Chapter 15

Thalia stood in her chambers, her breath slow and heavy, the remnants of her final set of exercises still dancing on her skin. Her body gleamed with sweat, muscles taut beneath smooth, sun-kissed skin. A single candle flickered on the windowsill, casting golden light along the lean lines of her abdomen. She looked down, tracing the trail of sweat that ran between the ridges of her toned stomach. Her chest rose and fell, controlled but proud, like that of a lioness who had fought and claimed her place among wolves.

She admired her form without shame—this body was earned through blood, bruises, and will. Her gaze drifted to her armor resting upon its stand, the steel polished to a muted sheen, catching the firelight like a promise yet to be fulfilled.

"Next is the Welch Lands," she whispered to herself, a wicked smile curling her lips.

A knock startled her—sharp and precise, but not urgent. Familiar.

"Your Grace," came a soft voice, muffled through the oaken door. "It is Jene. May I enter?"

Thalia did not hesitate. These were the hands that had bathed her since she'd been no taller than a sword's hilt.

"Enter," she said, wiping the back of her hand across her brow.

Jene stepped in and bowed respectfully, eyes lowered but tone composed. "Lord William wishes to see you, my lady. He sends his request... now."

Thalia's brows rose, though a smirk played on her lips. She hadn't seen William in nearly a full moon's passing. She had missed him more than she dared admit.

"So late an hour?" she asked, but with little protest. "Very well, send him in."

Jene nodded and quietly retreated.

Thalia made no attempt to dress further. She wore a tightly wrapped chest band and a short linen pair, the kind reserved for sparring or sleeping. When William entered, hands clasped behind his back like a knight before his commander, the first thing his eyes landed upon was not her—it was the armor.

He strode to it, his steps silent, reverent.

"I wager the other knights must think you a goddess in this," he said softly, his voice touched with admiration. "The very first to wear such steel."

He inhaled deeply as if to absorb the history yet to be written in her name, then turned.

And then he saw her.

Whatever breath he'd drawn, he lost it then.

He froze, caught off guard by the vision of Thalia, sweat-kissed and glowing in the firelight. Her red hair clung to her shoulders in damp curls, her collarbones sharp above the swell of her chest, her midsection sculpted from months of discipline. Her legs—lean and coiled with strength—seemed carved by a divine hand.

He could not speak.

Thalia tilted her head, puzzled by his stunned silence. Her emerald eyes met his, then followed his gaze downward.

"'Tis rude to stare," she said with a small smirk.

William blinked as if waking from a spell. "What?"

Thalia chuckled, walked toward her bed, and pulled the cover about her shoulders. Still, she moved with the grace of a sword unsheathed.

"My apologies, Princess," William muttered, turning away.

"Why so formal, William? I am still the same flame-haired mischief-maker that you trailed behind in the garden walls."

He looked to her with a half-smile. "Aye, and those walls have yet to recover. Gods be good, I thought you'd burn the whole castle down by accident."

She laughed, settling upon the edge of her bed, crossing her legs beneath her. William moved to the fireplace, where the embers glowed low.

"So," she said, eyes narrowing playfully. "What summons you at this hour, knight of the shadows?"

William's smile faded a touch, replaced with something weightier.

"He's returned," he said. "The man of skin like bones."

Thalia's expression darkened. "From where dost thou hear such?"

William hesitated. "From my whisperer."

She raised a brow. "Whisperer? I knew not that you kept such company."

"Not all things need be shared over bread and wine," he said with a faint grin. "But aye. I keep ears close to the wind."

Thalia leaned back, thoughtful. "And what say thy whisperer?"

"He was seen near the Solaria border. No word from the scouts since."

Thalia's jaw tensed. Then, with a breath, she relaxed again. "Four weeks of steel and sweat, and this is what greets me."

"And how fare you, truly?" William asked, folding his arms. "They say you best every lad who dares raise a blade."

"They say true," she said with a grin. "It was not as harrowing as I had expected. Grueling, aye—but there's a strange joy in it. In the ache. In the edge of life. I've learned more of myself in the yard than I ever did weaving tapestries or being paraded before the sons of drunk lords."

William laughed heartily. "Gods, I've missed this. Your mischief. Your madness. Castle life is dreadfully dull without you causing headaches for the handmaids."

She grinned. "I did no such thing."

"You turned the Sept's holy basin into a fishpond, Thalia."

"That was one time."

"It was a trout pond."

They both laughed, a shared warmth passing between them.

Then silence, soft and comforting.

William's gaze softened as he looked at her from across the room. The firelight danced in her hair like a crown of flame.

"You've changed," he said.

"For better?"

"For truer."

She held his gaze, unblinking. In that moment, no armor separated them, no bloodline stood in the way. Just Thalia and William, two souls bound by something unspoken.

And beyond her walls, beyond the castle's stone bones, the winds of war whispered of things yet to come.