"You are a man marrying tomorrow, and this is how you prepare?" Lucian said between swings, dodging a sharp jab and retaliating with a practiced spin.
Berith parried with a sharp clink, "What better way to calm the nerves than beating the crown prince to the ground?"
Lucian laughed, a deep, genuine sound that ruffled against the stone walls. "How generous of you, Lord Berith. You flatter yourself. "
"And that is why you will be ruling the country, while I will be fighting on the battlefield, distracting the enemy with my dashing good looks, Your Highness." Berith ran a hand through his hair as he quirked his lips.
Then, he rotated his wrist, swinging his blade as they began circling each other. On the other hand, Lucian kept pace with a grin tugging at the corners of his lips, the kind that made soldiers sigh with relief and won smile behind fans.
Their swords t again in a tallic ring that echoed through the open space.
"Yes, I am well aware of how much you love to...." Lucian said between strikes, "beat down on with your sword."
"It does happen to be one of my favorite hobbies, Your Highness." Berith chuckled darkly at his thought. He advanced suddenly, swinging his sword down hard against Lucian’s, "See, isn’t this fun?"
"Ah, there’s this Lord Berith I know. Romantic as ever." Lucian gritted his teeth against the strike, sweat glistening at his temples.
"I have always felt most alive when I fight. It’s what I was made to do and keeps sane over my years of training and tutoring." Berith breathed in the training grounds’ familiar scent of blood, sweat and tears.
In the anti, his eyes strayed to the figure stuttering towards them, deep blue cloak and silver hair whipping in the wind.
Marcella.
She stood just beyond the archway, frozen mid-step. Her gaze flicked between the two sparring n, surprise tightening her features, then lting into sothing far more fragile.
Her heart lurched at the sight of Lucian, his blonde hair tousled, his stance ever royal even in mock combat. The Crown Prince. The man who had held her heart with such reverent care. He looked the sa, and younger, more refined. The lines around his mouth, the way his body shifted with every swing, she rembered it all. But Marcella had betrayed him.
Regret throbbed at her ribs like a wound she’d learned to ignore until now. Then her eyes t Berith’s, and the warmth that had briefly blood in her chest twisted into sothing else.
His dark hair was damp with sweat. That infernal smirk tugged at his lips the mont he spotted her from the corner of his eye.
She knew that look.
Manipulative. Cunning. Dangerous.
Her blood boiled.
What was he doing?
A wedding lood with the weight of thunderclouds, and here he was, dueling in the courtyard like a reckless boy. And worse, he had invited her here through a letter which said, "Co to the courtyard at first light. I have a surprise for you."
Her first instinct had been to burn it. But curiosity had its claws in her.
Marcella had imagined many things. But not this. Not them.
Berith’s blade swung again, striking Lucian with a force that drew an audible grunt from the crown prince.
"Feeling bold today?" Lucian faltered half a step back, blinking.
Berith didn’t answer. Instead, he lunged with renewed force, each strike ca sharper. Lucian t his blow for blow but frowned now, taken off guard by the sudden aggression.
"Lord Berith," he warned, parrying another vicious arc. "Ease up."
Berith didn’t. His eyes, however, slid back to Marcella, locking with hers for the briefest second.
Her breath hitched. That look. Gods, she rembered that look.
It was the sa one he wore the day he stabbed Lucian through the ribs in her previous life. The sa smirk before the scream. The sa unflinching, cold stare.
No, no, no...
Berith had seen her. From the corner of his eye, that familiar silhouette, frozen in place. He felt the heat of her presence before her shadow even touched the floor. And sothing dark curled in him. Sothing he no longer cared to ta.
Now he knew what to do.
Berith struck harder. Faster. Then, he roared as he disard Lucian with a brutal twist, knocking his sword aside before swiveling behind him. He pressed forward like a predator, forcing Lucian onto his back.
In one swift motion, he kicked his boot up, sliding a dagger from it to settle the sharp tip against his back. The tal kissed the prince’s throat a second later, pinning him down onto the courtyard floor.
Lucian grunted as he hit the ground. He laid there, chest heaving, blinking up at the man above him. The blade hovered at his pulse.
Berith didn’t even spare him a glance. His gaze was locked on her. Straight into her.
His expression, sothing unholy, mocking. A man playing god with a mory she’d never escaped.
The hairs raised on the back of her neck. Her lips trembled. That smile—that look—the sa cold cunning that had haunted her dreams. And in that split second, ti rewound.
The courtyard faded. She was back in the throne room, blood on marble, screams ringing in her ears.
Lucian’s body collapsed, lifeless, in her arms. His blood, his breath rattling in his chest. The warmth leaving his skin...
"No...don’t! Please, spare His Majesty’s life!" Marcella had begged, pleaded then, over and over until her voice cracked. She had fallen to her knees then, just as she almost did now.
"No!" The mory slamd into her with the force of a tidal wave. "Stop! STOP! DON’T DO THIS!" Marcella let out a strangled sound, her voice cracked on the last word. Her body trembled as if the past was bleeding into the present and she couldn’t tell the difference anymore.
Her hands flew to her ears as if to block out the piece of mory that refused to stay buried.
Lucian was on his feet in a flash, concern overtaking everything else. "Lady Marcella?"
Two guards rushed in from the hall. But Berith was quick with his stride, getting to her before they could. "Lady Marcella, look at ," he crouched, comforting her; sothing almost tender ghosting his voice now. Not cold now. Not cruel. Sothing softer..but guarded. Like he was letting her see only what he allowed.
Her gaze snapped to him, and for a mont, there was nothing but raw panic in her eyes. Marcella blinked, tears shimring her eyes.
Lucian stood at her side, "It was nothing, Lady Marcella. We were just dueling." He gave her a smile. "He had a good day, so he won. Don’t panic. I’m good."
The gentle reassurance barely scraped at the panic still clawing through her chest. Her eyes moved from Lucian who was sound, safe and alive, to Berith, who had stepped closer, crouching before her.
Berith reached for her hand without warning, his thumb lightly brushing against her skin. "You’re in a safe space, Lady Marcella," he said, his voice almost intimate, almost...kind.
His expression was calm. There was no trace of that smirk, of that haunting cruelty she had seen monts ago. No flash of malice.
Was Marcella imagining it? No, she wasn’t.
She was certain down to the way her stomach had dropped, down to how her chest had caved in with fear. That look... she hadn’t made it up.
Berith had done it. Purposely. To scare her. To remind her.
But why? Why bring her here just to push her to the edge? Why play this ga?
Her pulse pounded behind her eyes as she kept her gaze locked on Berith, his hand still lightly holding hers. Heat seeped into her skin, familiar and unwanted.
You’re in a safe space, Berith had said. But he was the very storm she needed the shelter from.
Marcella gently pulled her hand back. Her breath trembled in her throat as she turned to Lucian again—Lucian, whose golden hair caught the sunlight, whose voice had always been an anchor in her worst tides.
He was safe. He was here.
Relief poured through her, slow and staggering, as though her body didn’t trust it yet.
*******
Inside the stone-walled antechamber
Lucian shrugged off his leather sparring vest, wincing slightly as he rolled his shoulder. He adjusted the collar of his under shirt, still slightly winded from the sudden intensity of their duel.
His sword rested on the bench beside him, but his probing gaze remained locked on Berith, who stood by the basin, washing the sweat and dust from his hands like nothing had happened.
"What was that, Lord Berith?" He asked under his breath. e didn’t want the guards outside or Marcella to overhear. "You were fine one second and then..." He exhaled, frustration thick in his voice. "You turned vicious. Why did you suddenly beco so aggressive?"
Berith didn’t answer imdiately. He dried his hands on a linen cloth, then he turned, eting Lucian’s gaze. "You were doing well, Your Highness." he replied with a nonchalant shrug, dusting his glove. "I was rely testing your limits."
Lucian scoffed, half in disbelief, half insulted. "Testing my limits? You nearly cracked my ribs."
Berith’s mouth curled, just a twitch. "And yet here you are. Standing. That’s all that matters."
Lucian stared at him. "You were aiming to dominate. Why?"
"Because soone walked in," he said simply, stepping past Lucian to reach for his coat. "Funny how a man changes when he’s being watched by soone important, isn’t it?"
Lucian’s brows drew together. "Lady Marcella?"
But Berith was already walking past him, slow and unhurried, like a man who hadn’t just turned a friendly duel into sothing darker. "It keeps things interesting," he murmured, almost to himself.
Lucian turned, watching Berith with a deepening knot of unease in his chest. Sothing was different. Sothing was off.
And Lucian didn’t like it.
Reviews
All reviews (0)