The days following the ogre delegation's departure were peaceful on the surface, but Serenil knew better. Peace had its price—and its terms. One of them now lived within the royal palace: Princess Shuna Lysavelle.
Despite her fearsome origins, Shuna had blended in with surprising grace. She now wore Faelorian attire, her long pink hair tied in a single braid, her horns discreetly adorned with silver clasps. Her quiet, observant nature made her a mystery to many—but Serenil saw the layers behind her eyes.
He found her one morning training alone in the lesser courtyard, barefoot on the polished stone. Her movements were sharp and fluid, like a dancer's—each strike precise, each dodge premeditated. The twin wooden daggers in her hands twirled like extensions of her fingers.
"You fight with elegance," Serenil said, stepping forward.
She didn't pause. "I was raised to be elegant, and deadly. My mother made sure of it."
"You rarely speak of your family."
"I rarely speak at all," she said with a small smile.
He joined her, sparring gently, matching her rhythm. She was faster than expected, her keen senses honed from a life lived between courts and battlefields. Their mock fight lasted minutes—neither gaining ground.
Breathing heavily, she finally paused. "You don't look at me like the others do."
"How do they look at you?" Serenil asked.
"Like I'm still an ogre. Or worse… like a novelty."
He lowered his training sword. "Then I promise: I'll always look at you like Shuna. The girl with the sharp eyes and a kinder soul than she lets on."
She turned away quickly, but not before he saw the faint blush on her cheeks.