POV: Ravenna
Present days.
Black stone walls, red veins running through the walls like the kingdom was bleeding. The dragon skull behind Father's throne still watched with empty eyes.
There were four men standing in the center of the room, and one of them had made my entire world tilt on its axis.
I wasn't thinking about that.
I was NOT.
"Princess Ravenna," Father said in his formal king voice, and I wanted to roll my eyes but the entire court was watching so I pasted on my best princess smile instead. The one that said I was delightful and gracious and not I'd been plotting your destruction for three weeks. "Please join us."
I glided down the steps from my chambers gallery. I'd practiced this walk for HOURS with Morgana criticizing every step. "Less stomping, more gliding," she'd said. "You're a princess, not a warhorse."
I'd thrown a pillow at her.
But now I glided. Perfectly. My white dress trailed behind me like spilled moonlight, and I could feel every eye in the court tracking my movement.
Good. Let them watch. Let them see how composed and regal and completely unbothered I was by this whole ridiculous situation.
I reached the bottom of the stairs and—
He was looking at me.
Theron. The late one. The one with the scar and the amber eyes and the ridiculous shoulders that seemed even broader in the daylight streaming through the oculus.
Our eyes met again.
The hum slammed into me. Louder than yesterday. Stronger. Like someone struck a bell inside my chest and it wouldn't stop ringing.
I stumbled.
Actually stumbled. My perfect glide turned into an awkward half-trip that I barely recovered from.
His expression didn't change. But something flickered in those eyes. Concern? Amusement? Impossible to tell.
I hated him a little bit for that.
"Ravenna?" Father's voice held a question.
"I'm fine!" Too loud. Too bright. I cleared my throat, smoothed my dress. "Perfectly fine. Just... the light. Very bright today. Very sunny. Makes it hard to see where you're stepping, don't you think?"
No one answered. Because it was a stupid thing to say and everyone knew it.
Morgana, standing with the other ladies-in-waiting, covered her mouth. Trying not to laugh. Traitor.
"Come." Father gestured to the space beside his throne. My place. "We're announcing the rules."
I glided—no, walked—definitely walked, not stomped, absolutely not stomped—to my designated spot. Which meant passing directly by the candidates.
Lucien was first. Perfect and cold and completely uninteresting.
Edmund was next. Older, weathered, kind eyes. Guilt twisted in my stomach. I was going to sabotage him too, and he looked like someone's gentle uncle who wouldn't hurt a fly.
I pushed the feeling down. Buried it. Guilt was for people who weren't fighting for their freedom.
Brock. Gods, Brock. Massive and thick-necked and his eyes slid over me like I was a piece of meat on a table.
I just lifted my chin and moved past him quickly.
And then, Theron.
I tried to walk past without looking. I really did. But my eyes betrayed me. Found his face. That scar. Those eyes.
He bowed, slightly. More a nod than anything.
"Princess," he said, and his voice—gods, his VOICE—was exactly like I remembered. Gravel and smoke and something that made my knees feel strange.
The hum intensified. I could feel it in my bones. In my teeth. Everywhere.
"Warrior," I managed. Proud of myself for getting even that out.
I hurried past him. Practically ran up the steps to Father's side. My heart was hammering. The hum wouldn't stop. Wouldn't stop.
Father rose, and the court fell silent.
"The competition for my daughter's hand shall proceed according to ancient tradition," he announced. His voice echoed off the stone. "Four trials. Trial of Strength. Trial of Mind. Trial of Heart."
I'd heard this before. Researched it obsessively. Tried to find loopholes. There weren't any.
"Each trial will test a different aspect of worthiness. Strength of body. Strength of mind. Strength of spirit." Father looked at the candidates one by one. "And the final trial—the Dragon's Choosing."
Murmurs rippled through the court. The Dragon's Choosing was sacred. Couldn't be cheated or manipulated. The dragons met, and the dragons chose.
Which was why I had to make sure none of them GOT to the Dragon's Choosing.
"Trial of Strength begins tomorrow," Father continued. "You will face each other in combat. First in human form, then in dragon form. Victory is not required. Honorable performance is."
Lucien's smile widened. He thought he'd already won. Probably picturing himself on a throne beside me.
Edmund looked resigned. Like he knew he'd do his duty and lose gracefully.
Brock cracked his knuckles. Actually cracked them. Disgusting.
Theron... didn't react at all. Just stood there. Still. Watching.
"Until then," Father said, "you are guests of Cindravale. You will be housed in the East Wing. You will conduct yourselves with honor, or you will be removed from the competition."
The court dispersed. Nobles clustering in groups, already gossiping. About the candidates. About me. About which one I'd choose.
I was trying to slip away—back to my chambers where I could scream into a pillow—when a voice stopped me.
"Princess."
I froze. Knew that voice. Turned slowly.
Lucien. He was already tracking me down like I was a prize to be won.
"Lord Lucien." I forced brightness into my tone. "Congratulations on being selected for the competition. You must be very proud."
"Honored." He stepped closer. Too close. I could smell his perfume—expensive, cloying. "I wanted to introduce myself properly."
"Yes, well. Some people have trouble with punctuality."
I said it without thinking. Realized immediately that I'd just insulted Theron. Who was standing twenty feet away, talking with Edmund. Who probably heard me.
His head turned slightly. Just slightly.
He heard.
Guilt and annoyance warred in my chest. Why did I care if I insulted him? I was PLANNING to sabotage him. An insult was nothing.
Except the hum pulsed. Unhappy. Like Solace was scolding me.
Stop it, I told her.
"The warrior," Lucien said, following my gaze. His smile sharpened. "Interesting choice for a candidate. Given his... history."
"History?"
"You don't know?" Lucien leaned in. Conspiratorial. "He's been rejected. Five times. Five different bonds, five different women. All rejected him."
My stomach dropped.
That was—that was impossible. Most people died after two rejections. Three was almost always fatal. FIVE?
"How is he even..." I couldn't finish the sentence.
"Alive?" Lucien shrugged. "No one knows. Some say he's cursed. Others say he's too stubborn to die. Either way..." He met my eyes. "A man rejected five times isn't whole, Princess. Can't be. Whatever's inside him is broken."
The words sat in my chest like stones.
I looked at Theron. He wasn't looking at us anymore. Talking with Edmund in low tones. His face was expressionless. Empty.
But I remembered the way he'd looked at me. The hope in that single word.
Broken? Or just... surviving?
"I should go," I heard myself say.
"Of course, Princess." Lucien bowed. Perfect. Practiced. False.
I walked away. Didn't run, didn't stomp, just walked. But inside, I was screaming.
I made it to my chambers. Barely. Slammed the door behind me and leaned against it.
"Well THAT was a disaster," Morgana announced from where she was lounging on my bed, eating the candied oranges.
"I stumbled. Once. That's not a disaster."
"You stumbled, squeaked, insulted one candidate while staring at another, and looked like you were going to be sick when Lucien got close to you." She popped another orange slice into her mouth. "So yeah, love. Disaster."
I threw myself onto the bed beside her. Face-first. Groaned into the silk pillows.
"I can't do this."
"Yes you can."
"I CAN'T. Did you see him?"
"Who? The warrior?" Morgana's voice softened. "Everyone saw both of you, Rav. The whole court's buzzing about it."
I rolled over. Stared at the canopy above my bed. "Five rejections."
"What?"
"Theron. He's been rejected five times." I looked at her. "How is that possible?"
She was quiet for a long moment. "I don't know. But Rav... if he's survived five rejections and is still standing, still entering competitions, still hoping..." She reached over, squeezed my hand. "That's not broken. That's the strongest person I've ever heard of."
"Or the most cursed."
"Maybe both."
We lay there in silence. The hum was quieter now. But still there. Constant. Like a heartbeat I couldn't control.
"You're still going to sabotage them?" Morgana asked quietly.
"Yes."
"Even him?"
I closed my eyes. Saw amber eyes. A scarred face. That single word: hope.
"Especially him."
Because if I didn't—if I let this bond thing happen—I'd lose everything. My freedom. My control. Myself.
And that terrified me more than anything. Even if it meant destroying someone who'd already been destroyed five times before.