

Then I’ll have to be very, very careful.

Corvin found her in the library that evening, her nose buried in a book on tactical formations.

"Valeria offered you private training," he said without preamble, sliding into the chair across from her.

"News travels fast."

"News about Valeria Morvane being nice to anyone travels at lightning speed. The entire academy is in shock." He leaned forward, his whiskey-dark eyes serious. "You accepted."

"I didn’t have a choice."

"There’s always a choice."

"Not this time." She set the book down. "She’s suspicious of me, Corvin. She’s been suspicious since the day I arrived. If I refuse her help now, she’ll know I’m hiding something."

"She already knows you’re hiding something. She just doesn’t know what." Corvin paused. "Be careful, Nyra. Valeria isn’t just a jealous ex-lover. She’s intelligent. Calculating. And she’s been playing political games since before you arrived at this academy. If she gets close enough to you, she’ll find what she’s looking for."

"I know. But what am I supposed to do? Run? Hide? I’ve been doing that my whole life."

Corvin was quiet for a moment. Then he reached across the table and covered her hand with his. "Then don’t go alone. Take Soren. Take me. Make sure someone is always watching, even if Valeria doesn’t know they’re there."

"You’re volunteering to spy on my private training sessions?"

"I’m volunteering to keep you safe. There’s a difference." He squeezed her hand once, then released it. "You’re not alone anymore, Nyra. You don’t have to face everything by yourself."

She looked at him the sharp features, the calculating eyes, the unexpected warmth beneath the cold exterior. "Thank you, Corvin."

"Don’t thank me. Just survive."

The potions lab was dark, lit only by the faint glow of moonflowers in their glass jars. Killian moved through the shadows with practiced silence, his dark eyes scanning the shelves of ingredients.

He had been planning this for days. Studying the lab’s security. Learning the rotation of the night guards. Memorizing the exact location of what he needed.

His fingers closed around a small glass vial filled with a clear, odorless liquid. Nightshade essence. Undetectable in food or drink. Deadly within hours. The perfect weapon for a quiet murder.

He slipped the vial into his pocket and turned to leave—

And froze.

Corvin Eldritch was standing in the doorway.

"Drak." Corvin’s voice was cool, his eyes sharp. "It’s late for potions work."

"I could say the same to you." Killian’s heart was hammering, but he kept his voice steady. "I needed moonflower extract. For a personal project."

"At midnight?"

"I couldn’t sleep."

Corvin studied him for a long moment. Killian could feel those eyes boring into him, cataloguing every detail the slight tremor in his hands, the way he was standing just a little too casually.

"The moonflower extract is on the lower shelf," Corvin said finally. "Not the upper one where you were just standing."

"I must have gotten confused in the dark."

"Yes." Corvin’s voice was flat. "You must have."

He stepped aside, leaving the doorway clear. Killian walked past him, his spine rigid, his hand pressed against the vial in his pocket.

"Drak?" Corvin’s voice stopped him at the threshold.

"Yes?"

"If you’re working on something dangerous, I would advise against it. The academy has enough problems without students poisoning each other."

Killian turned his head just enough to meet Corvin’s eyes. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"I think you do."

The silence stretched between them.

"Goodnight, Eldritch," Killian said.

He walked away before Corvin could respond.