[Third Person].
A few days later, the storm that had once threatened Meredith's name had completely quieted.
The fearful whispers had softened into cautious admiration, and then into open praise. The streets of Stormveil no longer murmured about a dangerous fae Queen. Instead, they spoke of the Queen who had stood between their King and death.
And on that bright afternoon, the palace training grounds echoed with the sharp clash of steel.
Meredith and Draven faced each other in the centre of the arena, dressed in fitted training clothes. Their titles had been left at the edge of the sand with their cloaks.
Here, they were not King and Queen. They were a warrior and a warrior.
Steel rang against steel as Meredith lunged forward, her blade flashing beneath the sun. Draven parried smoothly, pivoted, and attempted to sweep her legs from beneath her. She twisted away with a laugh, silver hair snapping behind her like a banner of defiance.
