Behind Silverwind's main fortress were war-ready training grounds, with weapon racks, combat rings, and stone pillars gleaming in the dingy morning light. Because they preferred warmth to perspiration, most warriors avoided the area in the early hours of the day, but today the sound of heavy footsteps and the clash of blades broke the stillness.
In order to counter Roman's swinging staff, Serafina ducked under it, rolled, and used her own blade, which stopped just short of his ribs.
He didn't recoil.
"More quickly today," he uttered, lowering his staff.
"You're slowing down," she said, panting.
Roman's mouth corner twitched in a faint smile. "Liar."
Their covert release had become training. No mention of the bond. No talking about emotions. Just motion—pain, sweat, speed. It was the only area where they could live freely without being bound by obligations.
However, temptation permeated even this freedom.
Their sparring weapons felt too charged at every touch. Her pulse pounded each time he adjusted her posture by putting a hand on her wrist. After a particularly close match, the tension between them grew stronger every time their eyes locked.
It was the same today.
After almost an hour, Serafina stopped to catch her breath, hands on her knees. Roman silently observed her while tossing her a flask of water.
"You're getting better," he said.
"Perhaps I simply fight more when I'm upset."
Roman's mouth clenched. "Are you upset with me?"
"In every way," she acknowledged. "This union. This tranquility. This... quiet between us.
He looked down. "I vowed not to go overboard."
"You weren't asked to," she muttered. "But isn't it difficult?"
Then he looked into her eyes, intense, unreadable, and sharp. "Most difficult thing I've ever done."
Beneath their skin, their wolves stirred in response to the bond that continued to beat between them like an unstoppable drumbeat. However, they both took a step back because they didn't want to plunge into the abyss that lies between desire and betrayal.
Serafina abruptly said, "I need to be stronger," as she moved toward the weapons rack.
"You're already," Roman said.
She turned and said, "No." Not only with weapons. I must possess the strength to bear my own destiny. I allowed myself to be used as a pawn in the peace of others. I promise not to be that again.
Roman gazed at her for a while, his eyes glimmering with pride. "Then let's practice until everyone is afraid of you."
They took up their weapons again. Their blades clashed for more reasons than strength or distraction. It was their only remaining language—fire under restraint, steel over silence.
And above them, as though reiterating a vow neither dared to speak, the wind howled softly across the peaks.