Chapter 37: Morning Embers
The first light of dawn spilled through the tall windows of Prince Zuko's chambers, painting the red walls in hues of gold and amber. Katara stirred, her consciousness drifting slowly to the surface as the warmth of the morning sun brushed her face.
She blinked her eyes open, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings, the opulent furnishings, the scent of sandalwood and smoke lingering in the air. Then she felt it: the weight of an arm draped possessively over her waist, the solid heat of a body pressed against her back.
Zuko.
Her breath hitched as the memories of the previous night flooded back, the confrontation with Azula, the way he'd shielded her, the unexpected comfort of his embrace. And now here they were, tangled together atop the silken covers, his chest rising and falling in steady rhythm against her.
Katara's heart pounded.
'I stayed in his arms all night.'
She tried to shift, to slip free, but his grip was firm even in sleep. His fingers curled slightly against her stomach as if subconsciously refusing to let go. A flush crept up her neck.
'I should pull away. I should hate this.'
But she didn't.
Instead, she lay perfectly still, hyperaware of every point where their bodies touched, the way his breath tickled the nape of her neck, the faint scent of fire and spice clinging to his skin. A traitorous thought whispered in her mind:
'I feel safe.'
The realization sent a jolt through her. Safe? With Zuko? The prince who had hunted Aang, who had dragged her here as his prisoner?
Yet… the way he'd held her last night hadn't been cruel. It had been protective. And now, in the quiet of morning, she couldn't summon the anger she once thought defined him in her eyes.
Just then, Zuko grunted, his body shifting behind her. His arm lifted from her waist as he rolled onto his back, rubbing his face with a rough hand. Katara held her breath, unsure if she should pretend to still be asleep.
But it was too late.
Zuko sat up, the sheets rustling as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He stretched, the muscles of his bare back flexing beneath the scars she'd only glimpsed before. Without a word, he stood and reached for his discarded robe.
Katara turned her head slightly, watching him.
And then, their eyes met.
A beat of silence stretched between them, thick and unreadable. Katara's lips parted, but no words came. What could she even say? Thank you? Why did you hold me? Do you feel this too, this confusing, terrifying pull?
Zuko broke the gaze first.
"It's fine, Katara," he said, his voice rough with sleep. "I'm going to train. Talk to the palace maids for breakfast." He shrugged on his robe, tying it loosely at his waist. "After training, I'll bathe. Then we'll eat together."
And just like that, he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
Katara exhaled, her fingers clutching the sheets.
'What is happening to me?'
The hatred she'd carried for him felt distant now, blurred at the edges like ink in water. In its place was something far more dangerous, something she couldn't name.
Outside, the palace stirred to life. But in the quiet of Zuko's room, Katara remained, her heart racing, her mind a storm.
---
The training grounds of the royal palace were vast, an open courtyard of polished stone surrounded by towering braziers that burned day and night. The morning air was crisp, the scent of smoke and char lingering from the previous night's celebrations.
Zuko stood in the center, bare-chested, his muscles taut with tension. His skin glistened with a sheen of sweat already forming, though he hadn't even begun. His breath came in controlled bursts, but his mind was anything but calm.
'Why?'
The question gnawed at him like a persistent ember.
Back on earth he had slept with more women than he cared to remember, conquests, courtesans, escorts, prostitutes, hookers, stripper, models who sought favor with him and the firm. None of them had ever left him feeling like *this*.
But Katara?
'A child. A Water Tribe peasant'.
And yet, when he held her, something inside him had shifted. Something dangerous.
His fists clenched, nails biting into his palms.
'Pathetic.'
With a snarl, he unleashed his frustration in a torrent of fire.
A column of flames erupted from his fists, spiraling into the sky like a furious dragon taking flight. The heat distorted the air, the force of it sending a shockwave through the courtyard. He didn't stop there, his body moved on instinct, a blur of motion as he launched into a series of acrobatic forms.
Fire surged from his feet as he flipped backward, the flames propelling him higher. A spinning kick sent a crescent of fire slicing through the air, followed by a sweeping arc from his palms. Each movement was precise, fluid—less like bending and more like a dance.
The fire wasn't just a weapon. It was an extension of him.
He didn't need to charge his attacks, didn't need to gather his breath. The flames answered his will as naturally as his own limbs. A flick of his wrist sent a whip of fire cracking through the air; a snap of his fingers ignited a controlled burst at his fingertips.
The more he moved, the lighter he felt.
The frustration, the confusion, the weakness, it all burned away in the heat of his bending.
By the time he landed from a final, soaring flip, his chest heaving, the courtyard was no longer empty.
Dozens of soldiers and servants had gathered at the edges, their eyes wide with awe. Firebending was taught as a tool of destruction, a force to be wielded with ruthless efficiency. But what they had just witnessed was something else entirely.
Zuko's fire was controlled. It wasn't just raw power, it was like a dance, an art.
For a long moment, he stood there, the last embers of his fury fading into the morning air. Then, slowly, he lowered himself into the lotus position, his eyes closing as he focused on his breathing.
In. Out.
The heat of his anger cooled. The storm in his mind stilled.
When he opened his eyes again, the world was clearer.
He stood, his body slick with sweat, the scent of smoke clinging to his skin. He needed that bath more than he'd thought.
As he strode back toward the palace, he didn't notice the whispers that followed him, the murmurs of the soldiers, the impressed glances of the servants.
And high above, in the shadowed balcony of his private chambers, Fire Lord Ozai watched his son disappear inside, a slow, calculating smile curling his lips.
[A/N: Can't wait to see what happens next? Get exclusive early access on patreon.com/saiyanprincenovels. If you enjoyed this chapter and want to see more, don't forget to drop a power stone! Your support helps this story reach more readers!]