Marie stood at the edge of the training grounds, her hands neatly clasped in front of her as she observed Darian from a distance. The clang of metal against metal, the rhythmic sound of boots scraping against the dirt, and the sharp commands of the knights filled the air.
Her gaze lingered on Darian—not as a servant looking at her master, but as someone trying to decipher a puzzle.
"Why is he doing this?"
The prince she had known before—no, the prince everyone had known before—would have never willingly stepped foot in a training yard. He had always been arrogant, temperamental, and utterly uninterested in anything requiring effort. The Darian she remembered spent his days indulging in luxuries, using his title to command obedience rather than earn it.
And yet, this Darian was different.
She had seen it the first time he spoke to her after waking up—the way his eyes held a weight they never had before. And now, watching him struggle through training, pushing himself despite his weaknesses, she couldn't ignore the shift.
"He's serious about this."
Marie flinched as Darian barely dodged a strike from Sir Aldric, the seasoned knight pressing him relentlessly. A month ago, she would have laughed at the idea of Darian willingly facing such a challenge.
And yet, here he was—panting, bruised, but refusing to give up.
She lowered her gaze, her grip tightening slightly.
"What happened to you, Your Highness?"
She had been watching him closely, searching for cracks in this sudden change. Was it an act? A desperate attempt to regain favor? Or was there truly something different about him?
A soft sigh escaped her lips.
"If this is real, then..."
She hesitated.
Then maybe she had misjudged him.
Maybe... just maybe, this was someone she could place her trust in.
But trust was dangerous.
So, for now, she would simply watch. And wait.
At another place,
From the shaded balcony overlooking the training grounds, Celia Reinhart, daughter of Duke Reinhart, observed the scene below with quiet intrigue.
Her violet eyes followed Darian's every movement as he clashed against Sir Aldric, struggling yet refusing to yield. She had heard the rumors—the spoiled prince, the arrogant noble who wielded power with nothing but his name. The same prince who now stood, bruised and breathless, fighting against one of the strongest knights in the palace.
"Curious."
Celia had spent her life surrounded by men who draped themselves in power, yet few truly sought to earn it. Darian had been one of them—or at least, he had been.
"So why are you suddenly trying so hard?"
She tapped her fingers against the railing, her mind racing. Darian had never been a warrior. He had never cared for discipline, never endured hardship—he had relied on status, not skill.
And yet, here he was, enduring humiliation and pain as if his life depended on it.
"What changed?"
Her father, Duke Reinhart, had always warned her about the royal family. Never trust a prince, he had told her once. They play their games with power, and when you're no longer useful, they discard you.
Celia had taken those words to heart.
And yet, watching Darian now, she couldn't help but wonder—was this still the same prince her father despised?
She narrowed her eyes.
"I'll be watching, Your Highness. Let's see if this is a fleeting act… or something far more dangerous."