Grislen's lips twitched, "Discipline," he said. "Endurance. Strategy. Pain and perseverance.There will be daily trials, You will bleed, scream and you will not yield easily. You will learn to fight alongside outsiders and kin alike. Those who cannot bend will be broken and cast out. Those who learn will be forged."
A heavy silence dropped. For the first time since Amari had arrived, something dawned on him, it wasn't just about training. It wasn't only about personal strength; it was about becoming part of something that could stand against… something else. He didn't need to name that 'else' to feel its shadow. The city below, the king's secrets, whispers about Hollow things, the mysteries they all lingered like a fog.
Across the yard, Grislen barked orders. Men and women took positions again, forming lines, practicing footwork under pressure. The day folded into drills, sweat, small triumphs, and pain. Amari learned to shift between his witch-slowed strikes and the vampire's quick, decisive jabs. he learned how to hide an opening.
That night, in his small room granted by the king's court, Amari lay awake on his bed. The ceiling formed constellations of shadow from the torchlight. He thought of his father late Lord Rasmos and of the stories he'd heard about the man's zeal and cruelty, and how sometimes a name could weigh heavier on those who bore it than the blood that ran through their veins.
Back in the kings quarters, A knock at the door broke his thoughts. Amari sat up. "Come in" The door opened, cheeks flushed from his bathe earlier, his hair cascading down his shoulders, loose. "Your wine sir" the maid lifted her head and peered at him, quickly adverting her gaze, as a blush crept from her neck to her cheeks. Turning around she walked away.
The air in the king's chamber was heavy with sandalwood and silence. Pale light seeped through the tall windows, painting the marble floor in strips of white and gold. Amari stood beside the great window, a hand on his hair another holding his cup. his reflection a faint ghost against the glass.
The day outside had barely begun, yet he'd been awake long past midnight. was a courtesy he seldom granted himself.
Behind him, the velvet curtains stirred as the doors opened. A slow, confident rhythm of footsteps followed, too smooth to belong to a guard.
" standing like a statue, I see," a voice drawled. "You'll freeze there, Amari."
He turned slightly. King Devon moved with unhurried grace, a robe of deep crimson hanging loose over his shoulders. His hair was damp from a bath, the scent of bloodwine clinging faintly to his skin.
"Your Majesty," Amari said, bowing his head a fraction, With his face scrunched up.
Devon smirked, leaning lazily against the table. "Ah, the ever-formal Amari. Do you ever tire of pretending you're made of ice?"
Amari's eyes flicked to him, expression unreadable. "Ice does not pretend, my king. It simply endures."
Devon chuckled lowly. "And yet, even ice melts when touched, for it does not withstand the heat" He reached for the goblet beside him, swirling the dark liquid within. "Would you like some?"
"No."
"Still refusing what I offer." Devon's tone carried no offense only amusement. "One might think you despise me."
Amari said nothing. The silence stretched between them, He had long learned that answering every jest only fanned the fire.
King Devon leaned lazily against the velvet arm of the couch, one elbow propped as if the world itself existed solely to entertain him. His gaze lingered on Amari with quiet amusement, his golden eyes fixated on Amari like a predator watching its prey.
"You'd think after sharing a bathe with the king, you'd at least greet him properly."
Amari's expression did not flicker. "I don't recall sharing anything."
Devon chuckled lowly, setting the goblet aside. "Sharp tongue. You'll cut yourself one day." He rose,with Every step he took toward Amari felt deliberate, like the slow approach of a predator deciding whether the prey would run or bow.
Amari stood his ground. He had spent the morning enduring whispers, stares, and the weight of titles he did not ask for. The king's chamber, though draped in luxury, felt like a gilded cage.
Devon stopped in front of him, eyes flicking briefly to Amari's collarbone. Then back to his face "I admire your boldness".
Amari's voice was cool. "Admiration from you means little, Your majesty"
A smile tugged at the king's lips. "Then perhaps I should try harder"
The air between them tightened. Devon reached out, fingers brushing a loose strand of blue hair from Amari's face. "You should eat with me before training," he said
Amari stepped back, breaking the contact. " no "
Devon laughed quietly, unbothered. "So bold Is it the blood or the defiance that keeps you warm?"
"The desire to leave this room," Amari replied flatly.
For a heartbeat, silence claimed the chamber again. Then the king sighed, moving to the balcony and opening the glass doors. The breeze caught the edges of his robe, and from where Amari stood, he could see the pale scars that ran across Devon's back faint reminders that even kings bled .
"You think me a monster," Devon said, still facing the moon. "You wouldn't be wrong. But monsters are the ones who keep kingdoms alive."
Amari crossed his arms, face scrunched up. "And slaves the ones who suffer for it."
The king's head tilted slightly at that, a faint smirk curving his lips. "You think yourself my slave?"
"I think I'm a prisoner" Amari replied.
Devon's eyes darkened, though his voice remained smooth. "A prisoner, yes but one who doesn't realize the door is already open."
Amari frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means," the king said, walking back toward him, "you could leave. If you wished. If you weren't so curious about what keeps you here. Why fight to come back"
Their eyes met. For a moment, something unreadable flickered in Devon's gaze something dangerous lurked in his eyes, deeper than command. But Amari refused to look away.
"I stay because I must," Amari said finally. "Not because of curiosity."
"Must," Devon repeated, savoring the word. "Duty, loyalty, fear they all sound the same when you whisper them."
Amari turned away, unwilling to indulge him. "Is this what you do? Toy with people until they despise you?"
Devon's smile widened, though his tone dropped to a murmur. "Only the ones worth remembering."
He stepped closer again, so close Amari could smell the faint trace of wine and steel on his breath. "Tell me, Amari," he whispered, "do you despise me enough to stay away?"
Amari met his gaze head-on. "I despise you enough to survive you, if you must know."
For once, the king's laughter didn't follow. He simply studied Amari for a long moment before reaching for the goblet again. "Then survive well, witchling," he said lightly. Don't disappoint me."
Without another word, Devon turned to leave. Amari watched him go, expression unreadable, fingers tightening.
When the door finally closed behind Amari, the king let out a quiet chuckle. "Cold little flame," he murmured to himself, lifting the goblet once more. "Let's see how long before you burn."