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“Even if that threat is Noora?”

Nikolai looked at Raphael who was facing him head-on.

“Noora is not a threat.”

“What if she becomes a threat?”

“She is not and that is not up for debate,” Nikolai spoke and his word was final. He turned his back on Raphael, staring at the bookshelves filled to the brim with novels, he feared would collapse under the weight by time. “Go to sleep now. We have great plans tomorrow.”

“What happens tomorrow?”

“There will be an arrest of a matron in town and I have been asked to judge it.”

Noora

When Noora got up the next morning, her mind was still filled with great melancholy, she had strict rules regarding her hunting and to have wasted an innocent life reverberated inside her mind for hours. Though she tried not to give it much space and to swallow it. She succeeded only partly in stuffing herself at breakfast with bread, glinting golden brown, cheese, and milk that tasted like heavens on earth.

She had three servings before she could no longer ignore the pulsing in her hand and slipped out of the oppressing palace walls and out into the royal gardens. Today the wind was still raving, rustling the rose bushes and narrow trees that wound around the garden.

Noora looked around for Raphael but she had not seen the guard since last night, when he dropped her off at her room. Now that she came to think of it she hadn’t seen Nikolai the whole morning as well.

“Morning.”

Noora turned to see Tyra clad in a skin-tight black suit which looked like it was made out of leather, hugging her curves seductively, a smirk sitting on her lips. Though Tyra looked stunning, Noora’s attention was drawn by the girl beside her.

She was a bit smaller than Tyra, her limbs delicate and fragile, though it did nothing to her aristocratic posture. Her shoulders were straight, her pointy chin set high and her brown eyes were set on the princess. She was dressed in a beautiful wine-red gown, narrowing at the waist and flowing in an A-line from her hips, brushing the ground. Gold details glinted at the hem, a dainty ring in the same gold embedded in her straight nose. Her dark red hair brushed her shoulders and its structure reminded Noora of Lulva’s strands and the deep tone of her skin. There was no doubt she was from the Southern Isles.

“Going on a morning stroll?” Tyra forced her out of her staring.

“I was hoping to find some sort of greenery. I am looking for a few herbs that I could produce into a salve for my hand.” She held up her hand wrapped in gauze. She did change it this morning. She was not that stupid to let the wound get infected afterward but the insistent pulsing would not leave, no matter what the palace healer provided her.

She needed something different since she was slowly but surely growing irritated by the constant pain.

Tyra’s brows rose. “Well, I could bring you to the healer’s wing. I am sure they will provide you with something effective.”

“They already did. I need something else,” Noora insisted. At this, the girl beside Tyra perked up.

“I think we should show her the greenery, Tyra.” The princess looked at the girl when she spoke her name and the latter immediately nodded. “Of course.”

Without further discussion, Tyra turned around the east side of the castle Noora trailing behind her. The girl fell a bit back smiling politely when she walked beside Noora.

“I watched you when you competed in the tournament, it was admirable what you did.”

Noora’s brows rose. “It was?”

She nodded quickly, the sun glinting against the ring in her nose. “Nobody saw it at first but I knew what you were doing. Even though the wolf bit you, you refrained from actually hurting it despite you getting injured in the end. It is very courageous to stick to one’s morals, especially in a case like this. The royal family is counting on entertainment in the tournament and despite Kekoa’s questionable methods—they preferred it.”

Her eyes glittered now with determination and somehow her excitement traversed toward Noora. “I did as best as I could and now I got a nasty wound on my hand.”

“But I bet that wound feels a thousand times better than having innocent blood on your hands.”

Tyra led them past the stables and just a few steps behind protruded a small house made entirely out of glass. Noora’s steps haltered as she took in the sheer size of the house, it was even bigger than the orphanage itself which inhabited more than forty girls of different age groups.

“I asked for a greenhouse, not a whole palace,“ she muttered and Tyra turned around, surprised. “Is that not what it is?”

Even the other girl, whose name Noora still didn’t know, looked slightly confused by Noora’s reaction.