I woke up to a note slipped under my door.
No pretty handwriting. Just block letters scratched with charcoal:
Training yard. Dawn.
Don't eat.
—G
I stared at it for five full minutes.
Gavin. Seventh prince. The one who speaks in grunts and broken bones. The one who looks like he was carved from a battlefield instead of born. The one who hasn't said more than ten words to me since I arrived.
I should've thrown the note away.
Instead I was lacing up boots before the sky even turned pink.
The training yard was empty except for him.
He stood in the middle of the sand circle, shirtless, scarred, arms folded. Two practice swords stuck in the ground like grave markers.
He didn't smile when he saw me.
He just jerked his chin: come here.
I walked over.
He looked me up and down once (slow, assessing), then tossed me a wooden sword.
"Hit me."
I blinked. "This again?"
His mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "Caleb told me you landed one on him. Let's see if it was luck."
