The clapping started slowly.
Scattered praise. A few impressed whistles.
I acknowledged them with a single nod, rolling my shoulder once as the heat of combat still pulsed beneath my skin. My breathing had already evened. My pulse steady.
But my wolf remained awake.
Alert.
Jack stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I know you held back, Princess."
I didn't answer.
I only tilted my head slightly, as if I hadn't heard him properly.
But inside—
My wolf went very still.
Listening.
Then—
A sharp whistle split through the arena air.
Not playful.
Not harmless.
Instinct moved before thought.
My body shifted a fraction to the left.
Something sliced past the side of my head — close enough that I felt the disturbance brush against my temple. Close enough that one strand of hair lifted in its wake.
The object struck the stone pillar behind me with a metallic crack.
Silence detonated.
Heat surged through my veins.
Not anger.
Precision.
My hand lifted without conscious command.
A thin flame ignited at the tip of my index finger.
It wasn't wild.
It didn't roar.
It burned narrow and controlled — a blade of fire.
The temperature in the arena rose instantly.
I heard it.
The soldiers' heartbeats quickened. Boots shifted against stone. Someone swallowed.
Even the warrior I had just pinned to the ground stilled completely.
No one moved toward me.
No one dared.
Slowly, I turned toward the direction the projectile had come from.
My wolf did not growl.
She recognized the scent.
Familiar.
Annoying.
Deliberate.
A figure stepped forward from the shadowed edge of the training grounds, boots echoing lazily against the stone floor.
Relaxed posture. Hands loosely behind his back.
As if nearly striking the heir to the throne was a casual greeting.
The flame sharpened slightly.
"Well," I said softly, eyes narrowing, "if you wanted my attention… you have it."
My stance shifted a fraction.
"Now show yourself properly."
He stepped fully into the light.
Mike.
Of course.
Dark hair falling carelessly over his forehead. That infuriating half-smile already in place.
"Well," he drawled smoothly, "consider it my welcome-back gift, sister."
The thin metal training dart lay embedded in the pillar behind me.
Two centimeters closer and it would have drawn blood.
"Are you insane?" I snapped, the flame flaring hotter.
A ripple of heat rolled through the arena.
He had always been like this.
Testing limits.
Provoking reactions.
Measuring responses.
Seeing how far he could push before something snapped.
My wolf bristled — not in fear.
In irritation.
This wasn't playful.
Not today.
"You think throwing steel at my head is amusing?" I stepped forward, boots striking the stone with controlled force.
Mike's smirk widened slightly. "You dodged."
"That wasn't the point."
"It was exactly the point."
The soldiers remained wisely silent.
No one interfered when royal blood collided.
Mike tilted his head, studying me now.
Not teasing.
Assessing.
"You've changed," he said.
"So have you," I replied evenly.
His gaze flicked to the flame at my fingertip.
"You still burn fast."
The fire responded — coiling upward as if it approved of the observation.
"I'm not in the mood, Mike."
He stepped closer. Not enough to threaten. Just enough to challenge.
"Relax, little wolf," he murmured.
My jaw tightened.
"You're lucky I didn't throw it back."
His eyes gleamed. "You would've aimed for my throat."
We held each other's gaze.
No laughter now.
Just calculation.
Mike and I were only a year apart.
Close enough in age to be compared.
Close enough in strength to be measured.
And in a kingdom ruled by dominance?
Comparison is never innocent.
He had grown stronger.
I saw it in the way he balanced his weight. In how controlled his breathing was. In how the dart had been thrown precisely within my reaction margin.
Not enough to injure.
Enough to test.
"You disappeared for a year," he said more quietly. "You don't get to return like nothing changed."
Something tightened in my chest.
"I didn't disappear," I said. "I was working."
"For Father," he replied.
For the throne.
Unspoken.
His gaze sharpened slightly. "You move differently."
"Field experience," I answered.
"No," he said. "You move like someone who expects betrayal."
The words landed heavier than the dart.
My flame flickered.
For a split second, silence pressed down on us both.
He sees too much.
Mike had always laughed things off. Hidden behind sarcasm. But beneath it—
He watched everything.
If Father ever questioned my position as heir, Mike would be the easiest comparison.
Not because he wanted the throne.
But because the court might.
Because nobles whisper.
Because alliances shift.
Because power does not tolerate weakness — even among siblings.
Blood binds us.
Power tests us.
"You're overthinking," he said lightly, tone shifting back to careless. "I just wanted to see if you were still sharp."
"And?"
His smile curved faintly.
"You are."
The flame finally dimmed.
Extinguished.
The air cooled slowly, though tension lingered like smoke.
He stepped back.
"See you at dinner, sister."
Infuriating.
I watched him leave, boots echoing down the corridor.
Only when the doors shut did the soldiers exhale.
Jack looked exhausted.
"Stand down," I said quietly.
They obeyed immediately.
As I walked through the palace corridors, marble and gold greeted me like polished chains.
A year in the field had sharpened me.
Out there, enemies didn't smile before they tested you.
They struck from shadow.
They negotiated with blood.
They trafficked in secrets.
Here, danger wore familiar faces.
Mike's stunt wasn't mischief.
It was a reminder.
In this kingdom, everyone measures strength.
Even family.
Especially family.
You might wonder about the fire.
In the Bloodmoon ruling line, each generation carries a gift.
Not common abilities.
Not enhanced claws or speed.
Something older.
Something inherited through dominance.
Each heir manifests differently.
Enhanced strength.
Elemental control.
Heightened senses beyond ordinary wolves.
The blessing shifts with the bloodline.
And mine?
Fire.
It does not rage without reason.
It answers instinct.
It answers threat.
And sometimes—
It answers what I refuse to say aloud.
By the time I reached my chamber, the last trace of heat had cooled beneath my skin.
Human and wolf settled into temporary balance.
But Mike's words lingered.
You move like someone who expects betrayal.
The palace felt quieter now.
Not peaceful.
Measured.
Tomorrow, Father's appointed "teacher" would arrive.
Classes on how to be a queen.
Politics.
Etiquette.
Diplomacy.
Control.
But I had just returned from watching packs make human deals worth five million.
From smelling corruption thick in the air.
From seeing cracks in alliances.
And Father wanted me in a classroom.
My wolf shifted once beneath my ribs.
Not restless.
Calculating.
If they wanted to train a queen—
They would have to accept the kind of queen I was becoming.
Not the kind they imagined.