This is the margin story that runs alongside Chapter 1's law content. Here, you meet Zara—rebellious daughter of Athelia and Alexander, sent on a "punishment journey" to found a village in the borderlands. Her mentor Severen volunteers to accompany her. Every site she chooses, he rejects. And with each rejection, she gets angrier... while he gets more patient.
The wooden blade whistled past Zara's ear. She pivoted—too slow—and Severen was already inside her guard. His arm hooked around her waist from behind, pulling her back against his chest. The training blade pressed cold against her throat.
"Dead," he said quietly. His breath was warm against her ear.
Zara tried to twist free. His grip tightened.
"Your stance was off, princess." His voice dropped lower. Not mocking. Not quite. "Left foot too far forward. You committed your weight before you knew where I was going."
"Let. Go."
"Say please."
"Fuck you."
She felt him smile against her hair. "You're not ready for that, My Princess."
He released her. She spun, bringing her blade up—but he'd already stepped back, lowering his weapon. Patient. Like he'd been expecting her anger and had all the time in the world to wait for it to burn out.
"Again," he said.
"No."
"Zara—"
"I said NO." She threw the practice blade down. It clattered across the training ground stones. "I'm done. You win. Congratulations. You're better than me. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
Severen just looked at her. Sapphire eyes steady. "What I want," he said slowly, "is for you to stop throwing tantrums when someone tries to help you."
"Help me? You just humiliated me—AGAIN—"
"I corrected your footwork."
"By pulling me into—" She stopped. Her face flushed.
"Into what?" He tilted his head. "A proper disarm position? That's what you're supposed to do when your opponent drops their guard."
"You held me like—"
"Like I was preventing you from escaping. Which I was." He picked up her discarded blade, held it out. "Again."
"No."
"You'll never improve if you quit every time you lose."
"I don't lose. I just—" She bit off the sentence.
"You just what?" He stepped closer. "Strategically retreat? Preserve your dignity by refusing to try?" His voice gentled. "Zara. You're fast. You're strong. But you fight angry, and anger makes you sloppy."
"I'm not angry."
"You're always angry." He held out the blade again. "One more round. Fix your stance. Show me you can learn."
For a long moment, she just stared at him. Then she snatched the blade from his hand.
"Fine. But when I win—and I WILL win—you're going to admit you underestimated me."
Severen's smile was infuriating. "Deal."
She didn't win.
She ended up on her back in the dirt with his full weight pinning her down—not his knee, all of him—chest to chest, hips pressing her into the ground. Every inch of him against every inch of her. The training blade rested against her throat. His other hand caught her wrist when she tried to shove him off, fingers circling her wrist completely, pinning it beside her head.
He looked down at her. Sapphire eyes dark, pupils blown wide. Not unmoved. Not patient. Something else entirely. His jaw was tight. A muscle jumped in his cheek.
"Better," he said quietly, and his voice was rough in a way it hadn't been before. His breath ghosted across her lips. "Your footwork improved."
She was breathing hard. So was he—chest rising and falling against hers with each breath. She could feel his heartbeat. Or maybe that was hers. Maybe both.
"Get. Off." Her voice came out breathless.
"Yield first." His thumb moved against the inside of her wrist. Just once. She felt it everywhere.
"I hate you."
"That's not yielding." His voice dropped lower. Almost gentle. Almost something else. "Say it, Zara."
His hips shifted—barely, just settling his weight more firmly—and her breath caught. His eyes flickered. He'd heard it. Felt her reaction.
Her eyes burned. She turned her head away, throat working against the training blade.
"I yield," she whispered.
For a heartbeat, he didn't move. Just stayed there, all his weight on her, hand still circling her wrist, watching her with those impossible sapphire eyes.
Then he stood—fast, controlled, like he'd made himself let go—and offered his hand.
She ignored it. Got up on her own, brushing dirt from her training leathers with shaking hands. Her tail lashed once—sharp, agitated—before she forced it still. From the edge of the training grounds, she heard whispers—guards who'd been watching, servants crossing through the courtyard.
"That's the third time this week," Captain Deyrin said quietly to the guard beside him. "He's got her on the ground more often than on her feet."
"You see the way he looks at her?" The younger guard—Torin, barely twenty—shook his head. "That's not how you look at a student."
"Doesn't let anyone else train her anymore," another voice added. Kaela, one of the palace stewards, standing with her arms full of linens. "Used to be Commander Thrace worked with her. Now Severen shows up every dawn and no one else gets near her."
"Can you blame him?" Torin muttered. "The way she fights back—"
"It's not about the fighting," Deyrin interrupted, voice knowing. "It's about what happens after. You see how long he stayed on top of her? That wasn't training. That was—"
"That was inappropriate," Kaela finished primly. But her eyes were bright with gossip. "Someone should tell the Queen."
Zara's face burned. She stalked toward the palace without a word, tail bristling behind her, ignoring the eyes on her back, ignoring the way her hands were still shaking, ignoring the feeling of his weight still pressed into her skin like a brand.
Behind her, she heard Severen call: "Same time tomorrow, princess."
She didn't answer. But they both knew she'd be there.
Severen bent to pick up the discarded training blades, forcing his breathing back under control. His hands weren't quite steady.
"Commander Thrace would like a word."
He straightened. The Commander of the Royal Guard stood at the edge of the training grounds, arms crossed, silver hair pulled back in a severe braid. Her expression was unreadable.
Severen walked over. Said nothing. Waited.
"How long you planning to keep this up?" Thrace asked quietly.
"Training the princess? As long as she needs it."
"That what we're calling it now?" Thrace's grey eyes were sharp. "Training?"
Severen's jaw tightened. "I'm teaching her to fight."
"You're teaching her to lose to you specifically." Thrace took a step closer, voice dropping. "Three times a week, Severen. Every session ends the same way—with you on top of her. You think I don't notice? You think the entire guard doesn't notice?"
"She's improving."
"Her footwork's better. Everything else?" Thrace shook her head. "You're playing with fire. She's the heir's daughter, and you're—"
"I know what I am." His voice went cold.
"Do you? Because from where I'm standing, you're a man who just pinned a princess to the ground in front of half the palace guard and looked at her like—" She stopped. Drew a breath. "The way you stayed on her. That wasn't about combat."
Severen said nothing. Couldn't say anything without lying.
"I trained her for two years before you volunteered," Thrace continued. "Never once put her on her back like that. Never needed to."
"You weren't teaching her to fight someone stronger."
"I wasn't teaching her to submit." Thrace's voice was quiet. Dangerous. "That's what you're doing. Making her yield. Making her say the words. That's not combat training, Severen. That's something else entirely."
His hands tightened on the training blades. "She needs to learn—"
"What? To yield to you specifically?" Thrace stepped back. "Whatever this is, end it. Before the Queen notices. Before Athelia decides you're a threat to her daughter." A pause. "Before you do something you can't take back."
She turned to leave, then stopped. Looked back.
"For what it's worth? She fights harder for you than she ever did for me. Don't know if that means she hates you or—" Thrace shook her head. "Just be careful. Both of you."
Severen stood alone in the training grounds after Thrace left. Still holding the wooden blades. Still feeling the phantom weight of Zara beneath him, the catch of her breath, the way she'd whispered I yield like it meant something more than surrender.
A hand settled on his shoulder. Heavy. Warm.
Severen turned. King Alexander stood beside him, silver-grey hair loose around his shoulders, wolf ears pricked forward with interest, grey eyes steady as they watched the palace entrance where Zara had disappeared.
"Your Majesty." Severen started to bow.
Alexander's hand tightened on his shoulder, keeping him upright. "None of that. Not here."
Severen waited. His heart was still beating too fast.
"Don't worry about what the others say," Alexander said quietly. His voice carried that edge of authority that made kingdoms kneel, but there was something else underneath. Approval. "I've been watching."
Severen's throat went tight. "I can explain—"
"Can you?" Alexander's smile was slight. Dangerous. "You can explain why you've been training my daughter every dawn for three months? Why you replaced Thrace as her primary instructor? Why every session ends with her on her back and you making her yield?"
"I—"
"I personally still believe you're being too gentle."
Severen's head snapped up. "What?"
Alexander's grey eyes were steady. Knowing. "My daughter has been coddled her entire life. Praised for being adequate. Allowed to quit when things get difficult. Thrace was a good teacher, but she let Zara walk away from losses." He paused. "You don't."
"Your Majesty, I would never—"
"Never what? Push her harder than anyone else has? Make her face real consequences for sloppy footwork?" Alexander's voice dropped. "Make her submit when she loses instead of letting her pretend she chose to retreat?"
Severen said nothing. Couldn't.
"She needs what you're teaching her," Alexander continued. "Not just combat. Control. Discipline. How to lose with grace." A pause. "How to yield without breaking."
"The guards think—"
"The guards don't know she's betrothed to you." Alexander's voice was quiet. Matter-of-fact. "They see a teacher getting too close to a student. They don't understand this is preparation—that you're teaching your future wife what she'll need to survive." His hand squeezed Severen's shoulder once. "They don't see her after training. The way she studies her own mistakes, practices footwork in her chambers, actually thinks about what went wrong instead of blaming her opponent. She's learning. Finally. Because of you."
Severen's voice came out rough. "Thrace said I'm teaching her to submit."
"You are." Alexander's smile was sharp. "And she needs to learn. Before someone weaker than you tries to take her down and she doesn't know how to survive the fall." His eyes locked onto Severen's. "You make her yield, but you let her up after. You pin her, but you don't break her. That's the lesson she needs."
"If the Queen finds out—"
"Athelia already knows." Alexander's voice was calm. Certain. "She watches from the tower sometimes. Hasn't said a word against it." He stepped back, hand falling from Severen's shoulder. "My wife understands that our daughter needs to learn how to lose. How to be beaten. How to get back up."
He turned to leave, then paused. Looked back.
"Too gentle, Severen. If anything, you're still too gentle with her. Don't hold back because of who she is. She'll never respect you if you do." His grey eyes glinted. "And she'll never forgive you for it either."
Alexander walked away, leaving Severen standing alone in the training grounds with wooden blades in his hands and the King's permission ringing in his ears like absolution.
Or damnation.
He'd be there tomorrow at dawn anyway.
Zara sat on the cushioned bench while Lala worked through her hair, weaving the intricate braids she'd need for the Council session that afternoon. Formal presentation to the fifteen lords required full royal regalia—including the complex crown braid that took an hour to create properly.
Across the room, a young servant—maybe sixteen—laid out Zara's formal gown. Deep crimson silk with gold embroidery along the bodice. The ceremonial piece she wore when representing the crown at official functions.
"Not that one," Zara said sharply. "The emerald. Crimson makes me look washed out."
The girl froze. "Your Highness, the Council protocol specifies—"
"I don't care what the protocol specifies. I'm not wearing that color. Get the emerald."
Lala's hands stilled in Zara's hair. "The crimson is traditional for Council presentations. You know this."
"Traditions can be updated." Zara's ears flicked back irritably. "The emerald looks better. That's what matters."
"What matters," Lala said quietly, "is that you're about to walk into a room full of lords who already think you're arrogant. Showing up in the wrong color gown isn't going to help."
"They think I'm arrogant because I'm smarter than they are. The dress color won't change that."
Lala yanked on the braid she was working on. Hard.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"For being unnecessarily difficult about everything. Wear the crimson. Follow protocol. Try—just for one afternoon—not to give them reasons to criticize you."
Zara huffed but didn't argue further. Lala was right, even if she hated admitting it.
They worked in comfortable silence for a while, Lala's practiced hands weaving the complex crown braid while Zara tried not to think about the fact that this morning's sparring session had ended with Severen on top of her for the third time this week. About the way he'd looked at her before releasing her. About the fact that her breath had caught when his weight settled against her.
She definitely wasn't thinking about any of that.
Lala secured the last braid and stepped back. "There. Formal enough for fifteen lords."
Zara stood, letting the servant help her into the crimson silk. The gown was heavier than her usual clothes—weighted with gold embroidery and the expectation of royal dignity.
"Try not to insult anyone during the session," Lala said. "Just for one afternoon."
"I make no promises."
Zara arrived at the Council chamber precisely on time. The massive oak doors stood open, council members already seated around the long table. Her parents occupied the head—Athelia resplendent in Guardian Queen regalia, Alexander in formal military dress with his crown catching the afternoon light.
And Severen, standing to Athelia's right in formal robes she'd never seen him wear. Black silk embroidered with silver examination seals. The uniform of a Master Patent Examiner attending official proceedings.
She stepped through the doorway.
Severen's eyes locked onto her immediately. His breath caught—audible in the sudden quiet. Every line of his body went still.
Because Zara looked like a princess.
Not the training-ground fighter he'd pinned to the dirt that morning. This was Zara as royalty—crimson silk molded to her form, gold embroidery tracing along her collarbones and down her spine, her dark hair woven into the complex crown braid that marked her as heir's daughter. Formal. Untouchable. Absolutely devastating.
His sapphire eyes went dark. His hands fisted at his sides.
She saw it. The want. The hunger. The way he had to physically force himself to look away.
Good.
"Princess Zara," Lord Harwick said formally. "Please be seated."
The protocol was clear: junior royals sat at the end of the table, farthest from the throne. Zara walked past her assigned seat and took the chair immediately to her mother's left instead. The Council advisor's seat. The position reserved for senior members.
Several council members exchanged glances. Lady Vex's eyebrows rose.
Athelia's expression didn't change, but her emerald eyes flicked to Zara with quiet warning.
Severen spoke without looking up from the documents before him. His voice was perfectly level. "Princess, you're in the wrong seat."
"I'm in my mother's advisory position. Seems appropriate since I'll be advising."
"The protocol for Council seating is established by Royal Decree forty-seven, section three. Junior royals—"
"Are permitted to request alternative seating with presiding monarch approval." Zara turned to her mother. "Do I have your approval, Your Majesty?"
Athelia was quiet for a long moment. Then: "You may remain. For now."
Zara settled into the chair with satisfaction. Caught Severen's eyes across the table.
He was looking at her like he wanted to drag her out of that chair and—
Then his expression went neutral. Professional. He returned his attention to his documents.
Lord Harwick cleared his throat. "As I was saying before the Princess arrived, the grain subsidy proposal requires—"
"Seventeen percent increase to offset the southern drought," Zara interrupted. "Except your calculations don't account for the reduced water table measurements from the latest geological surveys. It should be thirty percent minimum, with contingency reserves."
Harwick's face reddened. "Princess, the speaking order—"
"Recognized speakers must yield the floor before alternate speakers may address the Council," Severen said quietly. Still not looking at her. "Lord Harwick had not yielded."
Zara's ears flicked back. "I was providing relevant data—"
"Out of turn." Now he looked at her. Sapphire eyes steady. "Apologize to Lord Harwick and wait to be recognized."
The table went silent. Every council member watching.
Zara's tail lashed once beneath the table. "Royal Decree sixty-two permits immediate intervention when presented data contains material errors that could impact kingdom welfare. I was exercising that provision."
Severen's lips curved slightly. Not quite a smile. "You want to fight with law, Princess?"
"I want to correct obvious mistakes before the Council makes decisions based on incomplete information."
"Admirable." He set down his documents. Gave her his full attention. "Unfortunately, you've just violated Council Protocol Four: interruption of recognized speakers without presiding monarch approval. And technically Protocol Five as well, though I choose not to invoke that one."
Zara frowned. "What's Protocol Five?"
"Irrelevant, since I'm not invoking it." His eyes glinted. "But you should familiarize yourself with the full protocol document before citing provisions selectively."
Her claws extended slightly, scraping against the table's underside. "Royal Decree sixty-two supersedes internal Council protocols when kingdom welfare is at risk—"
"Only if the presiding monarch agrees the risk threshold has been met. Does Her Majesty agree?"
All eyes turned to Athelia.
Athelia looked at her daughter. Her expression was unreadable. "No. The risk threshold has not been met. Zara, apologize to Lord Harwick."
Zara's ears flattened completely. "You're siding with him?"
"I'm enforcing protocols that exist for a reason." Athelia's voice was gentle but firm. "Apologize."
Zara stared at her mother. Then at Severen, who was watching her with that same patient, waiting expression. Like he knew exactly what she'd do next and had all the time in the world to let her make her choice.
"No."
The word fell into silence.
Severen stood. Moved around the table with deliberate calm. "Princess. A word. In private."
"We're in the middle of a session—"
"Now." Not loud. Not harsh. Just absolutely unyielding.
He walked toward the far corner of the chamber—away from the table but still within sight of all fifteen council members. Stopped at the wall. Waited.
Zara didn't move.
"Zara." Her father's voice. Quiet command. "Go."
She stood. Walked over to where Severen waited. Every eye in the room following her. The crimson silk whispered against the stone floor.
When she reached him, he moved—fast enough that she barely saw it coming. One hand caught her upper arm. The other planted flat against the wall beside her head. He crowded her back into the corner, his full body blocking her from easy escape, and leaned in close enough that his breath warmed her ear.
"You will apologize," he said quietly. His voice was perfectly level. Perfectly controlled. "You will follow protocols. And you will stop testing how far you can push before someone stops you."
"You're proving my point." Zara kept her voice steady despite her racing heart. "Royal Decree eighteen, section six: public correction of royal family members by non-royal advisors requires private setting. You're violating protocol right now."
His jaw tightened. For a moment she thought she'd won.
Then he smiled. Slow and dangerous. "Council Protocol Five: betrothed parties are granted disciplinary authority over each other during official proceedings, superseding standard hierarchy."
Zara's breath stopped. "What?"
"The provision you don't know exists because you've never bothered to learn the complete protocol document." He leaned closer. "The one I chose not to invoke earlier to spare you the embarrassment of learning about our betrothal in front of the entire Council."
"We're not—" But her voice came out wrong. Uncertain.
"We are. Have been since before you were born. Contract signed by both families. Recognized by Council law." His sapphire eyes locked onto hers. "I've been waiting for you to be ready. Clearly, that was a mistake."
Behind them, she heard Lord Harwick whisper to Lady Vex: "Did you know?"
"Everyone knows," Vex whispered back. "Except apparently her."
Zara's tail lashed. Her claws extended fully. "You don't get to—"
"I do. Under Protocol Five, I am exercising my right to correct your behavior during official proceedings." His hand tightened on her arm. "Now. You have two choices. Apologize to Lord Harwick and return to your proper seat. Or refuse, and I will invoke my full authority as your betrothed to remove you from this session entirely."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Test me."
The temperature in the room dropped. Every council member leaned forward slightly. Watching. Waiting.
Zara looked past Severen's shoulder to her parents. Her father's expression was unreadable. Her mother's eyes held something that might have been sympathy. Or approval. Or both.
Neither of them intervened.
She looked back at Severen. At those ancient sapphire eyes that had watched kingdoms rise and fall. At the man who'd pinned her to the ground that morning and made her yield. Who'd looked at her in a towel like she was the only thing in the world that mattered. Who was now publicly claiming authority over her in front of the entire governing Council.
"I hate you," she whispered.
"I know." His voice gentled. "Apologize anyway."
For a long moment, she just stared at him. Then she stepped away from the wall—he let her, moving back to give her space—and turned to face the Council table.
"Lord Harwick." Her voice came out cold. Clipped. "I apologize for interrupting your presentation."
Harwick looked stunned. "I—yes. Apology accepted, Your Highness."
Zara walked to the far end of the table. To her proper seat. Sat down with rigid dignity. Kept her eyes forward. Didn't look at Severen. Didn't look at anyone.
Her face burned. Her tail bristled. And under the formal crimson silk, her heart pounded so hard she could hear it in her ears.
Severen returned to his position beside Athelia. Perfectly composed. As if he hadn't just publicly claimed her in front of fifteen witnesses.
"Continue, Lord Harwick," Athelia said calmly.
The session resumed. Zara sat through the rest of it in furious silence. Didn't speak. Didn't move. Just sat there in her formal gown feeling the weight of every eye that occasionally flicked her direction.
When the session finally ended, she was the first one out the door.
Zara slammed the door hard enough to rattle the frame. Her ears were flat. Her tail bristled. The crimson gown suddenly felt too tight, too heavy, a costume marking her as the fool who didn't know her own life.
"Bath," she snapped at the young servant girl—the same one from this morning. "Now. And make it hot."
The girl curtsied quickly. "Yes, Your Highness. Right away."
She hurried toward the adjoining bathing chamber, but not fast enough for Zara's mood.
"Faster," Zara said sharply. "Or do you need written instructions on how to draw a bath?"
The girl's hands trembled as she worked the water pump. Some of it splashed onto the floor.
"Careful! Are you trying to flood my chambers?"
"I'm sorry, Your Highness, I just—"
"Just what? Just can't perform a simple task without making a mess?"
Lala appeared in the doorway, took one look at Zara's face, and dismissed the servant with a gentle wave. "I'll handle this. Go."
The girl fled.
Lala closed the door, leaned against it, and crossed her arms. "What happened?"
"Nothing." Zara yanked at the gold embroidery along her collar. The fastenings were complex, designed to require assistance. She didn't care. She pulled harder.
"You're about to rip a dress that cost more than that girl makes in a year. So clearly something happened."
"I'm BETROTHED." The word came out like a snarl. "Have been since before I was born. To Severen. And everyone—EVERYONE—knew except me."
Lala's expression shifted. Not surprised. Sympathetic.
"You knew," Zara said flatly.
"Everyone knew, Zara. It's not exactly a secret. The contract was signed by both families twenty-five years ago."
"Then why didn't anyone TELL me?"
"Because Severen asked them not to. He wanted you to come to him freely. Not because you were obligated." Lala moved to help with the dress fastenings. "He's been waiting for you to see him. To choose him."
"And instead he humiliated me in front of the entire Council." Zara's voice cracked. "Invoked some protocol I didn't know existed. Made me look like a fool."
"You violated protocol first. He just called you on it."
"Whose side are you on?"
"Yours. Always yours." Lala's hands were gentle as she worked the fastenings loose. "But being on your side doesn't mean lying to you. You were rude. You interrupted. You sat in the wrong seat. And when he corrected you, you fought him with law—not because you were right, but because you hate being told you're wrong."
Zara stepped out of the dress, down to her underthings, and sank into the bath Lala had finished drawing. The water was hot. Almost too hot. Good.
"Everyone was staring at me," she said quietly. "Whispering. 'Everyone knows. Except apparently her.' Like I'm the idiot princess who can't see what's right in front of her face."
"You are brilliant, Zara. But you're also blind to anything that doesn't fit your view of the world." Lala sat on the edge of the bath. "Severen has been showing you for five years. And you refused to see it because it was easier to keep him in the 'stern mentor' box than to deal with what he actually wants."
"What he wants?" Zara's tail lashed in the water. "He gets to WANT things from me? Without even asking?"
"He's been asking. You just haven't been listening."
A knock at the door.
"Enter," Zara called without thinking, still focused on the conversation.
The door opened.
Severen stepped inside.
His sapphire eyes—old eyes, eyes that had seen kingdoms rise and fall—locked on hers immediately. Then dropped, taking in the bath, the towel Lala had draped over the edge, Zara's bare shoulders above the water line, her long dark hair loose and wet.
His jaw clenched so hard she heard something crack. His hands fisted at his sides. The air in the room suddenly felt charged, dangerous.
For three seconds he stood utterly still. And in those three seconds, Zara saw something in those ancient eyes she'd never let herself acknowledge before.
Hunger.
Raw, barely-restrained hunger.
Then his control slammed back into place like a gate closing. His gaze snapped up to a point above her head.
"Your parents wish a word, Princess." His voice came out rougher than normal, each word precisely controlled. "Throne room. Now."
He turned and left before she could respond, the door closing with careful precision.
Zara stared at the closed door, her heart beating strangely fast.
"See?" Lala said quietly. "Not a teacher looking at his student. That was a man who wanted to cross this room and didn't trust himself to stay where he was."
"He looked... angry."
"He looked like he was fighting himself. There's a difference." Lala handed her the towel. "Get dressed. Your parents are waiting."
Zara climbed out of the bath, wrapped the towel around herself. Her hands were shaking slightly.
Because Lala was right.
That wasn't anger in Severen's eyes.
It was hunger.
And she had no idea what to do with that.
Zara paced the corridor outside the throne room. She'd dressed quickly—simple tunic and leggings, her hair still damp and loose. Her ears were flat. Her tail lashed.
Betrothed. BETROTHED. Since before she was born.
And everyone knew except her.
The throne room doors were slightly ajar. She heard voices inside.
"Twenty-five years, Severen. You've been patient. More patient than you should have been."
Zara froze.
Severen's voice, low and strained: "She's not ready. She still sees me as her mentor. The man who corrected her footwork this morning. Not—"
"Not the man you are." Her father's voice. "The problem is you've been too gentle. Too willing to wait."
"I wanted her to choose freely when she was ready." Severen's tone was tight. Controlled. "The contract says she's mine. But I don't want a woman who comes to me because she's obligated."
Contract? Zara pressed closer to the door.
"Then what do you want?" Athelia asked.
Silence. Long enough that Zara's heart started pounding.
"I want her to see me." Severen's voice was rough. Raw. "Not as her teacher. Not as her parents' advisor. As a man who's been waiting for her since before she drew breath. Who's watched her grow from a stubborn cub into a brilliant, fierce, infuriating woman. Who stands outside practice yards just to watch her move. Who wants to throw every lord who looks at her off the nearest cliff."
Zara's breath caught.
"And?" Alexander prompted.
"And she has no idea. Five years of hinting. Five years of looking at her like she's the only thing in the room that matters. And she still sees me as the stern mentor who tells her she's being a brat."
"Because she is being a brat," Athelia said. "She snapped at a servant this afternoon. Insulted Lord Harwick in open court. She's arrogant and dismissive and convinced she's always right."
"I know." And there was something in Severen's voice—fond exasperation mixed with hunger. "Doesn't change what I want."
"Then take her north. Invoke the contract. Make her understand—"
"No." Sharp. Final. "Not like that. When she comes to me, it will be because she chooses to. Not because her mother ordered it."
"You're too honorable for your own good," Alexander muttered.
"Perhaps." A pause. "But I've waited twenty-five years. I can wait a little longer for her to open her eyes."
"And if she doesn't?" Athelia's voice was sharp. "How long are you willing to wait, Severen? Another five years? Ten? Until she finally notices you? Or until she accepts some lesser lord's proposal because she's too blind to see what's right in front of her?"
The silence that followed was heavy.
"She won't." Severen's voice was absolutely certain. "She's too smart to settle. And when she's ready—when she's grown past the arrogance and the need to dominate every conversation—she'll see me. And she'll choose me."
"Your faith in my daughter is touching," Athelia said dryly. "Possibly misplaced. But touching."
Zara's hands clenched at her sides. She should leave. Should walk away. Should not be listening to this.
But she couldn't move.
"What if we send her away?" Alexander said slowly. "Not as punishment. As a test. Let her prove she's ready to lead."
"Where?"
"The borderlands. Have her found a village. Establish governance. Actually build something instead of just criticizing how others do it."
"Alone?" Severen's voice went sharp.
"She's trained for this," Athelia said. "She's a capable fighter. She knows law and governance. And maybe..." A pause. "Maybe she needs to fail. Just once. To realize she's not invincible."
"The borderlands are dangerous—"
"Which is why you'll follow her." Alexander's tone was matter-of-fact. "At a distance. Close enough to intervene if she gets in real trouble. Far enough that she doesn't know you're there."
"You want me to shadow her?"
"I want you to let her think she's doing this alone. Let her struggle. Let her realize that being brilliant and fierce doesn't mean she doesn't need people. And when she inevitably gets herself into trouble she can't fight her way out of..." Athelia's voice went soft. "You'll be there. And maybe then she'll finally see you."
Zara's heart was pounding so hard she was sure they could hear it through the door.
Severen's voice, quiet: "And if she doesn't? If I save her and she's just... angry that I was following her?"
"Then you'll know she's not ready," Athelia said gently. "And you wait. Like you've been doing."
Another long silence.
"All right." Severen's voice was resigned. "Send her north. I'll follow."
Zara stepped back from the door. Her mind was racing. Contract. Betrothal. His since before she was born. Five years of wanting her. Following at a distance.
She should be furious. Should storm in there and confront all three of them.
Instead she just felt... off balance. Like the entire world had tilted and she was still trying to find her footing.
She took a breath. Squared her shoulders. Shoved the doors open.
Both men turned sharply.
Severen's entire body tensed. He immediately moved to his formal position beside Athelia's throne, shoulders rigid, jaw locked. His expression was carefully neutral. But his eyes—those ancient sapphire eyes—locked on hers with an intensity that made her breath catch.
Alexander settled back, exchanged a look with his wife.
Athelia's emerald eyes were cool. Assessing. "How long have you been listening?"
Zara lifted her chin. "Long enough."
"Then you know what we're going to say." Athelia gestured to the chair before the throne. "Sit."
"I'd rather stand."
"That wasn't a request."
Zara's ears flattened, but she sat. Her mind was still racing. Contract. Betrothed. His. Following at a distance.
"You've been reckless," Athelia said. "Dismissive of protocol. Arrogant toward the council."
"I'm better than—"
"Enough." Not Alpha command. Worse. Guardian Queen command. The voice that made examiners across kingdoms submit their applications trembling.
Zara's mouth clicked shut.
"You think you're ready to lead?" Athelia continued. "Prove it."
"What?"
"You will ride into the borderlands. You will found a village. Establish its laws, recruit settlers, create governance. You will be its head."
Zara stared. This was the test. The one they'd just been discussing. "You want me to go alone?"
"Do you need someone to hold your hand?" Athelia's tone was sharp. "You're a trained fighter. You know law and governance. You've been telling us for years that you're ready to lead. Now's your chance to prove it."
Heat crawled up Zara's neck. "Fine. I'll build your village. Alone. And when I do—"
"When you do," Alexander said quietly, "you'll have proven you're more than just a brilliant fighter with a sharp tongue. You'll have proven you can build something instead of just criticizing how others do it."
Zara's gaze flicked to Severen. He was watching her with that same intense focus. Like he was memorizing every detail. Every reaction.
She looked away first. Hated herself for it.
"How long do I have?"
"As long as it takes." Athelia leaned forward. "But understand this: You leave at dawn. You go alone. You don't come back until you've established a functioning village with at least twenty settlers, working governance, and trade agreements with surrounding territories."
"That could take months—"
"Then it takes months." Athelia's voice was final. "You wanted to prove you're ready to lead? This is how."
Zara stood. "Fine. I'll do it. And when I come back—"
"When you come back," Athelia said softly, "we'll see if you've learned anything."
Zara turned to go. Paused at the door. Looked back at Severen.
He was still watching her. Still hadn't moved.
She wanted to say something. Ask about the contract. The betrothal. The five years of wanting her.
Instead she just turned and left.
Silence filled the throne room.
Alexander looked at Severen. "She heard everything."
"I know." Severen's voice was tight.
"And she said nothing about it." Athelia leaned back in her throne. "Didn't confront you. Didn't ask about the contract. Just... left."
"She's processing." Severen moved to the window, looked out toward the northern mountains. "She knows I want her. She knows about the betrothal. And she's waiting to see what I'll do."
"So you'll follow her?" Alexander asked.
Severen was quiet for a long moment. Staring at those northern mountains. At the road Zara would take at dawn.
"No," he said finally.
Athelia sat forward. "What?"
"I'm not following her." He turned from the window. His face was carefully neutral. But his eyes—those ancient sapphire eyes—held something raw. "She heard me say I want her to choose me. That I don't want a woman who comes to me because she's obligated." He paused. "Following her makes me a liar."
"The borderlands are dangerous—" Alexander started.
"I know. Centaur patrols. Rogue wolves. Bandits." Severen's jaw tightened. "And she's trained for all of it. She's brilliant. Capable. One of the best fighters I've ever trained. She can handle this."
"Can she?" Athelia's voice was sharp. "Or are you gambling with my daughter's life to prove a point?"
"I'm trusting her." The words came out harder than intended. "Something I should have done from the start instead of planning to shadow her like she's a cub who can't handle herself."
He crossed to the door. Paused. Looked back at them.
"She needs to do this alone. To prove—to herself, not to us—that she can lead. That she can build something. That she doesn't need constant protection." His hand tightened on the door frame. "And I need to let her. Even if it kills me to watch her ride away."
"Where will you go?" Alexander asked quietly.
"South. The Underworld Veil has been unstable. There are... issues... that need my attention." Severen's expression went grim. "Issues I've been neglecting because I've been too focused on a woman who doesn't even see me."
"How long will you be gone?" Athelia's voice was careful.
"Weeks. Maybe a month." He met her eyes. "Long enough for Zara to found her village. To prove herself. To come back successful and ready to lead."
"And if something goes wrong?" Alexander's voice was low. "If she gets in trouble and you're not there?"
Severen's expression didn't change. But something flickered in his eyes. Fear. Carefully controlled. "Then you'll go. You're her father. She respects you. And centaurs honor treaty law—they won't harm the King's daughter without cause."
He opened the door.
"Severen." Athelia's voice stopped him. "If you're doing this to give her space... that's wise. But if you're doing this because you're afraid she'll never choose you..." She paused. "That's cowardice."
He looked back. His smile was bitter. "Maybe it's both."
And then he was gone.
Alexander looked at his wife. "He's not going south."
"No." Athelia's voice was quiet. "He's going to stand in that tower window and watch her leave at dawn. And then he's going to torture himself for a month wondering if he made the right choice."
"Should I follow her? Without telling him?"
Athelia was quiet for a long moment. "No. He's right. She needs to do this alone. And we need to trust that she can." She met her husband's eyes. "But keep a runner ready. If something goes wrong, we go immediately."
"And Severen?"
"We don't tell him. Not unless we have to." Athelia's expression was grim. "He's waited twenty-five years for her. He can wait a few more weeks."
Zara closed the door quietly behind her.
Lala was sitting by the fire, reading. She looked up. "How did it—" She stopped. "Zara?"
Zara didn't answer. Just crossed to her wardrobe and started pulling out travel gear. The good cloak, the one that shed water. Her sturdy boots, already broken in. Spare clothes that could take abuse.
"What happened?" Lala set her book down.
"I'm leaving at dawn." Zara's voice was controlled. Too controlled. "Borderlands. Founding a village. Proving I can lead."
"That's... actually a good test." Lala came closer. "Who's going with you?"
"No one. I'm going alone."
Lala's eyes widened. "The borderlands are dangerous—"
"I know." Zara threw a tunic onto the bed. Then another. "Which is apparently the point. Prove I can handle it alone or don't come back."
"Your parents are sending you into the borderlands alone?" Lala's voice went sharp. "That's not a test, that's—"
"It's what I deserve, apparently." Zara grabbed her pack from the wardrobe floor. "For being arrogant. Dismissive. Too convinced I'm always right."
She started packing methodically. Tunics rolled tight. Spare trousers. Thick socks. Her hands moved automatically while her mind was still back in that throne room, pressed against the door, listening.
I want her to see me.
Five years of looking at her like she's the only thing in the room that matters.
When she comes to me, it will be because she chooses to.
"Zara." Lala's voice was gentle. "What really happened?"
Zara's hands stilled on the pack. She could tell Lala. Tell her about the overheard conversation. The contract. The betrothal. Severen wanting her for five years. Him planning to follow her.
But something stopped her.
This was... hers. Whatever this was. This knowledge that Severen—ancient, powerful, patient Severen—wanted her. Had been wanting her. Had been waiting for her to see him.
"They want me to prove myself," Zara said finally. "Build a village. Recruit settlers. Establish governance. Actually accomplish something instead of just criticizing how everyone else does it."
"And you're going alone."
"Yes."
Lala watched her for a long moment. "You're lying."
"I'm not—"
"Not about the village. About something else. Something that happened in that throne room that you're not telling me."
Zara looked at her best friend. At the person who'd known her since they were cubs. Who could read her better than anyone except—
Except Severen.
"I overheard something," Zara said slowly. "Before I went in. They were talking. About... me."
"And?"
"And I need to process it alone." Zara went back to packing. "I leave at dawn. Alone. That's all you need to know."
Lala was quiet for a moment. Then: "Does this have something to do with Severen?"
Zara's hands tightened on the shirt she was folding.
"I'll take that as a yes." Lala sat on the edge of the bed. "You know everyone sees how he looks at you, right? The whole court knows he—"
"I know." The words came out sharper than Zara intended. "I know, Lala. I'm apparently the only person in this entire kingdom who didn't notice. But I know now. And I need to..." She paused. "I need to figure out what I'm going to do about it."
"Are you going to do anything about it?"
Zara thought about Severen's voice through the door. When she's ready—when she's grown past the arrogance—she'll see me. And she'll choose me.
"I don't know," she said honestly. "Right now I need to go north. Build a village. Prove I can lead. And... think."
Lala studied her. "You're different. Since you came back from that throne room. Quieter."
"I'm processing."
"Processing what Severen said? Or processing how you feel about him?"
Zara didn't answer. Just finished packing her gear and laid out her travel clothes for the morning.
"You leave at dawn?" Lala asked finally.
"Yes."
"Then get some sleep. The borderlands are hard riding. You'll need your strength."
Lala hugged her tight. "Come back safe, Zara. Whatever happens out there—come back."
Zara hugged her back. "I will."
But as she lay in bed hours later, staring at the ceiling, sleep wouldn't come.
Her mind kept replaying Severen's voice. I want her to see me.
And the terrifying thing was... now that she'd heard it, she couldn't un-see him.
The way he stood outside practice yards. The way he looked at her suitors. The way his jaw had clenched this afternoon when he'd seen her in that towel.
All the pieces clicking into place.
And the knowledge that he'd be following her north. Watching. Waiting to see if she needed him.
Part of her wanted to be furious about it. The arrogance. The assumption that she'd need rescue.
But another part—a part she wasn't ready to examine too closely—felt something else entirely.
Safe.
The stable yard smelled of horse and leather and hay dust.
Zara was there before dawn, had been for an hour, checking and rechecking her gear. Storm—her gray mare, temperamental and fast and hers—stamped impatiently in the predawn dark.
Saddlebags. Dried meat, waterskins, flint and steel, bedroll, rope, knife, whetstone. Everything she'd need.
Everything to prove she could do this alone.
She swung into the saddle. The leather creaked. Storm shifted under her, eager.
The stable yard was empty. No one to see her off. No Severen standing there with last-minute advice she didn't want.
Good.
She gathered the reins. Touched her heels to Storm's sides. The mare moved forward smoothly.
At the gate, Zara paused. Looked back once at the palace. Dark windows. Silent towers.
Then she turned Storm north and rode.
The sun climbed. The palace fell behind.
Zara rode through familiar territory. Past farms, past the miller's house, into forest. The King's Road narrowed to a dirt track.
By midday, she'd reached the borderlands. The forest grew thicker here. Wilder. The road barely visible beneath fallen leaves.
Storm's ears flicked constantly. Alert. Sensing something.
Zara's hand moved to her knife. Just checking it was there.
The forest had gone quiet. No bird calls. No rustling.
Wrong.
She reined Storm in. Listened.
Nothing. Just... silence.
When the forest goes quiet, something dangerous is near.
Severen's voice in her head. Patient. Firm.
She should turn back. But the trail behind her was narrow. Turning Storm would take time.
Forward was faster.
She touched her heels to Storm's sides. The mare moved forward reluctantly.
The trail opened into a clearing.
Six centaurs stood waiting. Armed. In formation.
Zara reined Storm in hard. The mare stopped, snorting, dancing sideways.
Six centaurs. Three males, three females. Spears. Bows. Swords at their hips.
Border patrol. Territorial guard.
She'd crossed into centaur lands without permission.
Slowly, carefully, she raised her hands. Palms out. "I'm traveling north. I didn't realize I'd crossed your border. I mean no trespass."
The lead centaur—male, gray-flecked coat, old scar across his chest—stepped forward. "You crossed it two miles ago. Armed. Alone. Without permission."
"I apologize. I'll turn back—"
"Too late for that." His hand stayed on his spear. "By treaty law, armed trespass requires captivity until restitution is paid."
Zara's jaw tightened. "I'm not anyone's prisoner."
"Then you should have stayed on your own lands." The younger female centaur moved to flank her. "Dismount."
Zara's mind raced. Six against one. Storm was fast, but not faster than arrows. The trail behind was narrow—she'd never make it.
Fight or submit. Choose.
She chose fight.
Zara wheeled Storm hard to the left, toward the gap between two centaurs. If she could break through their line, get back to the forest—
An arrow whistled past her ear. Warning shot.
Storm reared, panicking. Zara held on, barely, grabbed mane and leather as the mare twisted.
Two centaurs moved to block the gap. Spears lowered. Not to kill—to stop.
Zara pulled her knife. Not to kill either. Just to defend. To buy time until—
Until Severen shows up.
The thought came automatically. He was following. She knew he was. An hour behind, maybe less. He'd hear the commotion. He'd come.
She just had to hold out.
Zara kicked Storm forward, knife ready. The mare charged the left centaur, the smaller male—
He sidestepped with fluid grace. His spear shaft swung low, caught Storm's front legs.
The mare went down.
Zara kicked free of the stirrups, rolled as she hit the ground. Training took over. Roll. Come up fighting. Knife ready.
Three centaurs surrounded her now. Storm scrambled to her feet, wild-eyed, and bolted into the forest.
"Stand down," the lead centaur said. "You're outnumbered. Outmatched. This doesn't have to be violent."
"I'm not surrendering." Zara circled, keeping all three in view. "I'm a princess of the Western Kingdom. You have no right—"
"We have treaty right." He nodded to the others.
They moved as one. Coordinated. Trained.
Zara slashed at the closest one. Her blade caught armor, scraped off. The centaur's arm came up, blocked her next strike. Impossibly strong.
Behind her—she spun, slashed blind. Felt her knife connect with something. A grunt. First blood.
But not enough.
A spear shaft hit her from the side. Not the point—the flat. Knocked the wind out of her, sent her staggering.
Another centaur grabbed her knife arm. Twisted. Not breaking—just controlling. Her fingers went numb. The knife fell.
She kicked hard, claws out, aimed for the centaur's flank—
Caught her ankle. Pulled. She went down hard, back hitting earth.
Three centaurs surrounded her. One held her knife arm. Another her ankle. The third had a spear point at her throat. Not touching. Just... ready.
"Yield," the lead centaur said quietly. "This is over."
Zara's eyes darted to the forest. To the trail. Waiting. Watching.
Where is he?
Severen should be here by now. Should have heard the fight. Should have—
Nothing. No hoofbeats. No shout. No rescue.
Just silence.
"I said yield." The spear point pressed closer. Not breaking skin. But the threat was clear.
Zara's jaw tightened. She could keep fighting. Could shift form, go full wolf, try to break free—
And get killed. Six against one. In their territory. With weapons at her throat.
She stopped struggling. "I yield."
The spear point withdrew. The grip on her arm and ankle loosened.
"Smart choice," the lead centaur said. "On your feet."
Zara stood slowly. Her ribs ached where the spear shaft had hit. Her wrist throbbed. But nothing broken. They'd been careful. Professional.
The younger female approached with rope. "Hands behind your back."
"That's not necessary—"
"You just tried to fight your way through six trained warriors." The lead centaur's voice was dry. "The rope is necessary."
Zara put her hands behind her back. The rope went around her wrists. Not painfully tight. But secure.
"Your name," the lead centaur said. "And who speaks for you."
She could lie. But lying to centaurs was its own treaty violation.
"Zara. Princess Zara." She met his eyes. "Alexander Hartwood, King of the Western Territories, speaks for me."
Silence. The centaurs exchanged glances.
"The Guardian Queen's heir," the lead centaur said slowly. "Traveling alone. Armed. In our territory without permission."
"I didn't know I'd crossed—"
"The border markers are clear. Stone cairns every quarter mile. You passed four of them." His expression didn't change. "Come. We're taking you to the settlement. Your king will be summoned. Restitution will be negotiated."
They led her into the forest. Away from the road. Deeper into centaur territory.
And with every step, Zara kept looking back. Waiting. Expecting.
But Severen never came.
The centaur settlement appeared gradually. Stone structures built into a hillside. Defensive. Old. Permanent.
They took her to a low building at the edge. Stone walls. Heavy wooden door. No windows.
The lead centaur cut her wrist bindings. "You will wait here. Food and water will be provided. Do not attempt escape. The penalty is severe."
"How long?"
"Until your king arrives. Two days. Maybe three."
The door closed. Heavy bolt sliding into place. Darkness.
Zara stood still, letting her eyes adjust. Ten feet by ten feet. Stone floor. Stone walls. A bucket. A water skin. Nothing else.
She started pacing. Three steps one direction. Turn. Three steps back.
He didn't come. Severen didn't come.
She'd been so certain. So absolutely sure he'd be following. That he'd save her. That he'd—
But he hadn't.
Which meant either he truly hadn't followed her. Or he had, and chose not to intervene.
Both options felt like betrayal.
Zara stopped pacing. Pressed her palms against the cold stone wall.
Think. What did Severen teach you about treaty law?
The centaur treaty. Section Three dealt with border violations. Armed trespass by nobles required restitution paid by the noble's lord...
She resumed pacing. Faster now.
There was a clause. Subsection something. Armed trespass could be forgiven if the trespasser was pursuing a mutual enemy...
She sat down against the wall. Started going through every treaty lesson. Every clause. Every subsection.
Hours passed. Or maybe minutes. Time felt strange in the darkness.
The sound of hoofbeats outside. Voices. The bolt sliding back.
Zara stood immediately.
The door opened. Torchlight flooded in.
The lead centaur stood there. And beside him, a wolf in royal livery. One of her father's messengers.
Garrett. She knew him.
"Princess Zara." His voice was formal. "I bring word from King Alexander Hartwood."
Relief crashed through her. "He's coming—"
"He is not."
The words hit like stones.
Garrett handed her a sealed letter. She broke it with shaking hands.
Zara—
The centaurs have invoked treaty law. Section Three. Armed trespass. The restitution is significant—three hundred gold marks.
I will not pay it.
Not because I don't value you. But because you don't need me for this.
You were trained by the best. You know treaty law. You have everything you need to solve this yourself.
Use your mind, Zara. Not your claws. Not your charm. Your mind.
You have two days. If you haven't resolved this, I'll come. I'll pay. And you'll have learned a different lesson.
But I'm betting you figure it out.
—Your Father
Zara read it twice. Three times.
He wasn't coming. He was trusting her to solve this alone.
"Tell my father," she said carefully, "that I understand. And I will see him in two days. With this matter resolved."
The door closed. The bolt slid home. Darkness again.
But this time, Zara wasn't afraid.
She sat back down. Closed her eyes. And started going through every clause, every subsection, every loophole.
She had two days.
She'd need four hours.