A sharp howl pierced the early morning stillness. Amaya jolted awake, her breath uneven as she instinctively reached for the dagger beneath her pillow. Her heart pounded for a moment before she pressed a hand to her forehead, sighing as she realized the source of the call. It was Philus, the commander, summoning his men for training.
She exhaled and let her body sink into the warmth of her bed for a brief moment, but the call still echoed in her ears, sharper than ever before. Her senses were heightened, more than they should be, it was the ritual.
She pushed away the silken sheets, her muscles still humming with the power coursing through her veins. The sacred ceremony from the previous night had changed her in ways she hadn't fully grasped yet. Everything felt more intense. She could hear the soft padding of servants' feet in the halls beyond her chamber, the rustling of trees outside, even the distant clash of swords from the training grounds.
Slowly, she rose from the bed, the cool air brushing against her bare arms. Her long nightgown trailed behind her as she crossed the room, her feet silent against the marble floor. The curtains of her balcony swayed gently, dancing with the morning breeze that seeped through, Amaya pushed open the doors.
The air was crisp, carrying the scent of earth and damp stone. From her vantage point, she could see the palace grounds stretching out before her, but more importantly, she could see them, the soldiers of Silverveil.
The men moved in perfect formation, their bodies in sync as they clashed and parried under Philus's watchful eye. Normally, she wouldn't be able to make out such fine details from this distance, but now… now, she could see everything. The beads of sweat rolling down their foreheads, the way their muscles strained with each movement, and then she saw them. The rogues.
Her stomach tightened as she focused on the unfamiliar faces amongst the warriors. The ones who had once been enemies but now stood in training, their loyalty still uncertain. She had nearly forgotten about them, if only for a moment. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
The Silverveil warriors were disciplined, their movements sharp and calculated. The rogues, however, were rougher, less refined. She could see the difference in how they fought, how they moved. Yet, there was potential.
She sighed, rubbing her arms as the cold nipped at her skin. The sun had yet to rise fully, and her bed called her back into its warmth. Perhaps later, she would think about what this all meant. For now, she allowed herself the comfort of sleep once more. By the time the palace was awake and alive with movement, the sun had already begun its slow descent toward the horizon. The air buzzed with excitement as preparations were well underway for the upcoming tournament and feast.
Servants rushed through the halls, carrying bolts of fabric, polishing silverware, and arranging decorations. The entire kingdom was in motion. Amaya had spent the afternoon observing the festivities from the safety of the palace halls, but her thoughts kept drifting back to the training grounds. And it seemed she was not the only one.
Alpha Lucian, her father, stood on the western balcony, watching the warriors below. His expression was unreadable, but she could see the calculation in his gaze. His kingdom was expanding, shifting, and it was his duty to ensure the balance remained in place. Amaya walked toward him.
"You're thinking about the tournament"
Her father chuckled, turning to her with a knowing smile. "And here I thought I was unreadable."
She leaned against the railing, her fingers tracing the smooth stone. "It's not difficult to guess. This tournament… it's not just for sport, is it?"
Lucian exhaled, his sharp gaze returning to the men below. "No. It is a test. A chance to see if these rogues will truly stand with us… or against us."
Amaya nodded, the same worry from before creeping back into her thoughts. Lucian turned toward her fully, studying her carefully. "You've changed, Amaya."
She blinked, startled by the statement. "How so?"
"You see more now. Feel more. The ritual," He paused. "It has awakened something in you."
She looked down at her hands. She hadn't spoken of the changes she had noticed. The heightened senses. The way her body felt… stronger. The whispers of power that pulsed beneath her skin. Before she could respond, the distant clang of steel against steel reached their ears. Lucian smiled faintly. "Come, let's see how our warriors are faring."
The training grounds were alive with movement. Warriors moved in formation, sparring relentlessly under the watchful eyes of their instructors. Philus and Zurix stood amongst them, issuing commands, ensuring precision. Prince Garret fought alongside them, his stance sharp, his strikes precise. Sweat glistened on his forehead, but his movements remained fluid, controlled. He was a natural leader, a warrior of the highest caliber.
The men noticed the approaching figures before the words were spoken. They ceased their fighting, turning their attention to their alpha. In unison, they bowed their heads respectfully.
Philus was the first to speak. "It's an honor to have your presence, Your Grace."
Lucian gave a pleased nod. "It pleases me to see you all doing well."
Zurix added, "You have our gratitude, Your Grace."
Lucian turned to Philus. "Walk with me."
Philus nodded, stepping forward. However, before they could take another step, a shift in the atmosphere caused a murmur to ripple through the men. They turned and saw her, Amaya.
She walked with effortless grace, her long gown flowing behind her. The soft clinking of her jewelry was barely audible over the silence that had fallen upon the training grounds. The men bowed their heads as she approached, but Amaya's gaze was fixed on her father. A smile tugged at her lips as she reached for his hand, squeezing it gently before leaning in to whisper something only he could hear.
Lucian turned back to Philus. "Our walk will have to wait for another time. I must speak with my princess."
A collective exhale was heard amongst the men as they relaxed. But not all of them. Darkota had been still from the moment Amaya had stepped out of the palace. He had heard stories of her beauty, but nothing could have prepared him for this.
Her wavy brunette hair shimmered under the dying light of the sun, cascading down her back like liquid silk. The jewelry that adorned her delicate features was not gaudy, but mesmerizing, accentuating her ethereal presence. She was… breathtaking. He hadn't realized he was staring until a sharp elbow jabbed his ribs.
Odin smirked. "Are you good?"
Darkota blinked, shaking his head as if breaking free from a spell. "Yeah," he muttered.
Philus's sharp voice rang through the air. "Alright, soldiers! Back to work!"
The men grumbled but obeyed, their blades clashing once more as training resumed. Darkota took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. Yet, as he moved into formation, his thoughts remained tangled. For in that single moment, as Amaya had walked across the training grounds, something in him had shifted. And he knew, without a doubt,
He was utterly, hopelessly captivated.