The years that followed the rose garden were a blur of training, growth, and the slow, heavy realization that their worlds were drifting apart. By the time they reached nineteen, the "Master-of-Horse's daughter" and the "Crown Prince" had become the two most formidable figures in the Citadel, though for very different reasons.
Caelum had finally found he's wolf, and he was terrifying. He didn't just shift; he exploded into power. He grew into a man of broad shoulders and a brooding silence that felt like a physical weight in the room. He spent his days in the training pits, his skin slick with sweat and dust, beating three guards at a time. He was being molded into a weapon—the "Alpha King" the prophecies demanded.
i, meanwhile, had become he's shadow and he's sharpener. i wasn't just a stable girl anymore. i have learned the art of the blade, yes, but more importantly, I have learned the art of observation. i was the only one who could look at Caelum and see when the weight of the crown was crushing him.
The Midnight Sparring
The training pits were empty, lit only by the silver glow of a full moon. Caelum was mid-swing, his practice sword whistling through the air, when I stepped out of the shadows.
"Your left side is open again," I told him, leaning against the wooden fence. "You're fighting like you want to hurt someone, Caelum. Not like you want to win."
He stopped, his chest heaving, sweat dripping down his neck. He turned toward me, he's eyes flashing that familiar amber—darker now, more intense. "Winning is easy," he rasped, his voice beginning to take on that low, wolfish vibration. "Controlling the urge to tear out a throat? That's the hard part."
i didn't flinch. I picked up a wooden practice blade and stepped into the pit with him. "Then practice on me. I'm not as easy to break as your guards."
For the next hour, it was a dance of steel and instinct. He was stronger, but i was faster. He was a storm; I'm the willow that bent but didn't break. Every time he pressed me back against the dirt, I found a way to slip under his guard, my blade tapping his ribs.
At one point, he caught me. He pinned my wrists against the training post, his body pressed firmly against mine. The air between me was electric, charged with years of unspoken words.
"You're the only one who doesn't look at me with fear," he whispered, his face inches from mine. "Even my father looks at me like I'm a ticking clock."
"I'm not afraid of you, Caelum," i breathed, meeting his gaze. "I'm afraid of what they're turning you into."
He let go of my wrists, but he didn't move away. For a second, he looked like the boy in the garden again—vulnerable and searching for a way out. But then, the horns sounded from the ramparts, signaling the return of the King's hunting party. The mask of the Alpha slid back into place, cold and hard.