By the time light finds the window, something darker has already crossed its edge.
I rose before the sun dared speak.
Sleep clung to my lashes, stubborn as old regrets, but I peeled it off with a will forged sharper than steel. Today was for training. For blades, bruises, blood if needed.
I had no time for dreams—not anymore.
The room was cold, the kind of cold that slipped past fabric and into bone.
I welcomed it.
Let it bite.
Let it remind me I was alive.
Mara stirred with a soft groan behind the curtain, but I silenced her with a hand raised in the air.
"Sleep," I murmured. "Today, I run ahead of fate."
I dressed in silence—rough leggings, the old tunic with frayed cuffs, hair bound in a tight knot like a vow I wouldn't break.
There was no jewelry. No perfume. No silk.
Only the steady breath of purpose in my lungs.
The corridors were still asleep, flickering with the last tremors of moonlight.
My footsteps echoed like defiance.
But I wasn't alone.
I felt it.
Not heard, not seen—felt.
Like a shift in the wind. A pulse out of time. A gaze that burned even when unseen.
And then—
He was there.
Leaning against the stone arch like the world belonged to him and he was bored of it.
Lucian.
The man who murdered me in one life and wed me in the next.
His eyes met mine, unreadable as ever, and the air between us pulled taut like a string between twin daggers.
"You're up early," I said, voice cool. Calculated.
"You're late," he replied, like this was a ritual and I'd already failed it.
He stepped into the pale light filtering through the high windows.
Dressed not for court, not for travel—but for war. Dark, quiet layers. Gloves. No emblem on his chest.
"You were supposed to be away," I said, narrowing my eyes. "In Tharvale."
"I was," he said. "I'm not."
"Why?"
Lucian tilted his head, studying me like a puzzle he didn't want to solve too quickly.
"An instinct."
"Instinct?" I echoed, heart thudding once—a dull war drum under my ribs.
He didn't explain. He never did.
Instead, he walked past me, slow and deliberate, and said without turning:
"Shall we train, wife?"
Shall we train, wife?
The word curled in the air like smoke —
Warm at first but stinging when it reached the eyes.
I didn't flinch.
"Lead the way, husband," I said, matching venom for venom, sugar-laced and lethal.
We walked without speaking.
The castle's heartbeat slows around us—stone, shadow, silence.
But between us, a storm brewed. Quietly. Privately.
Like it always had.
The training yard yawned open, vast and cold. Dew clung to the grass like fear to old memories. The world hadn't woken yet. Only the crows watched.
He tossed me a wooden blade.
I caught it without blinking.
Lucian chose a heavier one for himself—one-handed, blunt, but fast. His favorite style. Direct. Unforgiving.
Of course.
We circled.
Not lovers. Not enemies.
Not yet.
"You don't usually train with others," I said, as our feet shifted over the ground in mirrored arcs.
"I don't usually have a wife like you," he replied.
Then lunged.
Our swords clashed, wood against wood—sharp sound, sharper intent.
I blocked. Slid. Countered.
This was dance, this was war.
This was ours.
His form was brutal elegance. Every move a study in restraint.
Mine? Sharpened by desperation, polished by rage, refined by the mercy I no longer offered.
"You've improved," he said, spinning low to catch my side. I twisted out of reach.
"You've been watching."
His lips lifted—not quite a smirk. "Only when you're not trying to stab someone."
"How noble."
Wood cracked against wood—again, again.
Fast. Fluid. No wasted breath.
"You hold your weight on the balls of your feet now," he murmured, dodging a swing.
"I had to."
A sharp pivot. A low sweep.
"To survive."
He stopped the next blow with his palm—not the blade, his bare hand.
The strike should've stung. He didn't even flinch.
"You shouldn't waste that line on the training yard," he said, stepping close. "Say it at court. They'll applaud."
"I'm not here to be applauded."
"You're not here just to survive either."
That hit harder than any blow.
I didn't answer. Couldn't.
He lowered his hand slowly. Letting the silence spool between us, thin as thread, taut as string drawn across a bow.
The light had changed.
Dawn was bleeding red into gold.
His eyes… still unreadable.
But watching.
"I thought you were working," I said finally.
He glanced away just once. "I was."
"And then?"
"And then I remembered I had a wife who trains alone before the sun."
Wife.
There it was again—so casual, so deliberate.
Used like a sword, not a title.
"And?" I pushed.
"And I was curious what she's preparing for."
I met his gaze. "True Power"
That stopped him.
No flicker of recognition. No twist of guilt. But something cold shifted in his posture.
Not fear.
Not quite.
He stepped back. Just one pace. Like he was giving me space or drawing a line.
"Then I'll train with you until you're ready," he said, voice calm. "For whatever comes after."
I should've laughed. Or cursed. Or thanked him.
Instead, I turned. Lifted my blade again.
"I hope your arms don't tire easy," I said. "I won't hold back."
"I wouldn't want you to."
And then we began again.
Strike. Parry. Pivot.
The sound of wood.
The rhythm of war.
The beginning of something else entirely.
The door clicked shut behind me as I returned to my room, the quiet settling in like an old friend.
Rosemere.
It was a small threat, for now, but it was one with power that Noctare couldn't afford to ignore. A new war was coming, one Lucian hadn't seen yet. The mines at Rosemere... if I won this war, I would control the Titran Mine, and Noctare would rise. A wealth beyond anything they had imagined. But no one knew the true value of that land—no one but me.
The gems beneath the surface. I could already see them gleaming.
But there was time, a year, maybe less. I had to plan carefully. Every move mattered. And I needed strength, both in power and in mind. That's where Edrion Vale came in.
I stood before the window, watching the light creep across the sky, thoughts racing faster than my pulse.
Edrion Vale. The name was a whisper in my past life, a shadow that slipped away before I could catch it. A commoner who turned the Emperor's table. I had heard his name spoken in prison, in hushed reverence, the guards mentioning his brilliance with awe and fear.
In my past life, I never met him. But his reputation had followed me even in my final days.
A lowborn man who transformed provinces with nothing but sharp intellect. The Crown Prince, even, had sought his counsel. If I had known, I might have changed the course of my fate.
But now? This life was mine to shape.
I couldn't let Edrion Vale slip past me again. I needed him.
I walked to Lucian's office, my steps precise, my thoughts even sharper.
He looked up when I entered, his gaze flicking over me with an unreadable intensity. But there was something else. A touch of... possessiveness?
"You're back," he said, his voice smooth.
"Lucian," I started, my words deliberate, "I want you to take Edrion Vale into service to look after management."
His brow furrowed. "Vale? That lowborn strategist?"
I met his eyes. "Yes. He is brilliant. We need him."
"You think we need him?" Lucian's voice dropped a notch, with a faint edge to it, like he was measuring my request.
"I'm certain," I replied. "He'll be invaluable to Noctare."
"Why not just leave him in the hands of others?" Lucian asked, his lips tight, just the smallest trace of tension running through him.
"Because you'll understand him. You'll see the worth in him," I said, stepping closer, "as I do."
His gaze flickered for a moment. He was hesitant. "You've researched about this, I see."
"More than you know."
Lucian gave a tight smile, though there was something different in the way he looked at me. "And you're sure this is for Noctare's good? Not... personal reasons?"
I tilted my head, feeling the sting of his words. "Isn't it always for Noctare's good?"
His expression remained guarded. But I could feel it—his jealousy, thin as it was.
"Fine," he said after a pause. "I'll have him brought in."
I nodded, satisfied. "Good. You'll see soon enough."
I stood at the edge of the study, my fingers lightly grazing the doorframe. Lucian looked up from his work, his eyes bright with a suggestion.
"Since it's been less than a day," he began, his tone smooth, "Would you care for a stroll around the castle? There's more to see beyond these walls of this floor."
I smiled, the offer simple enough. But his words, so unaware, carried a weight I had to mask. He doesn't know that I know every inch of this place already.
"Of course," I replied, stepping into the room. "I suppose it's only fair. You're the one who's spent a lifetime here."
Lucian chuckled, his gaze softening with a warmth that made me pause, though I pushed the thought aside. "Then come. I'll show you the gardens."
We walked, the castle's towering walls fading behind us as the crisp evening air wrapped around us. Lucian seemed eager, guiding me through the winding paths with the pride of a man who had known them his entire life.
After a while, I stopped, the idea brewing in my mind. "Tomorrow, I'd like to visit the slumbers," I said, my voice steady.
Lucian turned, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "The slumbers? But… why there? The town offers so much more."
I met his gaze, calm. "The town doesn't matter. It's the slumbers I want to see. I've never been. I was always kept within the castle before."
His expression shifted, but not in a way I expected. "The slumbers, Liora? Of all places, why there?"
I turned to face him fully, speaking slowly, with purpose. "To know a place, you must look at its lowest. The slumbers hold what the rest of the land tries to forget. If the slumbers are well, then perhaps the rest of the empire is too. If not…" I paused, letting the weight of that possibility sink in. "Then I'll know exactly what lies beneath."
Lucian was quiet for a moment, clearly considering my words. "But—why them? The town, with all its life, its progress… you'd learn more."
"The town is just a mask," I said, my voice firm. "I no longer seek the glamour of the town, Lucian. I want to understand the human condition—its struggles, its suffering. To know it in its truest form."
He eyed me closely, as if trying to piece something together, his lips tight with some unknown emotion. "You're an odd one."
I smiled softly, the edge of irony in my words. "I've had time to learn that much."
Lucian shook his head but couldn't hide the curiosity in his eyes. "You'll have your visit tomorrow. But don't expect to find what you're searching for."
"I never expect to find anything," I replied, my tone laced with subtle meaning. "I simply seek to understand."
We continued walking, the quiet between us now filled with something else—a shift, a spark of recognition that he couldn't yet place.
He turned to me.
Bowed and kissed my hands.
"However, tomorrow, I shall accompany you, Liora."
TO BE CONTINUED-