Soren did not storm.
Storming implied noise.
He moved through the citadel like a silent winter front—sharp, cold, inevitable—parting guards and servants without a word. His pace was controlled. His expression unreadable.
His gloves were still on.
He never kept them on indoors.
That alone made seasoned warriors step aside without question.
He found Kael where he always was at midday: in the lower training yard, sparring with two Sentinels at once. Steel rang. Snow scattered. Kael disarmed one opponent, pivoted, and sent the other back with a clean strike to the wrist.
"Sparring ends," Soren said.
The yard froze.
Weapons lowered. Breath fogged. Everyone suddenly remembered other places Soren's voice had sounded like that.
Kael straightened, rolled his shoulder once, and wiped sweat from his brow before turning.
"Your Highness."
Soren didn't bother with protocol.
"I put her on the ground."
Kael blinked. "Elena?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"Controlled," Soren said immediately. "Measured. She wasn't hurt."
Kael studied him in silence.
"That wasn't the question," he said.
Soren's jaw tightened. "She disobeyed."
"And?"
"And I corrected her."
Kael tilted his head slightly. "Did she panic?"
"No."
"Pull away?"
"No."
"Freeze?"
"No."
"Then why are you here," Kael asked calmly, "looking like you just barely stopped yourself from doing something irreversible?"
The question landed clean.
Soren didn't answer at once.
"When I had her down," he said finally, voice low, "I didn't need to think."
Kael's expression sharpened.
"My body moved before my mind," Soren continued. "That is not acceptable."
Kael exhaled slowly. "You're not upset because you scared her."
Soren's eyes snapped up.
"You're upset," Kael said evenly, "because you didn't."
Silence stretched.
"She didn't resist," Soren said. "She didn't challenge me. She didn't fear me."
"And that," Kael said softly, "is the problem."
Soren turned away, hands flexing once at his sides before stilling.
"She trusts me," he said.
"Yes."
"And I—" He broke off, breath sharp. "I felt it."
Kael stepped closer. "Felt what?"
"How easily I could have stayed there."
The words hung in the cold air.
Kael didn't mock him. Not yet.
"That wasn't training," Kael said. "That was instinct."
Soren's mouth thinned. "I corrected it."
"Barely."
Soren looked back at him then—dark-eyed, controlled, dangerous.
"You're enjoying this."
"A little," Kael admitted. "Because you keep insisting this is about discipline."
"And it isn't?"
Kael shook his head. "You don't lose control when you're angry. You lose it when you care."
Soren said nothing.
"She didn't flinch," Kael continued. "She didn't doubt you. She didn't pull away."
"No," Soren said quietly.
"She stayed," Kael said. "And that terrified you."
Soren closed his eyes once.
"When she looked at me," he said, "she wasn't afraid."
Kael nodded. "She was aware."
Soren exhaled slowly. "That makes her vulnerable."
"No," Kael said. "That makes you honest."
Soren opened his eyes. "I cannot train her like other soldiers."
"No," Kael agreed. "Because she isn't one."
"And I cannot treat her like something fragile."
Kael smiled faintly. "Because she'd bite you for it."
Soren huffed once. A humorless sound.
"What do I do?"
Kael's smile turned sharp.
"You stop pretending this is about training," he said. "And you accept that you want her close enough to protect—and far enough not to cross lines you don't trust yourself with."
Soren didn't deny it.
Because whether Elena came back ready to train—or ready to draw a line—
He already knew one thing with absolute certainty:
The danger was no longer in what he might do to her. It was in how much of himself he had already held back. And how badly he wanted to stop.