CHAPTER ONE
Steel clashed against steel.
Zayn's blade caught Joselu's with a sharp ring that echoed across the quiet village square. He pressed forward, his silver eyes narrowing with focus, his black hair falling into his line of sight. A thin scar sliced across his right eye — a reminder of wounds deeper than his flesh — but even that couldn't alter his striking handsomeness.
Joselu twisted his wrist and shoved him back. "You're getting faster," he said with a grin.
"Not fast enough," Zayn shot back, circling his opponent. He raised his sword again, shoulders tense with the thrill of combat. For a moment, in the rhythm of sparring, he could almost forget who he was. Or rather, who he had once been.
Their blades clashed again, and Zayn drove Joselu a step backward.
"You're doing well, my prince."
The word cut through him sharper than any blade. Zayn froze. His grip faltered, and the sword dropped to his side. Suddenly the air in his lungs felt heavy.
Joselu's smile vanished. "Forgive me, Zayn. I didn't mean..."
"It's not your fault," Zayn interrupted, his voice low. He sheathed his sword with a sharp click and turned away, his steps heavy on the dirt. "Go home. I'll return later."
Joselu watched him leave, guilt shadowing his expression. He knew better than anyone how the past still haunted his friend.
Zayn didn't look back. He never did.
Because the moment anyone called him prince, he was no longer the man he had fought to become. He was sixteen again, a boy who had watched everything he loved taken away from him.