Chapter 10

The torches lining the grand hall flickered, casting long shadows against the stone walls as I stepped into the chamber. The court had gathered, a sea of silk and polished armor, eyes like daggers hidden beneath the weight of jeweled crowns. The scent of wine and burning wax thickened the air, but beneath it, I sensed something else.

Tension.

Lucian stood at the far end of the hall, his posture rigid, his expression a carefully composed mask. He was speaking with a cluster of noblemen—advisors, generals, men who had followed his family's rule for years. But when I entered, his gaze snapped to mine.

A flicker of something passed through his eyes before he turned back to his conversation.

I inhaled slowly, keeping my shoulders square as I approached the elevated dais where the High Council convened. The seat beside Lucian remained empty, a silent reminder of my place. Not yet a queen, but no longer an outsider. Suspended in a space where I was either to rise or be cast down.

"My lady," Lord Montreve greeted, his voice smooth, practiced. He bowed, but the movement lacked sincerity. "I must admit, we were not expecting you so soon. Matters of state can be… delicate."

I smiled, feigning warmth. "And yet, I find myself eager to learn."

A few of the older lords exchanged glances. Some impressed. Others skeptical.

Lucian, to his credit, did not interfere. He merely gestured to the seat beside him, allowing me the opportunity to take my place, or to falter.

I did not falter.

Sliding into the chair, I let my gaze sweep over the council. "Please, continue," I said, my voice steady. "I would not wish to interrupt such… delicate matters."

Montreve's lips pressed into a thin line, but he obliged. The conversation resumed, and though it was laced with the usual political maneuvering, I quickly discerned the true purpose of today's gathering.

Land disputes. Military positioning along the western borders. Whispers of rebellion.

But beneath it all, there was a deeper concern. One I knew they would not voice outright.

Me.

Would I be a pawn? A silent consort? Or would I become something else entirely?

Lucian, ever watchful, leaned slightly in my direction. "You're quiet," he murmured. "Unusual for you."

I didn't take my eyes off Montreve as he spoke of Praylor's trade routes. "Observing," I echoed his own words back at him.

His lips twitched in something resembling amusement. "And what do you see?"

"A room full of men who think they still control the board."

His fingers tapped lightly against the armrest of his chair. "Do they not?"

I turned my head just enough to meet his gaze. "Not for long."

A spark of something dangerous passed between us. A challenge. A promise.

And for the first time, I saw it, the flicker of respect in Lucian Velthorne's eyes.

Later that evening, the council dispersed, and the halls of the palace emptied save for the occasional flickering torchlight. The air outside was crisp, carrying the scent of rain as I made my way toward the eastern wing. My thoughts were sharp, analyzing every word spoken during the meeting, every glance exchanged.

I had made progress. But it wasn't enough.

Footsteps echoed behind me. I didn't startle, I had felt his presence before I even turned.

Lucian.

"You handle yourself well in court," he said casually, as if we had simply crossed paths by accident. We both knew better.

"Did you expect otherwise?"

He tilted his head slightly. "I expected you to fight back. To challenge them outright. Instead, you chose patience."

I met his gaze. "A soldier strikes when the enemy is vulnerable, not when they expect an attack."

Lucian exhaled, a soft sound that might have been amusement. "So, you see them as enemies."

"Wouldn't you?"

He took a step closer, close enough that I could see the tension in his jaw, the careful restraint in his posture. "I see men who will test you. Push you to your limits. If they find weakness, they will exploit it."

I lifted my chin. "Then I will give them nothing to exploit."

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The torchlight flickered, casting a golden hue over his sharp features. I could feel the weight of his gaze, studying me, measuring me.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Verona," he murmured.

I stepped closer, meeting him head-on. "So are you."

The space between us tightened, charged with something I couldn't yet name. Not hatred, not alliance. Something far more treacherous.

His gaze dropped, just briefly, to my lips before flicking back up. But instead of closing the distance, he exhaled sharply and turned away.

"Get some rest," he said over his shoulder. "Tomorrow will be another battle."

I watched him disappear into the corridor, my pulse unsteady.

He was right.

And I was ready.

The next morning, I found myself in the training yard. Not out of obligation, but out of necessity. I needed strength, not just in wit, but in body. If I was to be more than a pawn, I had to become a warrior in my own right.

The clang of steel rang through the air as knights and guards sparred. Some paused to glance at me, murmuring among themselves, unsure of what to make of their prince's foreign wife taking up a sword.

I ignored them.

I had sparred before, trained enough to defend myself. But this was different. This was not Hull, where survival had been an everyday battle. This was Praylor, where every move I made was scrutinized.

I gripped the hilt of my sword, testing its weight. Across from me, my opponent circled. Not a knight. Not a guard.

Lucian.

"You requested a partner," he said, rolling his shoulders as he assessed me. "Careful what you wish for."

I smirked. "Afraid I'll embarrass you?"

He didn't smile, but there was a glint in his eyes—anticipation. "Show me what you can do, Verona."

And then he moved. Fast. Precise.

I barely had time to react before his sword met mine, the impact sending a shudder through my arms. I gritted my teeth and pushed back, using the momentum to twist away and strike.

He blocked with ease. Effortless.

"Too slow," he murmured.

Frustration flared, but I channeled it into movement. I adjusted my stance, feinted left, then struck right. This time, I managed to graze the edge of his tunic before he countered.

"Better," he admitted.

We danced across the training yard, steel clashing, boots skidding against the dirt. Lucian never went easy on me, and I never asked him to.

By the time we stopped, my muscles burned, my breaths were uneven. But I had held my ground.

Lucian studied me, then sheathed his sword. "You're learning."

I wiped a bead of sweat from my brow. "I don't intend to stop."

His gaze lingered for a second longer than necessary before he turned. "Good."

As he walked away, I found myself staring after him, something restless coiling in my chest.

Enemies. Partners. Something more.

Whatever we were becoming, it was dangerous.

And I wasn't sure I wanted to stop it.