The morning sun stretched low across the training yard, painting the stones with warm light that caught on the dew still clinging to the grass. The air was crisp, alive with the scent of earth and steel.. For days the palace walls had pressed in on me—council meetings, whispers of politics, the sickly hush of my mother’s chambers. I needed air, movement, something that reminded me I was more than the still figure everyone expected me to be.
Bonnie was already waiting when I arrived, leaning casually against the rack of practice weapons, her arms crossed and a knowing smirk playing at her lips. She wore no formal guard’s armor today, only a fitted tunic and breeches, her red hair tied back so that not a strand could fall in her eyes. She looked entirely at home here, in the place where sweat and bruises counted for more than words and titles.
“Took you long enough,” she said, tossing me a wooden blade that landed with a satisfying smack in my palm. “I thought you might have decided to spend the morning buried in ledgers instead.”
“Not today,” I answered, raising the sword, its weight awkward but familiar. “Today I need to move.”
Her grin widened, sharp with challenge. “Good. Then let’s see if you’ve grown rusty.”
We began slowly, the rhythm of strike and parry easing me into the motion. The crack of wood against wood rang through the yard, echoing off the stone walls. With each swing my body remembered what my mind had nearly forgotten: the dance of combat, the precision of footwork, the way every strike demanded not just strength but intent. Bonnie moved with effortless grace, testing me, pushing me to step faster, to hold my stance, to fight with purpose rather than hesitation.
Sweat beaded along my brow, the morning chill burned away by exertion. My lungs drew sharp breaths, but I found myself grinning, the tension of the last few days shaking loose with every clash of our blades. Bonnie’s eyes glimmered with approval, though she did not go easy on me. She pressed harder, her blows striking with enough force to make my arms tremble from the impact.
“You’ve come a long way from the girl who could barely lift a blade without tripping over her own feet,” she teased between strikes.
I rolled my eyes, narrowly deflecting her next attack. “I wasn’t that bad.”
“Oh, you were,” she said, her laughter breaking through her focus for just a moment. “I still remember the first time I saw you with a sword. You looked at it as if it might bite you, and then—” She lunged, forcing me to twist and block, our blades locking. Her voice dropped, softer. “Then there was that day in the courtyard, when your water answered you before you even knew it could.”
The memory flashed before me: a younger version of myself, desperate, cornered in a mock duel, the blade slipping from my hand—only for a surge of cool water to arc upward from the fountain nearby, knocking my opponent off balance. I’d been terrified then, more of myself than of anyone else. But Bonnie had been there, watching, her expression unreadable at the time.
“You weren’t afraid after that,” I murmured, stepping back to break our lock. “You looked at me differently.”
“I looked at you and saw what you could become,” Bonnie said, her strikes slowing, becoming deliberate rather than testing. “A girl who wouldn’t always be kept behind walls. A girl meant to fight for more than titles and duties.”
Her words steadied me, even as my arms ached and my breath came short. We circled each other, the world narrowing to the rhythm of our movements. For a while, there was nothing but the clash of wood, the thud of boots against earth, and the strange comfort of knowing Bonnie would never let me break too easily, nor let me fall without teaching me how to rise again.
At last, with one swift move, she disarmed me, sending my blade clattering across the yard. I dropped to the grass, laughing breathlessly, while she planted her sword in the ground and leaned against it, her chest heaving from the exertion.
“You’re stronger than you think, Princess Kira,” she said between breaths, her tone gentler now. “You’ve always been.”
I lay back on the grass, letting the sky fill my vision, the pale blue stretching endlessly above. For the first time in days, the weight pressing on my chest felt lighter. I wasn’t just a daughter, or a council member, or a girl trying to hold together a crumbling world. Out here, with a sword in my hand and Bonnie by my side, I was simply myself—someone who could still fight, still breathe, still hope.
The grass beneath me was damp with morning dew, cool against my sweat-slicked skin, and for a moment I simply lay there, trying to catch my breath. Bonnie sprawled beside me, her chest rising and falling in steady rhythm, her grin wide even as exhaustion tugged at her features. We had pushed each other hard today, and the yard still echoed faintly with the remnants of our strikes, a quiet reminder of the effort we’d poured into it.
“I think I’m going to be sore for a week,” I gasped, brushing damp hair from my forehead, trying to ignore the ache in my arms.
Bonnie laughed, a deep, full sound that made the tension in my chest loosen a little. “You’re exaggerating. You’ll barely feel it tomorrow.” She nudged me with her elbow, playful and sharp. “Besides, a week of sore muscles is better than a week of palace politics gnawing at your soul.”
I smiled, letting the warmth of the sun and her easy presence fill me. It was strange, this rare freedom from the endless scheming that filled my days. I glanced at Bonnie, noticing how her gaze softened whenever she looked at me, and I realized how much I relied on her—not just for protection, but for steadiness, for a tether to the world outside the cold walls of titles and duties.
“You know,” I said quietly, my voice just above the breeze, “sometimes I wonder if I’d survive all this without you.”
Her grin softened into something almost gentle, almost maternal. “You’d survive, Princess. You’ve got more fight in you than anyone gives you credit for. But… it’s not meant to be done alone.” She paused, studying me with those piercing eyes. “I didn’t just become your guard to follow orders. I became your guard because you needed someone who’d always have your back. Who’d see you through all the lies and the schemes.”
I swallowed, the lump in my throat forming before I could stop it. “And you do. You really do.”
Bonnie nudged me again, this time lightly enough that I felt her concern more than her jest. “You’re stronger than you think, my princess. You’ve always been.”
Her words settled over me, comforting in a way that few things could. I let myself relax fully, the kind of deep exhale that comes from trusting someone completely, letting a rare moment of vulnerability exist without consequence. My thoughts drifted briefly, to Soren. Captain Valehart had been a steadfast presence through years of shifting power. The son of a blacksmith who had carved his way to his station through sheer determination and skill, Soren was someone whose loyalty ran deeper than any title or order. He had been there when the court’s whispers threatened to swallow me whole, when danger lurked too close, and I knew he would continue to be.
“Do you ever think about Soren?” I asked softly, not sure why the thought surfaced now, perhaps because of the stillness of the yard, the quiet bond between Bonnie and me giving room for reflection.
Bonnie’s brow lifted. “About him?” She smiled faintly. “I’d say you lean on him more than you realize. But he’s… Soren. Loyal, sharp, steady. A good man to have around when the world tilts on its axis.”
I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I suppose I do. Sometimes I think I rely on everyone in different ways… you, him… I can’t imagine handling everything alone.”
She chuckled softly, but it was low, thoughtful. “And that’s why you don’t have to. Remember, Kira, strength isn’t just about standing tall with your sword. It’s about knowing who you can trust, who you can lean on, and having the courage to let them in.”
I let that sink in as I stretched out on the grass, Bonnie’s presence beside me steadying the restlessness in my chest. For the first time in a long while, I allowed myself a deep breath, feeling some of the weight of the palace, the war, and the endless games of loyalty ease, even if only for a moment. Here, lying in the sun, with Bonnie beside me and thoughts of Soren lingering warmly in my mind, I felt a fragile, but precious, sense of normalcy.
The sun had begun its slow descent behind the palace walls, spilling a warm golden light across the training yard as Bonnie and I gathered our gear. The clatter of swords and the echo of exertion faded into a calm hush, the day’s intensity melting into the quiet that often settled before evening. I lingered for a moment, brushing the sweat from my brow, letting the warmth soak into my skin, when the sudden clatter of hooves against the cobblestones drew my attention.
A messenger, pressed and hurried, arrived at the gate, dismounting with the kind of urgency that made my heart skip. His eyes, wide with purpose, scanned the courtyard before he approached, bowing slightly as he extended a sealed letter toward me.
“For Princess Kira,” he said, his voice taut with importance.
I accepted the parchment with hands that trembled slightly—not from exertion, but from anticipation. Breaking the seal, I unfolded the letter and let my eyes devour the inked words, my heart catching at the first line. Relief washed over me in a tide so sudden it left me breathless.
The letter described the recent victories of the army, how their forces had finally entered Sylas’s homeland, and how the tide of the war seemed to be shifting in our favor. My pulse quickened, imagining the sight of my father returning, the weight of months of worry lifting in an instant. The news was more than welcome—it was a balm to the constant ache I had carried in my chest for so long.
And yet… as my heart swelled with relief, a shadow of longing lingered. Sylas. Not a single letter had arrived from him in weeks, and the silence pressed against my ribs in the quiet of the evening. I folded the parchment slowly, clutching it as if doing so could make the distance between us shrink. His absence was a quiet ache, one that even the joyful news of my father’s imminent return could not soothe.
Bonnie nudged me gently, her presence grounding me as always. “Good news?” she asked, eyes sharp, noting the mixture of joy and melancholy in my expression.
I allowed myself a small smile, the corners of my lips tugging upward. “Yes… Father’s coming home tomorrow. The war’s turning, and we’ve gained ground. But… I can’t help but worry about Sylas. I haven’t heard from him.” My fingers tightened on the letter as I whispered the thought, half to Bonnie and half to myself.
She gave me a knowing glance, silent encouragement in her gaze, letting me sit with my conflicting emotions. Relief, hope, longing—they all swirled together in the cooling air of the palace yard, leaving me suspended between the promise of reunion and the ache of absence.
The moment I was finally able to set the letter aside, Fennie appeared at the edge of the training yard, her hands full of neatly wrapped packages and envelopes, her expression a mix of amusement and subtle exasperation. “You’ve got visitors in paper and ribbon, my princess,” she said, setting the parcels down carefully at my feet. I raised an eyebrow, curious.
I picked up the top letter, noticing the familiar, precise handwriting. Adrian. My chest tightened as I slit the seal and unfolded the parchment. Inside, his words were measured but affectionate, a careful balance of charm and quiet insistence that reminded me of the subtle hold he always seemed to exert over the spaces around me. He wrote of small daily events in the palace, little tasks he’d been assigned, and hinted at a desire to be near me, despite his obligations. His tone carried that ever-present undertone—one of possessiveness I couldn’t ignore. “I hope this finds you well, Princess. I trust the day’s training leaves you in good spirits. I wish I could see you now, though duty keeps me otherwise. Perhaps soon, though,” the letter concluded.
Another parcel contained small, carefully chosen items—a pair of gloves, a book of poetry, and a box of sweets I knew I wasn’t supposed to indulge in too often. Each one was wrapped with meticulous care, each note an unspoken assertion of his desire to remain present in my life, to surround me even when he wasn’t physically there. I couldn’t help the conflicted tug in my chest. Part of me felt flattered, comforted, even, by the attention, but another part recoiled, aware of the quiet edge of control that underlined every gesture.
Fennie watched me, her gaze unreadable, before offering a small, supportive smile. “He’s attentive, yes. Perhaps too much for one day.”
I let out a shaky laugh, setting the gifts aside and putting my sword on the rack. The cooling evening air brushed against my face as I stepped into the training yard, the faint clatter of metal still ringing in my ears. The ground beneath me was solid, grounding me even as my mind twisted between relief at my father’s imminent return, worry over Sylas, and the uncomfortable fascination of Adrian’s persistent presence.
The sun dipped toward the horizon, staining the sky in streaks of orange and rose, and I felt a rare moment of quiet settle over me. The yard was empty, save for the gentle sway of the target dummies and the rustle of leaves in the evening breeze. I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling the hum of energy from the day’s training still lingering in my limbs.
Whispering to the fading sky, I let the words slip out, half-plea, half-promise, carrying all the hope, fear, and longing wrapped into them: “Please, let Father come home.”
The wind caught my hair, stirring it gently across my face, and I opened my eyes, letting the twilight wash over the yard. The distant horizon glowed faintly, the first stars beginning to pierce the velvet sky, and I stood there for a long moment, alone but held steady by the promise of what was to come, and the complicated weight of those still waiting in the shadows of my life.
By the time I reached my chambers, the weight of the day pressed into my shoulders. I pushed open the door and was met with the familiar hush of my rooms—soft lamplight spilling across the walls, the faint perfume of the flowers Bonnie insisted on replacing each week, the crackle of the fire still burning low in the hearth. For a fleeting moment, it felt like sanctuary.
Then my gaze slid to the chair by the window.
It was already crowded with neat stacks of parcels, ribboned boxes, and carefully folded notes—Adrian’s endless stream of tokens. Jewelry polished to a shine I rarely wore, books in languages I had no time to study, silken gloves, pressed flowers sealed in envelopes, sweets in tins I hadn’t even opened. Gifts that looked thoughtful on the surface, but together, amassed like an army at the edge of my space. A quiet reminder that even when he wasn’t here, he managed to be everywhere.
The newest offerings—gloves, a slim book of verse, a box of sugared almonds—rested in my arms. I crossed the room slowly, my footsteps muffled against the carpet, and set them gently atop the pile. For a moment, I just stared, my throat tight. The chair had all but disappeared beneath the weight of him, and I wondered if he noticed how little space that left for me.
I sank onto the edge of my bed, pressing my hands into the coverlet, trying to steady myself. A part of me wanted to believe his intentions were harmless, sweet even, that he simply longed to be remembered in my world. Another part whispered of threads weaving tighter around me with every ribbon, every note, every “thoughtful” gesture left in my path.
The fire popped softly, and I exhaled, forcing myself to lean back. My gaze returned to the window where the last traces of twilight bled into night. Beyond those walls, my father marched closer to home, the war’s shadow stretching further every day. Sylas remained silent, his absence sharp and aching. My mother’s face flickered in my mind, pale and fading, though she smiled as if nothing were wrong.
I curled my fingers into the blanket. The gifts sat across the room, gleaming faintly in the firelight, a silent reminder that I was never entirely alone, even when I wanted to be. And yet, I felt lonelier than ever.
Tomorrow, I told myself. Tomorrow would bring answers—of my father’s return, of what news the war carried with it. Tomorrow, I could find the strength again. For now, I sat in the quiet, surrounded by Adrian’s presence, and wished I could breathe without feeling its weight.