I sat in my chambers, staring at the wall, fists clenched at my sides.
The silence pressed in—thick, heavy—broken only by the faint crackle of the fire.
I hated how I'd handled it. How I'd answered her.
The truth had been there, right on my tongue—sharp, burning—and I'd swallowed it down like poison. Because what else was I supposed to do? Open myself up like that? Admit that the kiss had shaken me more than I wanted to admit? That every time I looked at her, something in me moved—something I couldn't control?
There was no room for this.
Not with war brewing between every nation.
Not with whatever plague Muir kept muttering about festering at the borders.
Not with the world teetering on the edge of collapse.
But none of that stopped the way my chest twisted when I thought of her face—
the hurt, the disappointment.
The moment before she shoved off of me and walked away.
Something inside me had cracked then.
I'd done that. I'd put that look in her eyes.
I dragged a hand through my hair and exhaled sharply, trying to smother the guilt clawing at my insides.
A knock sounded at the door—once, then again.
"Rai, it's me."
Revik.
I sighed, crossing the room to open it. He stepped inside, moving a little stiffly but clearly on the mend. He shut the door behind him, leaning against it with his arms crossed and that same knowing expression I'd grown to hate.
Before he could even open his mouth, I said flatly, "Don't start."
His brows lifted, but the smirk came anyway. "Didn't say anything yet."
"You were going to."
He pushed off the door and strolled toward one of the chairs near the fire, dropping into it with a wince. "You feel awful about it already, don't you?"
I turned back toward the window, jaw tight. "Just leave it, Revik."
A long pause. The kind that stretches just to make you uncomfortable.
Then—
"Why did you lie to her?"
The words hit hard enough to still me.
Revik never circled things. He went straight for the kill.
I clenched my jaw until it ached. "It was for the best."
"The best for who?"
The question cut deeper than it should have. I didn't answer. Couldn't.
Revik let out a long breath, shoulders sagging. For once, he didn't press.
Instead, he changed the subject. "Where's Muir?"
"Gathering intel," I said, grateful for the shift. "That merchant he mentioned—he's got ties to the Water Kingdom. Might know something about the next relic. Muir's tracking his route now."
Revik nodded slowly, studying me. "And after that?"
I turned fully to face him. "After that, we find out what he knows."
A pause. My next words tasted bitter. "Then we go after the Water Relic."
And I keep my distance from Lyra.
No matter how much it kills me.
⸻
I'd been avoiding dinners all week, but I knew we couldn't keep doing this—training, existing, pretending—without at least acting civil. We had to appear fine. Functional. So I tried.
I asked Lyra questions. Tried to make conversation.
She gave me short, polite answers. Never cruel—just cold. Detached. Like she's building a wall between us, brick by brick.
I deserved it.
Every ounce of her distance, every flicker of disinterest she threw my way.
Good. That's what I wanted… right?
The only time she lit up was when Revik walked in.
He slid into the seat beside her with his usual swagger, snatching up a plate and piled food onto it like a man starved.
"Finally, real food," he groaned dramatically, shoveling a bite into his mouth. "I thought I was gonna waste away eating that slop they serve in the healer's ward."
Lyra smirked, picking absently at her own meal. "Oh, come on. It can't be that bad."
He turned toward her, eyes wide in mock horror. "It was a crime against taste buds. That sludge could've been wood shavings for all I know."
She laughed—a small, soft sound that punched the air right out of my lungs.
"I'm sure they had their reasons," she said, shaking her head.
"No reason could ever justify that atrocity, lovey," Revik shot back, grinning. "And don't even get me started on their idea of soup."
"Oh, that bad, huh?" she said, the corners of her lips twitching upward.
He gave her a deadpan stare. "Lyra. It was hot water. With two sad leaves floating in it."
Her laughter spilled across the room—light, unguarded, warm.
I sat there, silent, pretending to eat, listening to her laugh like the sound didn't carve right through me. Watching the way her eyes softened when she looked at him, the way her shoulders relaxed.
And it hit me like a punch to the gut.
Revik reached over and ruffled her hair, and she swatted at him with a half-smile. "Seriously, cut it out."
He grinned, unbothered. "It brings me good health."
She rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling.
I forced myself to take another bite of food, but it turned to ash in my mouth. The air felt heavy, thick with things I couldn't say, couldn't even let myself think.
The conversation carried on without me. Easy. Uncomplicated.
Finally, I pushed my chair back. The sound scraped against the stone floor, drawing brief glances. "I'm done for the night."
Lyra's eyes flicked toward me—brief, unreadable.
Revik arched a brow but said nothing.
I didn't wait for a response. I turned and walked out, the cool corridor swallowing the laughter behind me.
This was better.
Keeping my distance.
Letting her forget.
Because one day, she'll be the tool I need to bring peace to this fractured world.
But gods—my heart aches.
⸻
It had been a few days since Muir left to gather intel. The palace had settled into an uneasy rhythm—the kind where everyone went through the motions, but nothing felt right.
Training with Lyra continued, but it wasn't the same. She'd grown sharper; her strikes cut deeper, her fire burned hotter. She fought like she had something to prove—or something to forget. At least she was talking more to me now, even if it was just in quick jabs and clipped answers.
Her progress was undeniable. The shifting came easier, the muscle memory faster. She'd finally mastered low-altitude flight—short, controlled bursts that carried her across half the yard. Her fire too had refined: quicker, more precise, a weapon tempered instead of raw chaos. She pushed herself until sweat slicked her skin and her wings trembled. Training had become her way to bleed out what she wouldn't say aloud.
When we finished sparring, she didn't look my way. Instead, she crossed the yard to the far side, repeating the water drills Muir had shown her before he left. I lingered for a moment, watching her movements—fluid, measured—until a familiar voice cut through the air.
"Well, well. Primal—miss me?"
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "Not even a little bit."
I turned as Muir strolled in, smug as ever, like the world owed him an entrance.
"Good. You're back. What did you find?" I kept my voice tight; I had no patience for his games.
Muir's grin never faltered. He brushed imaginary dust off his sleeve. "Wouldn't you like to know."
I crossed my arms. "I would like to know."
He stretched the silence, savoring it. "Then maybe you should ask nicely."
He was infuriating. Predictable. Useful only when he stopped acting like an idiot long enough to be useful.
We moved to my chambers, away from prying ears. Lyra sat as far from me as possible, beside Revik. He leaned in, whispered something that made her smile—and that, more than anything, twisted something sharp in my chest. I clenched my hand in my sleeve until the feeling dulled.
Revik turned his attention to Muir. "Alright," he said. "You've kept us waiting long enough. Spill."
Muir propped a shoulder against my desk, arms folded. "The merchant's route isn't predictable. Changes every trip. He's not a simple spice trader." He paused, lips curving. "Spices are code for poppymilk, by the way."
Lyra frowned. "So he's a smuggler?"
"More than that." Muir's grin sharpened. "He works for a lord on the southwestern border of the Water Kingdom. He collects—money, debts, whatever his lord demands. Makes several stops along the route. Profits off desperation."
I let the pieces fall into place. "That's our way in."
Muir snapped his fingers. "Exactly. We corner him at one of his stops, intimidate him, see what he knows about the Water Relic—and why the hell he's heard of it at all."
Revik's expression hardened. "He won't be alone, will he?"
"Of course not," Muir said with a low chuckle. "Bodyguards. A couple dozen, if my source wasn't lying."
I inhaled slowly, already running through possible angles—approach, insertion, exit. "Fine. We pick the weakest town on his route and stage the ambush there. I take it you know his current path?"
"Wouldn't be back if I didn't," Muir said.
We spent the next half hour dissecting routes, timings, contingencies. The plan took shape—tight, efficient. When we were done, Muir stretched with a satisfied grin.
"Well then," he said easily, "let's get ready, team."
He strolled out without waiting for applause. Revik clapped Lyra on the shoulder and followed.
I expected her to go next.
She didn't.
Instead, she stayed seated, fingers laced together, gaze steady. Then—after a heartbeat—she stood and looked at me.
"Can we talk for a minute?" she asked.