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He grinned. "I wasn't very majestic."

From the porch, the Oracle watched silently, and beside her, Veyr leaned against the wooden frame, arms crossed. His eyes stayed on Seren. He never interfered. Never stepped between them. But he always watched.

With school behind them, Seren now trained daily with Astrid, learning what it meant to be Lunara. The training was harsh and lonely. She told no one about her abilities. Not even Astrid. Not even Hagan.

It was hers alone. For now.

Hagan trained under Draken and Garrik-two of the best, and both relentless in their demands. Draken's voice was clipped as ever, movements precise, as if every breath he took was accounted for. Garrik was broader, louder, all grit and instinct. They worked well together, though their teaching styles clashed more than once. Vir often watched from the perimeter, arms folded, voice sharp whenever either of them overstepped.

The tension between Hagan and Seren was like a thundercloud waiting for the storm to break.

Their paths crossed more and more often now, drawn together by duty and bond, and though their conversations were easy, there was an unspoken pressure between them - like a string pulled taut, vibrating with things unsaid.

Sometimes Seren would glance at him and forget to breathe. Sometimes he would watch her walk away and forget why he'd come in the first place. They didn't always speak. But when they did, the air felt charged-like a storm waiting just beyond the tree line.

A stolen glance across the training fields.

A whispered word passed between them in the shade of the herb garden.

A playful tug on the end of her braid when he passed behind her - light, maddening, deliberate.

She'd swat his hand away with a glare, but the smile that followed always betrayed her.

They had put off the handfasting, despite the murmurs it caused. Despite the elders' stern disapproval and Draken's parents' protests. Seren and Hagan had agreed-silently at first, then aloud-that they wanted to know each other better. To choose each other, not just be given to one another.

They would wait until they were both eighteen.

Every moment between them was simple on the surface, yet wonderous with something profound growing just beneath - the slow, quiet unfolding of the inevitable.

They were learning each other slowly. Carefully.

And still, the bond thrummed beneath their skin, growing more insistent with each passing day.

Chapter 36

Highclaw Draken had found a way to keep Lia occupied—formally assigning her to assist Garrik with training logistics and territory strategy. She'd taken to it easily, all sharp instincts and cool confidence. Her knack for predicting skirmish sites and troop movements made her an asset too valuable to ignore, especially as the border tensions with Starnheim continued to rise.

She worked closely with the Hagan and Dain. It was a public secret that he was besotted with her—his attention drawn like a compass needle every time she entered a room. And then there was Veyr. He kept his distance, always watching her with narrowed eyes like he was waiting for something to break or bare its teeth.

More than once, Seren told herself that the camaraderie between Hagan and Lia was nothing more than an old friendship. They had trained together, grown up together—it was natural that they'd share glances, quiet smiles, inside jokes.

But Lia's smug looks didn't help. Nor did the way she sometimes slid her hand onto Hagan's arm with easy familiarity, or how she managed to bring up stories from their shared past with calculated ease—excluding Seren in the most casual, most intentional ways.

"That time at Eastwatch, remember?"

"Back when your father caught us sparring behind the forge..."

"You've always hated the raisins in the cake. He used to slip them into my plate and force me to eat them."

Seren had memorized the rhythm of it. How Lia would laugh softly and tilt her head just enough to catch Hagan's gaze. And how Hagan would smile—polite, brief—then step away. Just enough to keep space between them.

It was that distance, that deliberate effort, that kept Seren's jealousy from settling too deep.

Because while the bond had not yet been sealed, it was alive. And in those quiet moments—when Hagan's hand found hers under the herb table, or when he caught her eye across a crowded room and his smile softened—she remembered.

He had chosen her.

Not because of prophecy. Not because of fate. But because when he looked at her, he saw something worth waiting for.