The Silver Crown's training courtyard was a vision of raw power, a stark contrast to the polished elegance of its halls. Its packed earth and stone floor was ringed by statues of snarling wolves, lit by braziers burning with unnatural, steady flames. The air carried the scent of sweat and steel, mingling with the piney tang of the Moonscar Mountains looming beyond. The twenty girls, dressed in simpler tunics for training, gathered along an open-air corridor overlooking the courtyard, their elemental colors crimson, blue, green, and teal vibrant against the stone balustrade. Vera, her gray wool dress crisp, raised a hand to pause them. "Mind your steps," she said sharply, her braid swinging as she glanced below. "The prince trains at this hour. You'll observe, but do not disturb."
The girls pressed against the balustrade, their eyes wide as they peered into the courtyard. At its center stood Prince Haven, seventeen, his muscular frame glistening with sweat as he sparred with a towering guard in gleaming armor. His movements were a dance of power and precision, each strike of his practice blade a blur, his wolf-soul evident in the fluid grace of his steps. His midnight-black hair was tied back, strands escaping to frame a face sharp with focus, his golden eyes flashing like molten metal in the sunlight. In his wolf form, he was said to be a beast of unmatched ferocity, but as a man, he radiated a wild, untamed energy that made the air feel charged, open to finding a mate among those from sixteen to twenty-two summers.
Ember, seventeen, stood near Sara, sixteen, her crimson tunic snug against her lithe form, the pendant pulsing warm against her chest. Her amber-beaded braids clicked softly as she leaned forward, her tracker's instincts from Scorchvale Ridge sharpening her gaze. Sara fidgeted with her orange tunic's hem, her shy eyes darting to the fray. Mira and Lira, seventeen, whispered excitedly, their crimson tunics vibrant, while Sable, nineteen, lounged with casual confidence. Aria, eighteen, led the AeroClaws in blue, Riven, seventeen, exuded strength in green, and Liora, twenty, flowed in teal, her pearls glinting.
The girls erupted into whispers, their composure unraveling. Mira clutched Lira's arm, giggling, "Did you see that dodge? He's like fire in motion!" Lira countered, "He'd need a Flame Fang to match that heat someone like me!" Sable smirked, "Strength over flash, sisters. He needs a warrior." Aria tossed her blonde hair, purring, "Wind carries power without effort. Haven would soar with an Aero Claw." Riven snorted, "He'd tire of your breezes. A Terra Fang's stability would ground him." Liora laughed softly, "Waves shape the shore, not stone or air. Haven needs grace."
The arguments escalated, each girl citing their pack's gifts—fire's passion, wind's freedom, earth's endurance, water's adaptability as proof of their worth. Older girls, argued with seasoned confidence, their experience a challenge, Ember noted warily. Sara shrank back, whispering to Ember, "They're all so sure… but what does he want?" Ember offered a small smile, her voice low. "He'll want someone who sees beyond the crown, Sara. Someone real." The pendant pulsed, her hidden gifts stirring, and she wondered if Haven could sense her deeper currents.
As the girls bickered, Haven paused mid-strike, his blade lowered as he turned toward the corridor. His golden eyes swept upward, locking with Ember's for a fleeting second, sharp as a blade's edge. Her breath caught, the pendant pulsing hot, as if her dual nature stirred under his scrutiny. Then he turned back to his sparring partner, the moment broken, leaving Ember's heart racing with unease and curiosity.
Sara's eyes widened. "He looked at you," she murmured, awed. Ember shook her head, her cunning masking her unease. "A glance, nothing more," she said, though her mind replayed the intensity of his eyes, like a predator assessing an equal.
Vera clapped her hands, her voice slicing through the chatter. "Enough gawking! To your training!" The girls pulled away, their giggles and boasts trailing like smoke. Mira and Lira speculated about Haven's strength, Aria whispered of charming him with wind-dances, Riven vowed to prove her worth in combat, and Liora mused about soothing his restless spirit. Their dreams of being his mate fueled the air, each girl painting a future as queen.
Ember remained quiet, her steps measured, her thoughts on Haven's gaze and the pendant's pulse. Training awaited, but so did the game of alliances and rivalries, and Ember knew her cunning, honed in Scorchvale Ridge, would be her shield in this gilded cage.