Lyria's POV
As I stood there, my fingers clenched tightly around the hilt of the wooden sword, a rush of exhilaration mixed with anxiety coursed through me. Raven stepped into position, her presence commanding the air around us. The world faded away, blurring into a hazy backdrop that encompassed nothing but her. The rough stone beneath my feet, the vast expanse of the sky above, even Kara, who leaned casually against a nearby wall—everything dissolved until only Raven remained. She was a picture of calm confidence, a striking contrast to the exhaustion etched into her features.
"All right," Raven said evenly, her voice steady and reassuring. "We'll start with basic form. Princess, show me your stance."
I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. This was it, the moment I had both longed for and dreaded. With a deep breath, I lifted the sword, recalling the countless times Raven had instructed me. I positioned my feet just as she had taught: left foot forward, knees slightly bent, back straight.
Yet, even as I settled into the stance, something felt amiss.
Raven began to circle me, her movements graceful and almost ethereal. The sound of her footsteps was a whisper against the ground, a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in my mind. I could sense her proximity, her presence enveloping me, sending shivers of awareness down my spine.
"No," she said gently, her voice cutting through my thoughts. "Your shoulders are too tense."
Before I could even process her words, Raven's hand came to rest on my shoulder. The contact was fleeting, professional, and yet it ignited an unexpected warmth that spread through me. I felt my breath hitch in my throat, as if I had been struck by an unseen force. How could such a simple touch send my heart racing, leaving me both exhilarated and terrified?
"Relax," Raven continued, her voice calm and focused, blissfully unaware of the confusion she stirred within me. "You're holding the sword like it's already fighting back."
I managed a nod, though the effort felt monumental. "I'll try," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
When she stepped back, the absence of her hand was jarring, a stark reminder of the electric connection that had just flickered between us. We began again, and Raven demonstrated a simple strike—clean, efficient, controlled. I tried to mirror her movement, but my blade wavered, dipping too low.
"Again," she said patiently, her tone unwavering.
I swung once more, but my efforts were still lacking. Too slow, too hesitant. Raven blocked easily, our wooden swords clashing with a dull crack that echoed through the yard, a sound that felt both familiar and foreign.
Kara's laughter rang out from the side. "Careful, Your Highness. At that speed, she'll fall asleep before you hit her."
I shot Kara an annoyed look, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. I could do this. I had to do this.
Determined, I tried again. This time, in my eagerness, I stepped too close. Our swords tangled, the wooden edges catching awkwardly, and before I could react, I stumbled forward. My instinct took over, and my free hand shot out, landing squarely against Raven's chest.
Time froze.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. My palm rested flat against her, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of her shirt. I could feel the solid strength beneath, a foundation of reassurance and stability. Heat rushed to my face, embarrassment flooding my senses.
"I— I'm sorry," I blurted out, pulling my hand back far too quickly. "I didn't mean to— I lost my balance."
Raven blinked once, her expression unreadable. Then, as if the tension had dissipated, she smiled faintly. "It's fine," she said calmly. "That happens. You stepped in too aggressively."
Just like that, the moment passed. No awkwardness lingered, no suspicion clouded the air. It was simply training, yet I felt a yearning deep within—a desire to be closer to her, not just as a friend, but perhaps something more. My mind spun with possibilities, and I sighed heavily, frustration bubbling to the surface.
How could I show her my feelings without scaring her away? What would it take for her to see me not just as a princess learning to fight, but as someone who wanted to connect on a deeper level? My heart ached with the weight of unspoken words, and I wanted to scream at the universe for the confusion swirling around us. Would I ever find the courage to bridge the distance between us?
As we reset our positions, the air crackled with an electric tension. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart, reminding myself that this was just training. I truly wanted to focus. Yet, my thoughts drifted insistently—back to breakfast, to Leora's hand resting on Raven's arm, and the way Raven hadn't pushed her away. The memory gnawed at me, a small, insistent voice in the back of my mind.
In a moment of reckless impulse, I called out, "Raven."
Her gaze met mine, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "Yes?"
I swallowed hard, my heart pounding. "Can you… stand closer this time?" I forced my voice to remain even, though the request felt monumental. "I want to understand the distance better."
Kara raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing across her features, but she refrained from commenting, sensing the weight of the moment.
Raven hesitated for just a heartbeat before nodding. "All right."
As she stepped closer, an intoxicating mix of excitement and anxiety surged within me. It was far too close. I could now see the faint shadows beneath her eyes, the way her jaw tensed in concentration. A loose strand of dark hair had escaped , brushing softly against her cheek, and I felt my breath hitch.
"Strike," she instructed, her voice steady and authoritative.
I responded instinctively, swinging my sword with determination. But this time, instead of blocking my blade, she caught my wrist, redirecting my momentum with a precision that took my breath away. Her fingers closed around my arm, firm and steady, and I felt my heart nearly burst from my chest at the contact.
She leaned in slightly, adjusting my grip with an ease that made the world around us fade into insignificance. "Your wrist is too stiff," she said quietly, her breath brushing against my cheek like a warm whisper. "If you don't loosen it, you'll strain yourself."
In that moment, I felt an overwhelming rush of heat flood my cheeks, my entire body responding to her presence in ways I couldn't comprehend. Words escaped me, and all I could do was nod mutely, the simple act feeling like a monumental challenge.
Then, just as swiftly as she had approached, she released me and stepped back, completely unaware of the chaos she had stirred within me. I hated that she remained blissfully ignorant of the turmoil she caused. I hated that I craved more from her, more than just her guidance.
We resumed our training, but today was different. I made more mistakes than usual—overstepping my bounds, misjudging angles, letting my guard fall in a way that felt almost reckless. Each error was met with a correction, and each correction meant her hands on my shoulders, my arms, my back—always brief, always proper, yet each touch was a spark that ignited something deep within me.
And every single time she adjusted my stance or redirected my movements, my chest tightened, a knot of frustration and longing coiling within me.
Look at me, I thought desperately. Not as a princess. Not as a student. Just… look.
But in her eyes, this was simple. Training. Friendship. Duty. Nothing more.
As the sun began to dip low in the sky, casting long shadows over the yard, I felt the weight of my unspoken feelings pressing down on me, suffocating and relentless. Each moment with her was a precious gift, yet it only served to heighten the distance that lingered between us. Would I ever find the courage to bridge that gap, to transform this training into something more?
When Raven finally stepped back and declared, "That's enough for now," a wave of conflicting emotions surged through me—relief mingled with disappointment, crashing over me like a summer storm. The training session was over, but I felt as though I could have gone on forever, lost in the rhythm of our movements.
"You did well," she added sincerely, her eyes sparkling with that familiar warmth. "You're improving."
I looked up at her, forcing a confident smile to mask the turbulence within. "That's because I have a good teacher," I replied, my voice steady despite the flutter in my chest.
Her smile widened, uncomplicated and genuine, a beacon of light in the fading afternoon. Yet, that warmth pierced through me, a reminder of the distance that still lay between us. I was trying so hard to let her see my heart, to show her the depth of my feelings, but she remained blissfully unaware, standing right in front of it, oblivious to the storm within.
Two full hours had passed before Raven finally lowered her wooden sword, the sound reverberating through the air like a punctuation mark at the end of our session. My arms trembled, fatigue creeping in, and my breath came in uneven gasps, sweat clinging to my skin. Yet, despite the exhaustion, a smile broke across my face. My chest felt light in that peculiar way it always did after training with her—tired, yet proud.
"You're improving quickly," Raven said, her voice calm but imbued with sincerity. "Your form is steadier. Your reactions are faster."
A warmth bloomed in my chest at her praise, each word filling me with a sense of accomplishment that was both exhilarating and daunting. I opened my mouth to respond, to express my gratitude, but before I could find the words, Kara stepped closer, practically bouncing on her heels, her energy infectious.
"And what about me?" she asked eagerly, her eyes wide with anticipation. "Am I improving too?"
Raven turned her attention toward Kara, and in that moment, a genuine smile broke across her face—a real one, soft at the edges, and it lit up her features in a way that made my heart flutter.
"You're already strong," she said with a nod, her tone encouraging. "If you keep training every day, you'll become even stronger."
Kara placed her hands on her hips, clearly pleased with the compliment. "I know I'm strong," she replied, a triumphant grin spreading across her face.
Then, without a hint of hesitation, she tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with confidence and challenge. "One day," she declared boldly, "I'll become stronger than you—and I'll defeat you."
Raven didn't argue; she simply smiled, a gentle acknowledgment of Kara's ambition. The moment hung in the air, charged with unspoken challenges and dreams. I admired Kara's bravado, the way she embraced the spirit of competition, and for a fleeting moment, I wished I could harness that same courage.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the yard, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was standing on the precipice of something profound. The training, the laughter, the camaraderie—it was all a part of something bigger, yet I felt tethered by my own emotions, unable to leap forward into the unknown.
And as I watched Raven, oblivious to the turmoil within me, I realized that the battle I faced wasn't just on the training ground; it was within my own heart. Would I ever find the strength to bridge that gap, to transform our friendship into something more? The thought lingered, a quiet whisper echoing in the back of my mind as I stood there, lost in the moment, caught between the thrill of the fight and the longing for connection.
And for some reason, that unsettled me.
When Raven turned back to me, her expression softened, a hint of warmth breaking through her usual stoicism. "Do you need me for anything else today, Princess?" The question caught me off guard, echoing in the quiet space between us.
I wanted to say yes. I wanted to say stay. I wanted to say don't go anywhere. But the words lodged in my throat, tangled with the realization that I had no reason to keep her. No excuse that wouldn't sound selfish, an indulgence I couldn't afford. So I summoned a small smile, one that didn't quite reach my eyes.
"I have several meetings today," I replied carefully, each word measured. "But they'll all be inside the palace. I won't be going out."
She nodded, the weight of her gaze lingering a moment longer. "Then I'll take my leave. If you need me, send for me."
As she turned, I felt a pang of longing, an urge to call her back. But before I could gather my thoughts, she suddenly stopped, her movement faltering sharply, like a dancer who had misstepped on broken ground.
"Raven—?" The concern slipped from my lips, laced with dread.
In that heart-stopping moment, she swayed, and I feared she might collapse right there in front of me. My heart raced, pounding painfully against my ribs as her hand shot out, gripping my shoulder with surprising strength. The weight of her leaned into me, heavier than I had ever expected—far heavier than the composed facade she usually maintained.
Kara reacted instantly, stepping in to grab Raven's other shoulder, her touch steadying. Raven stood there for a heartbeat, breathing slowly, her head bowed as if weighed down by unseen burdens. She lifted one hand to her forehead, shaking it faintly, as though trying to clear away a fog that had settled over her mind.
"Raven," I whispered, my voice trembling despite my attempts to remain composed. "Are you all right?"
Kara stayed close, her tension palpable, ready to catch her if she faltered again.
"I'm fine," Raven said slowly, forcing a smile that felt more like a mask than a reassurance.
But that smile snapped something inside me. Anger ignited—hot and sudden—burning through the fear that had gripped me. Before I could think twice, I stepped closer, cupping her face in both my hands, forcing her to meet my gaze.
"No," I said sharply, my voice firm. "You're not fine. Look at your eyes."
Her gaze wavered, uncertainty flickering across her features.
"They're unfocused," I continued, my voice shaking now, urgency creeping in. "You can't even look straight at me."
She blinked a few times, clearly struggling to maintain her composure. "Lyria," she said quietly, exhaustion seeping into her voice like a slow poison. "I told you… I didn't sleep much. And I trained heavily this morning. I must've overused my mana."
Fear clenched my chest, a vise tightening around my heart. I released her face but grabbed her hand instead, holding it tightly, as if my grip could shield her from whatever was weighing her down.
"Then you need rest," I said firmly, my resolve strengthening. "You can stay in my room. I'll send for a physician, and you'll sleep. That's not a suggestion."
She looked down at our joined hands, a flicker of something akin to warmth passing between us. Then, she gently closed her fingers around mine—not tightly, not forcefully—just enough to stop me.
"Thank you," she said softly, offering a small, tired smile that cracked my heart open further. "But I can't stay. I have to meet my master ."
Frustration flared within me, igniting a fire that I couldn't contain. "You're not in any condition to go anywhere," I snapped, my voice rising. "You can barely stand."
Raven let out a quiet laugh, and for the first time since I had known her, it wasn't forced. It was soft, real, and exhausted—a sound that broke my heart in the most beautiful way.
"I appreciate your concern," she said honestly, her voice filled with sincerity. "Truly. I felt dizzy for a moment—but I'm fine now."
Slowly, she pulled her hand from mine, and I hated how empty my fingers felt in the wake of her absence. She picked up her sword, slinging it over her shoulder with practiced ease, though I could see the effort it took. She bowed slightly, a gesture that felt both familiar and heartbreaking.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she said, and then she walked away.
I wanted to stop her. To order her to stay. To beg her not to leave. But Raven was stubborn, a trait that seemed to come hand in hand with the strength she carried.
I stood there, watching her retreat into the distance, my chest tight with fear and helpless anger. She always walked away like this—carrying everything alone, shouldering burdens that were never meant for one person. And deep down, I was terrified that one day… she wouldn't make it back.
As the training yard grew quiet, I felt the weight of my unspoken words pressing down on me. Would I ever find the courage to break through the walls she built around herself? Would she ever let me in?