“Show me your worst scar.”
Astrid’s voice cut through the evening air like a blade as she cornered me in the weapons yard. Around us, soldiers stopped their cleaning routines to watch, sensing the electricity crackling between their commander and the prince.
“What?”
“You heard me.” She stepped closer, her green eyes blazing with challenge. “You want to know me? Want to understand what makes me who I am? Then show me your worst scar, and I’ll show you mine.”
“This isn’t the place—”
“This is exactly the place.” Her voice carried across the yard, drawing more attention. “In front of witnesses. No lies, no pretty stories. Just truth.”
I looked around at the assembled soldiers, their faces eager with anticipation. This wasn’t just a personal moment—it was another test, another challenge thrown down in front of her pack.
“Fine.” I rolled up my sleeve, revealing the jagged scar that ran from wrist to elbow. “Southern Wilds. Rogue attack during the fire season.”
“How many died?” Her question was sharp, clinical.
“Twelve.” The number sat heavy in the air. “Including my lieutenant.”
“Your fault?”
The directness of it hit like a physical blow. Around us, the soldiers leaned closer, hungry for any sign of weakness.
“Yes.” The admission cost me, but I held her gaze. “I led them into an ambush. Marcus trusted me, and I got him killed.”
“And you carry that with you.”
“Every day.”
Something flickered in her eyes—not pity, but recognition. She reached for the ties of her tunic, and every soldier in the yard held their breath.
“Astrid—” I started.
“My turn.” She pulled the fabric aside, revealing three deep scars along her ribs. “These happened when I was nineteen. Threw myself over a rookie who froze during his first real battle.”
“Did he survive?”
“He did. I almost didn’t.” Her voice carried across the silent yard. “Spent two weeks in the healing tent while my bones knitted back together.”
“Was it worth it?”
“Ask me that again when you’ve held a dying seventeen-year-old in your arms.” Her eyes blazed with sudden fury. “Ask me if I should have let him die to save myself.”
The challenge in her voice made several soldiers step back. But I moved closer.
“I wasn’t questioning your choice,” I said. “I was asking if you thought it was worth it.”
“Every time.” The words came out fierce, absolute. “I’d do it again tomorrow.”
“Even knowing what it cost you?”
“Especially knowing that.” She retied her tunic with sharp, angry movements. “Because that’s what real strength is, Prince. Not protecting yourself—protecting others, even when it breaks you.”
“Is that what you think I don’t understand?”
“I think you understand perfectly.” Her voice dropped, but in the silence of the yard, everyone heard. “I think that’s why you blame yourself for your lieutenant’s death.”
The words hit their target with devastating accuracy. I felt my jaw clench, my hands curl into fists.
“Don’t psychoanalyze me.”
“Then don’t pretend you’re not carrying the same guilt I am.” She stepped closer, close enough that I could see the gold flecks in her green eyes. “The only difference is, I’ve learned to weaponize mine.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I use my guilt to make me better. Stronger. More ruthless when it matters.” Her smile was sharp as a blade. “You let yours eat you alive.”
“That’s enough.” The words came out as a growl that made several soldiers take another step back.
“Is it?” She moved even closer, until we were almost touching. “Because from where I stand, it looks like you’re still that same prince who couldn’t save his lieutenant. Still afraid of making the hard choices.”
“You want to see hard choices?” I grabbed her wrist, and electricity shot between us. “Challenge accepted.”
“What are you—”
“Training circle. Now.” I released her and stalked toward the sparring ring. “You want to test me? Let’s test each other.”
The soldiers formed a circle around us immediately, their excitement palpable. Astrid followed, her expression shifting from surprise to predatory anticipation.
“Full contact?” she asked, selecting practice weapons.
“Whatever you can handle.”
“Famous last words.” Her grin was feral. “Don’t hold back, Prince. I won’t.”
She launched herself at me without warning, her blade seeking my throat in a strike that would have killed if it had been steel. I parried, spun, and struck back with a combination that sent her staggering.
“Better,” she said, breathing hard. “But not good enough.”
“I’m just getting warmed up.”
We clashed again, steel ringing against steel. But there was something different about this fight—something more personal, more desperate. Every strike carried the weight of our conversation, every parry an answer to unspoken questions.
“You fight like you’re angry,” she said, deflecting my overhead strike.
“I am angry.” I pressed my advantage, driving her backward. “Angry at you for making me feel things I don’t want to feel.”
“Such as?”
“You know what.”
She swept my legs, sending me crashing to the ground. I rolled away as her blade struck where my head had been.
“Say it,” she demanded, standing over me with her weapon raised. “Say what you’re really afraid of.”
I looked up at her—red hair wild, green eyes blazing, chest heaving with exertion and something else.
“I’m afraid of you,” I said.
The training yard went dead silent.
“Afraid I’ll hurt you?” she asked.
“Afraid you’ll matter.” I pushed myself to my feet, never breaking eye contact. “Afraid that what I feel for you is real.”
“And what do you feel?”
“Everything.” The word came out rough, desperate. “I feel everything when I look at you, and it terrifies me.”
She lowered her weapon slowly. “Why?”
“Because caring about you gives my enemies a target. Because needing you makes me vulnerable. Because—”
“Because you’ve never let yourself need anyone before.”
“Neither have you.”
The accusation hung between us like a blade. Around the circle, soldiers watched with fascination as their untouchable commander faced her own truth.
“You’re right,” she said quietly. “I haven’t.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m terrified that I was wrong.” She moved closer, close enough that I could see the vulnerability she was fighting to hide. “What if I do need someone? What if I need you?”
“Then we figure it out together.”
“Even if it makes us both weak?”
“Maybe it makes us stronger.” I reached out, my fingers barely grazing her cheek. “Maybe that’s what real strength is—being brave enough to let someone matter.”
She stared at me for a long moment, something raw and honest flickering in her eyes.
“This is dangerous,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“If we do this—if we let this be real—there’s no going back.”
“I know that too.”
She dropped her weapon and closed the distance between us, her hands fisting in my shirt.
“I hate that you’re starting to matter,” she said against my lips.
“Too late,” I replied, and kissed her.
This time, when we broke apart, the soldiers actually cheered.
“About bloody time!” one of them shouted.
Astrid laughed—a real laugh, bright and genuine. “Shut up, all of you. Back to work.”
But she didn’t step away from me.
“This doesn’t make me soft,” she said quietly.
“I never thought it would.”
“Good.” Her smile was sharp and beautiful. “Because I’m still going to kick your ass in training tomorrow.”
“I’m counting on it.”