Kael POV
I decided on day one that Kai was either incredibly stupid or incredibly brave, and I couldn't tell which one would get her killed faster.
The first morning of real training, I had her run. Not fast. Not for distance. Just run until her body told her to stop. Most people stopped when they got tired. Kai kept going until her feet were bleeding through her worn-out boots.
She didn't complain.
That was the problem. If she'd complained, I could have told myself she was weak. That she wouldn't survive. That I shouldn't waste energy on someone who was going to break.
But she didn't break. She just bled and kept moving.
We trained in a clearing about a mile from camp. Corvin needed her out of sight because the other mercenaries didn't need to see what I was doing to her. They didn't need to ask questions about why I was pushing so hard.
The answer was simple. She needed to be alive when we reached the ruins. Alive meant useful. Useful meant the job got done.
That's what I told myself.
"Stand," I said on day three, handing her a real sword instead of the wooden one.
It was heavier than she expected. Her arm dropped immediately.
"Again," I said.
She lifted it. Dropped it again.
We did this for hours. Lift. Drop. Lift. Drop. Until her arm wasn't shaking from the weight but from exhaustion. Until she looked at me with eyes that wanted to cry but wouldn't let themselves.
On day five, I taught her how to swing.
She was all wrong. Every movement apologized. Her shoulders curved inward like she was trying to take up less space. Her legs were positioned like she was ready to run instead of ready to fight.
She looked like someone who'd spent her whole life being told she didn't matter.
I knew that look because I'd worn it once too.
"Again," I said when she missed for the hundredth time.
She fell to the ground. Her chest heaved. Sweat and dirt covered her skin. Her hands were blistered and bleeding.
She got back up and swung again.
Missed.
I could have stopped her. Could have told her to rest. Could have been kind.
Instead, I said, "You move like you're apologizing for taking up space."
She went very still.
"Every time you swing that sword, you're saying sorry for existing," I continued. My voice wasn't kind. I didn't know how to be kind anymore. "That stops now. You want to survive? You stop apologizing for existing. You start believing you deserve to be here."
She looked at me, and something shifted in her eyes. Recognition. Like maybe she understood exactly what I meant because she'd been apologizing for existing her whole life.
She swung again.
This time, the sword moved with intention. Not perfect. Not even close. But real. Like she'd decided that apologizing wasn't going to keep her alive.
"Better," I said.
We trained until sunset. Every day the same. Run. Swing. Fall. Get up. Again and again until her body stopped being something that doubted and started being something that just obeyed.
Around day seven, she bled so much during training that I called it early.
"Go clean up," I said, and she limped away without arguing.
That night, I sat by the stream and cleaned the dirt from under my fingernails. Tried not to think about the way she moved now. The way her shoulders were getting stronger. The way she was starting to believe she might actually survive this.
Tried not to think about what would happen if she did survive it.
Corvin found me there.
"She's going to be ready," he said.
"Ready for what?" I asked, even though I knew.
"Whatever comes next," Corvin said. "Whatever the Sunblade demands. Whatever truths we have to tell her."
I didn't say anything.
"You're going to have to be honest with her soon," Corvin continued. "You can't keep training her in circles forever. Eventually, she's going to figure out there's something we're not telling her."
"I know," I said.
"And when she does?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "I don't know what happens then."
Corvin sat down beside me. "For what it's worth, I think she'll surprise you."
After he left, I went back to camp and found a water skin. Filled it from the stream. Carried it to her tent and set it down carefully outside the flap.
She found it the next morning. I watched from a distance as she picked it up, looked at it, then drank without asking any questions.
I told myself it meant nothing. It was practical. She needed water to survive the training. That was all. That was the only reason I was leaving it there every night.
I was lying to myself, and I knew it.
By day ten, her hands had calluses thick enough that blisters stopped forming. Her legs were strong enough that running didn't make her stumble. Her arms were starting to know how to move with the sword like it was part of her body.
She was transforming into something stronger. Something that could actually fight.
I didn't like watching it happen because it meant she'd leave the camp sooner or later. Meant she'd remember her old life. Meant she'd realize that whatever was happening between us couldn't survive contact with the truth.
That afternoon, Lyria appeared while I was training Kai.
"We need to talk," Lyria said to me. "Later. Alone."
I nodded, and Lyria disappeared back into the trees like she'd never been there at all.
Kai was breathing hard from the training session. Sweat dripped down her temples. Her shirt was soaked through.
"That's enough for today," I said.
She looked disappointed. Like she wanted to keep going. Like the training was starting to matter to her instead of being something she endured.
"Go rest," I told her. "Tomorrow we push harder."
She nodded and walked toward camp, and I watched her move. Really watched her. Saw the strength building in her shoulders. Saw the way her back was straighter now. Saw a girl becoming someone who didn't apologize for existing anymore.
That night, after Kai had gone to her tent, Lyria found me by the fire.
"She's going to ask questions soon," Lyria said. "You need to decide what you're going to tell her."
"Corvin said not yet."
"Corvin is playing it safe," Lyria replied. "But safe doesn't work when soldiers are heading toward us. Safe doesn't work when time is running out."
"Time for what?"
"For her to understand what she is," Lyria said. "For her to understand what the Sunblade actually is. For her to understand why a man like you would spend your days making her strong instead of letting her break."
I didn't respond.
"She has blood," Lyria continued. "Royal blood. Ancient blood. The kind of blood that calls to magical weapons. The kind of blood that can either save kingdoms or destroy them."
My hands went numb.
"Is she—"
"Yes," Lyria said before I could finish. "But Corvin will tell her when he's ready. For now, you just need to know that everything you're training her for matters more than you think."
She walked away, leaving me alone with the knowledge that the girl I was training. The girl who was getting stronger every day. The girl who was starting to matter to me in ways I couldn't control.
She was royal. She was the one thing in this world that I'd been trained to hate.
And I was already falling for her in ways I couldn't take back.
That night, I didn't leave water by her tent.
I couldn't. Couldn't do anything that was starting to feel real because real was going to destroy both of us before this was over.
But I couldn't stay away either.
Around midnight, I found myself walking toward her tent anyway. Found myself standing there in the darkness just listening to her breathe. Just existing in the same space as her for a moment while I could still pretend that protecting her was just part of the job.
That's when I heard the sound.
Distant. But real. Hoofbeats. Multiple horses. Moving toward us through the night.
I moved immediately toward the fire.
Corvin was already awake. Already armed.
"Valorian?" I asked.
"Don't know," Corvin said. "But we need to be ready either way."
He turned and shouted orders. Men started moving. Weapons were grabbed. Lyria appeared from her tent with her silver eyes glowing faintly in the darkness.
The hoofbeats got closer.
I looked back at Kai's tent. She was probably still asleep. Probably had no idea that her world was about to get much more complicated.
Because whoever was coming, whoever was riding toward us through the night, they were coming for something. And I was starting to understand that something might be her.
The horses came into view around the treeline.
Not Valorian soldiers. Someone worse.
Palace guards. Royal guards from Aldwyn.
And if they were here, it meant someone had told them where we were.
Someone had betrayed us.
Corvin's hand went to his sword, and he looked at me with understanding in his eyes.
Everything was about to change.