Chapter 97

Chapter 97: Chapter 97

The corridors were already crowded with students and dignitaries making their way toward the arena. Soren navigated through the chaos with practiced ease, his eyes scanning the crowd for a familiar flash of silver hair. He needed to see her before the showcase began. He needed to hold her, even if only for a moment. He needed to tell her—

"Lord Thornridge!"

A young page appeared at his elbow, breathless and flushed. "Lord Thornridge, Lady Selene requests your presence. The pageantry participants are gathering near the eastern entrance. She says it’s urgent."

Soren’s jaw tightened. "Tell Lady Selene I’ll be there shortly."

"But sir, she said—"

"Shortly."

The page nodded and scurried away. Soren continued toward the Undercroft dorm, his strides lengthening. But when he reached the familiar door, it was slightly ajar, the room beyond empty. A passing student noticed him and paused.

"Sword Sovereign? Are you looking for Prince Thorne? He left with his friends about ten minutes ago. I think they were heading toward the main courtyard."

"Thank you."

Soren turned and walked back the way he had come, frustration simmering beneath his composed exterior. He had wanted to see her. Had needed to see her. But the showcase was about to begin, and Selene was waiting, and duty called.

Later, he promised himself. I’ll find her later.

The main courtyard was a sea of color and motion. Students in their formal attire mingled with visiting dignitaries. Instructors hurried past with clipboards and schedules. The morning sun was climbing higher, and the air was filled with the sound of laughter and conversation and the distant tuning of instruments from the arena.

Corvin found Nyra near the old oak tree at the edge of the garden the same tree where she and Soren had sat so many times. She was dressed in her formal attire as Thorne, her silver hair pulled back, her expression carefully neutral. But he could see the tension in her shoulders. The way her hands were clasped too tightly in front of her.

"Nervous?" he asked, settling onto the bench beside her.

"Terrified," she admitted. "You?"

"Cautiously optimistic." He offered her a small vial filled with a shimmering silver liquid. "Protective potion. It won’t make you invincible, but it’ll help if anything goes wrong."

"Corvin, you’ve already given me three of these."

"This one is extra strength. I brewed it last night."

"You were supposed to be sleeping last night."

"Sleep is for people who don’t have mates in mortal danger." He pressed the vial into her hand. "Take it. Please. For my peace of mind."

She took it and tucked it into her pocket. "Thank you. For everything. For the potions, for the research, for..." She gestured vaguely. "For being you."

"I’m not sure if that’s a compliment."

"It is. Definitely." She smiled at him—a real smile, despite the fear coiling in her stomach. "Good luck today. In the potions exhibition. Not that you need it."

"I never need luck. I have skill." He almost smiled. "But thank you. And good luck to you too. The combat exhibition is first. Soren’s trained you well. You’re ready."

"I hope so."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the noise of the courtyard fading into the background. Then Nyra’s eyes drifted across the crowd, searching for someone. Searching for him.

She found him near the eastern entrance of the arena.

Soren was standing with Selene, their arms interlocked, their heads bent together as they spoke to a group of elder dignitaries. Selene was radiant in a gown of pale gold, her dark hair arranged in elaborate curls, her amber eyes sparkling with triumph. She laughed at something one of the elders said, her hand resting possessively on Soren’s arm. They looked like the perfect couple. The ideal union. The future of the realm.

Nyra looked away.

Her chest was tight. Her throat was burning. She had told herself she could handle this, told herself it was just a performance, just a political charade. But seeing them together, seeing Selene’s hand on his arm and her smile directed at him like she already owned him—

"Hey." Corvin’s voice was gentle. "Don’t watch them. It’s what she wants."

"I know. I just..." She swallowed hard. "I wanted to see him before the showcase. Just for a moment."

"I know." He stood and offered her his hand. "How about we go somewhere else? The potions exhibition is near the western courtyard. It’s quieter there. Fewer people. Fewer... performances."

She looked up at him—the sharp features, the steady eyes, the quiet strength he offered without asking for anything in return. "You don’t have to keep rescuing me."

"I’m not rescuing you. I’m strategically relocating you. There’s a difference."

She laughed despite herself and took his hand. "Lead the way."

The grand arena was packed.

Thousands of spectators filled the wooden stands—students, instructors, dignitaries, and nobles from all seven packs. The royal box stood at the center, its crimson canopy shading the King, the Queen, and Princess Freya. The Silvermoon delegation occupied a section of honor near the front, their white and silver uniforms a stark contrast to the darker colors around them. The Astrlyn delegation sat nearby, Lord Varek at their center, his expression one of calculated interest.

At the center of the arena, Proctor Vesper Kane stood on a raised platform, his iron-gray hair immaculate, his ceremonial robes gleaming in the morning sun. He raised his hand, and the crowd fell silent.

"Students of Shadowmoon and Silvermoon. Dignitaries of the Seven Packs. Your Majesties." He bowed toward the royal box. "Welcome to the annual talent showcase."

A ripple of applause swept through the crowd.

"This showcase is a celebration of excellence of the strength, skill, and determination that define our academies. Over the next two days, you will witness combat exhibitions, potions and alchemy demonstrations, strategic warfare simulations, and the pageantry of the King and Queen of the showcase. The finest students from both academies will compete. The best among them will be honored. And at the end of it all, we will crown the King and Queen of the showcase—the two students who embody the spirit of excellence that we strive for."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.

"But before we begin the competitions, it is tradition to open the showcase with a duel. A demonstration of the skill and courage that define our students. Today, that honor falls to two of our finest."

He gestured toward the arena floor, where two figures were already taking their positions. Orion Hale, the sharp-eyed senior from Soren’s team, stood on one side. On the other stood a Silvermoon student—a tall, athletic young woman with dark hair and a confident smile.

"Orion Hale of Shadowmoon Academy. And Lyra Voss of Silvermoon Academy. Let the showcase begin!"

The crowd erupted in cheers. The two competitors bowed to each other, raised their weapons, and lunged.

The showcase had officially begun. And somewhere in the crowd, Nyra watched with her heart in her throat, knowing that before the day was over, everything would change.

Orion Hale stood at the center of the arena, his practice sword held loosely at his side, his sharp eyes fixed on his opponent with calm assessment. He was tall and lean, his movements economical and precise—the mark of a fighter who had spent years refining his technique. Across from him, Lyra Voss of Silvermoon Academy was a study in contrast. She was shorter than Orion but powerfully built, her stance aggressive, her dark hair pulled back in a tight braid. She held a pair of short blades, one in each hand, and she twirled them with practiced ease as she circled her opponent.

The signal was given. The duel began.

Lyra attacked first—a blur of motion as she lunged forward, both blades flashing in the morning light. Orion sidestepped the first strike and parried the second, the clash of steel echoing across the arena. The crowd roared.

"Come on, Orion! Show her what Shadowmoon can do!" Finn’s voice rose above the din from his seat in the student section.

"Lyra! Lyra! Lyra!" The Silvermoon girls chanted in unison, their voices pitched high and fierce.

Lyra pressed her advantage, driving Orion back with a flurry of strikes. She was fast—faster than anyone had expected—and her dual-blade style was difficult to counter. But Orion was patient. He gave ground when he needed to, deflected when he could, and waited for his opening.

It came in the third exchange.

Lyra overextended on a lunge, her left blade dipping just slightly too low. Orion pivoted, caught her wrist with his free hand, and used her own momentum to spin her off balance. She stumbled. He struck—a clean, controlled tap to her shoulder that would have been a killing blow in a real fight.

"Point to Orion Hale!" the referee called.

The Shadowmoon section erupted. Finn was on his feet, screaming himself hoarse. Marek was clapping with steady, deliberate force. Jasper had actually set down his book.

But the duel wasn’t over. Lyra recovered quickly, her eyes blazing with determination. She attacked again—fiercer this time, faster, her blades a whirlwind of silver. Orion met her strike for strike, their weapons clashing in a rhythm that was almost musical. The crowd held its breath.

Then Lyra changed tactics. She feinted high with her left blade and struck low with her right, catching Orion across the thigh. He grunted in pain but didn’t fall. Instead, he used the close quarters to his advantage, grappling her off balance and disarming her right blade with a sharp twist of his wrist.

"Point to Orion Hale! Victory, Shadowmoon!"

The arena exploded. Orion helped Lyra to her feet, and she clasped his forearm in a gesture of respect. The Silvermoon girls applauded politely, gracious in defeat. The Shadowmoon students were less restrained—their cheers echoed off the stone walls like thunder.

In the royal box, King Aldric nodded approvingly. "A fine display of skill. From both competitors."

"Orion has always been talented," Freya said, clapping enthusiastically. "Soren trained him."

"Of course he did." The King’s lips twitched. "Your brother trains everyone."