POV: Saren
"You're holding the stance wrong."
Ravenna glares at me from across the training yard. Her feet are too close together, her weight distributed poorly, and she's gripping the practice sword like she wants to strangle it.
"I am NOT."
"You are. Look." I move beside her and adjust her stance with my foot. "Wider base. Lower center. You're small—that's an ADVANTAGE if you use it right. Makes you fast. Hard to hit. But not if you stand like a tree waiting to be chopped down."
She shifts her stance. Better. Not perfect, but better.
"Why didn't anyone teach me this in Cindravale?" she demands. "I'm the PRINCESS. Shouldn't I know how to defend myself?"
"Your father kept you away from weapons training." I move back to my position. "Said you were too valuable to risk in combat. That you had guards to protect you." I spin my practice sword casually. "Which is bullshit, obviously. Everyone should know how to fight. Especially princesses with targets on their backs."
"Well I'M learning now." She sets her jaw in that stubborn way she's had since she was nine years old. "Teach me."
So I do.
We've been at this for three days now. Every morning in the village training yard, away from the main buildings where curious villagers gather. Just her and me and practice swords and the lessons I learned the hard way in Aetherwyn before coming to Cindravale.
I show her basic defensive forms. How to block. How to redirect force instead of meeting it head-on. How to use her size to slip inside someone's guard where their longer reach becomes a disadvantage.
She's TERRIBLE at first. All princess-rage and no technique. But she learns fast. Always has. By the fourth day she's starting to move like water instead of fire—adapting, flowing, finding openings.
"Better," I say when she successfully blocks three strikes in a row. "You're thinking now instead of just reacting."
"Don't patronize me, Saren."
"I'm not. You're genuinely improving." I lower my sword. "Break?"
She nods, breathing hard. We move to the edge of the yard where water waits. She drinks deeply. I watch the village beyond—people going about their day, safe behind layers of concealment magic.
Strange how this feels more like home than Aetherwyn ever did.
"Can I ask you something?" Ravenna says after a moment.
"You're going to anyway."
"Why did you really come to Cindravale?" She's looking at me with those too-sharp blue eyes. "I know the official story—cultural liaison, your father wanted better relations between kingdoms. But that's not the whole truth, is it?"
I should deflect. Make a joke. Change the subject like I always do when things get too close to the bone.
But we've nearly died together maybe a dozen times now. She's earned honesty.
"My mother died when I was twelve," I say quietly. "Raiders attacked near the Aetherwyn-Cindravale border. She was visiting her sister's family. They killed everyone. Took everything valuable. Left the bodies for the tide to claim."
Ravenna goes very still. "Saren—"
"My father tried to hold it together. Tried to be both parents. But he was drowning in grief and I was drowning right alongside him." I stare at the water in my hands. "When I turned fourteen, he sent me to Cindravale. Said it was for diplomatic purposes. Cultural exchange. Opportunities." I laugh without humor. "Really, he was trying to save me. Give me a fresh start somewhere that didn't remind me of her every single day."
"That's not—that must have been—"
"Terrifying?" I look at her. "I arrived in a foreign kingdom at fourteen, barely speaking fire kingdom language, grieving someone no one else knew. The other guards bullied me. Called me fish-boy. Soft water kingdom weakling who couldn't hack real warrior training." I pause. "I was so alone. So LOST. I thought about leaving. Going back to Aetherwyn. But that felt like failing my father. Like proving I was as weak as everyone said."
Ravenna's eyes are bright with unshed tears. She's always been terrible at hiding emotions.
"When I was sixteen, your father assigned me to protect you." I smile slightly at the memory. "You were nine years old. Small and angry and grieving a mother you never knew. You threw a tantrum the first time we met. Actual tantrum. Threw a vase at my head."
"I did NOT—" She stops. "Okay, I did. In my defense, I didn't want a new guard."
"You wanted your mother." My voice is soft. "I understood that. I understood the anger that came from loss. The way grief makes you lash out because hurting others is easier than feeling your own hurt."
She looks away. "I was terrible to you those first few months."
"You were nine and scared." I shrug. "I was sixteen and lonely. We figured it out eventually."
"You taught me water kingdom words," she says quietly. "Told me stories about the coast. Made me laugh when I wanted to scream."
"You gave me purpose." The admission feels vulnerable. Raw. "Protecting you became my reason for staying. For learning fire kingdom ways. For making Cindravale HOME instead of exile." I meet her eyes. "It wasn't the kingdom that kept me there, Ravenna. It was you. You became the sister I never had. The family I chose."
She's crying now. Actually crying. Trying to hide it and failing.
"I never knew," she whispers. "I never knew how much you sacrificed. How much you gave up to stay with me."
"It wasn't sacrifice." I set down my water. Move to stand beside her. "It was choice. I chose you. I chose Cindravale. I chose to build something new instead of staying trapped in grief." I pause. "You saved me just as much as I protected you. You just never realized it."
She turns and hugs me. Fierce and tight and completely unexpected. Ravenna doesn't hug people. She barely TOUCHES people.
But she's hugging me now.
"Thank you," she says against my shoulder. "For choosing me. For staying. For—for everything."
I hug her back. "Always, Princess. That's not changing."
We stand there for a moment. Two people who found family in each other. Who built home from loneliness.
Then she pulls back and wipes her eyes furiously. "Okay. Enough emotions. I'm going soft."
"You could never be soft."
"Damn right." She picks up her practice sword. "Again. I want to learn that disarming move you used on the Eclipse soldier."
"That's an advanced technique. You need months of—"
"Saren."
"Fine. But when you fail spectacularly, I'm saying I told you so."
She grins. That sharp, feral grin that says she's about to prove me wrong through sheer stubbornness.
Gods, I missed this. Missed her. Missed the easy rhythm we had before assassination attempts and war and running for our lives.
Maybe, MAYBE, we're finding it again.
We spar until sunset. She doesn't master the disarming move—I was right about that—but she comes CLOSE. Closer than she should after only four days of training.
When we finally stop, both exhausted and laughing, she says, "Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow," I agree. "And every day until you can actually beat me."
"That'll be next week."
"In your dreams, Princess."
She walks back toward her guest house where Theron is probably waiting. Where Morgana is probably making inappropriate comments about their relationship. Where safety exists for the first time in weeks.
And I stay in the training yard for a moment, watching the sun set over this hidden valley.
Cindravale is my home. Ravenna is my family. Protecting her is my purpose.
The Eclipse can come for us. Seris can hunt. War can rage.
But they'll have to go through me first.
And I've spent thirteen years learning how to be the shield she doesn't realize she needs.
Let them try.