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Thalon burst from Garrik’s tent, almost colliding into them, visibly conflicted and clutching the pommel of his golden sword with a tattooed hand. He nodded, locks and braids with beads shifting with the movement, before continuing to the tent past Jade’s and retreating inside.

A shadow shifted beside them. Garrik’s hollow eyes stared into the darkness as he leaned, rigid, arms and ankles crossed, and broad shoulder digging into the post that held the tent up. Shadow tendrils lifted from his shoulders and around the veins bulging in his forearms. And that same tormented dullness covered his eyes.

Alora quickly retrieved her blanket and was roughly shoved back inside by Jade. She didn’t care to say goodnight. Didn’t care that Jade threw her boots and jacket on the floor near her bed. What did matter was an unusual glow dancing on top of her pillow that hadn’t been there before.

Her feet cautiously tread to the side of her cot, and on growing closer, Alora’s face lit with the white glow of flames.

A Blazebloom.

It couldn’t be…

Wide-eyed in disbelief, Alora outstretched her hand to touch it, only to be met with Smokeshadows enveloping her hand as her fingers settled upon the burning flower.

That gentle caress tingled the walls of her mind.Careful.

Shadows tendriled in her other hand, misting away to reveal a small, ashy-edged parchment.

Alora lifted the Blazebloom, the barrier of shadows still protecting her skin. She pulled the flames close to the page, illuminating the well-postured handwriting, and read:

Alora considered ignoring it. That distant, muffled bellow of a boned horn, and the hustling of soldiers’ boots. Although she was half-awake, every inch of her body became utterly aware that she wasn’t lazing in silken sheets. Nor was that cooled, lush pillow captured by her arms actually Kaine’s warm body imprisoning her in his blistering-hot bed.

She burrowed into the pillow further.

And that horn wasn’t a cheery breakfast bell or the paddling of soft-slippered maidservants carrying platters of decadent pastries into the dining room.

Jade shifted at the far end of the tent as the horn blew again. Alora heard leather groaning and metal clinking before something heavy and cold thumped across the blanket covering her bare legs.

“Put those on,” Jade barked before moving toward the tent entrance. Careless to avoid kicking Alora’s boots out of the way. “Some of us don’t get the luxury of sleeping all day.”

Heat blared into Alora’s cheeks.

Perhaps the High Prince was right. Her cheeksdidscarlet when she pictured death.

Before she could do so, Jade tossed a night-dark cloak on the bed, piling on top of unfolded leathers much the same as the Dragon’s armor she wore. But that cloak … it smelled familiar, not new. A leather and metal scent had mixed with her own, and a new clasp fastened it.

Another horn blew, and Jade’s taut face turned as bright as her hair. “Move, princess. That horn means Garrik wants camp to report, and I won’t be late because of your slow ass,” she snarled and stomped to the door. “Be out in two minutes, or I swear, I’ll drag you out by that pretty white hair.” Her sword clanged as she thrust the tent entrance aside and disappeared.

Aching legs swung out from underneath the blanket, and she dressed in the worn-out battle leathers. Fumbled with the three straps and buckle closures below her right shoulder. Wiggled into the leather pants that were far too warm for her skin—which was utterlyperfectbecause chafing from sweat on her first day of training would be absolutelywonderful.

A black leather hilt scraped against her leg as she buckled the thigh straps closed. Twisting, Alora grabbed her dagger frombetween the mattress and sheathed it before tucking her feet into knee-high training boots.

None of it fit right. The jacket was too loose around her hollow waist, the sleeves were too long, and the pants needed to be held by a belt, which,of course, she didn’t have. It wasn’t made for her, would perhaps even hinder her movements and any countermeasures to defend herself in the training arena. If Jade wanted her to fail, this was a good start.

The scent of fresh dew was heavy when she ducked from the canvas. Jade waited by Aiden’s tent and a pain stabbed from inside Alora’s chest at the thought of the empty cot inside.

Basking in the warmth of the rising sunlight and scraping dirt from beneath her nails, Jade leaned against the tree with the look of something rapturous crossing her face. She appeared to consider Alora with a slow, scornful examination before pushing from the tree.

Jade twirled the dagger between her fingers before sheathing it, then she twisted away, the action reminiscent of a lord—or lady—dismissing those beneath them. Regarding Alora as nothing more than a servant might’ve been preferable to a dagger aimed at her head, but the indifference chilled her.

You seem to forget that we’re one and the same, Alora thought, offering Jade that same critical assessment before crossing her arms and squaring her shoulders.

The game that Alora anticipated had started when Jade threw a baiting grin over her shoulder. “Don’t fall behind.”

The training arenahad been dismantled and transformed into a dais.

Alora silently scoffed. So, the High Prince did have a traveling throne. And his charmed subjects were all gathered below it.

A sea of soldiers congregated, clad in scaled armor—mostly—save for a few donned in common wear. Awaiting some grand speech of duty and honor and whatever other bullshit the High Prince marveled to stir. Perhaps a desire to watch them fight to the death while he stood in his perfect glory.