Page 16 of Realms of Swords and Storms (Empire of Vengeance #3)
I remember the day I told my father I was enrolling in the academy.
The Emperor's face had turned a shade of crimson I'd only seen during his most legendary rages.
"No son of mine will lower himself to train alongside commoners," he'd thundered, smashing a goblet against the wall for emphasis.
I had remained perfectly still, as I'd been taught since childhood. Show no weakness. Display no emotion.
"I intend to earn my position," I had said calmly. "Not merely inherit it."
It had taken weeks of careful negotiation, leveraging my mother's influence and the support of key military advisors who saw the strategic value in my proposal.
Eventually, my father had conceded, though not without conditions.
I would attend under a false identity. I would report back regularly.
And I would remember, always, who I was meant to become.
What I hadn't told him was that remembering who I was meant to become was precisely why I needed to go.
Now, three months into my time at the Academy, I found myself crossing the grounds toward the stables late one afternoon an hour or so after studies had finished for the day.
The massive structure loomed ahead, its ancient stone weathered by centuries of housing the empire's most powerful weapons, my own included, but I was headed there for a reason that had nothing to do with my dragon.
I was looking for Livia.
The thought of her had become a distraction, invading my mind during tactical lessons, during meals, during the coded communications I reluctantly sent back to the palace.
Three months ago, I had never heard of Lady Livia Cantius, but now I found myself regularly engineering reasons to cross her path.
At first, we had got on well, but recently, she seemed to be avoiding me, and I wanted to know why.
The heavy wooden door groaned as I pushed it open and I stepped through the massive arched doorway from the bright sunlight into the cool, shadowed interior.
Dust motes danced in the slanted beams of light piercing the high windows.
The familiar smells of dry hay, oiled leather, and the sharp, animal scent of horses filled the air.
Deeper within, from the reinforced section of the stables, came the faint, metallic tang of the dragons, a scent like ozone and hot stone.
I ignored it. The air was warmer in here, almost stuffy.
My footsteps echoed on the stone floor as I walked past the stalls, some empty, others containing the massive forms of sleeping dragons.
"Livia?" I called, keeping my voice casual. "Are you in here?"
A rustling sound came from one of the larger stalls toward the back, followed by her voice. "Jalend? Is that you?"
The name still felt strange sometimes—my cover identity at the academy. Jalend, son of a minor noble from the western provinces. Not Jalius, crown prince and heir to the empire. The disguise was both a burden and, increasingly, a peculiar kind of freedom.
"It's me," I confirmed, moving toward the sound of her voice. "I was hoping to find you."
She emerged from behind the heavy wooden door of the stall, and I felt that now-familiar tightening in my chest. Her dark hair was uncharacteristically dishevelled, a few strands clinging to her flushed cheek.
Her academy uniform was slightly askew, the top buttons of her shirt hastily fastened.
She looked... well, she looked as though she'd been with someone.
The thought sent an unexpected surge of jealousy through me.
"Jalend," she said, smoothing her hair with one hand.
"Did you need something?” She seemed distracted, nervous almost. I glanced past her into the stall.
There was no one else there—just her assigned dragon, Sirrax, watching me with those unnerving golden eyes.
The creature was massive, even for an academy dragon, with ebony scales.
It made a low rumbling sound in its throat as it regarded me.
"I was looking for you, actually," I said, dragging my attention back to Livia. "We never finished our conversation about the defence techniques Professor Marken was demonstrating."
It was a thin excuse, and from the slight arch of her eyebrow, she knew it.
"That couldn't wait until tomorrow's class?" she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.
I shrugged, moving closer. "Perhaps I was simply looking for an excuse to see you."
Her expression shifted, becoming more guarded. "Jalend..."
"You've been avoiding me," I said, the words coming out more bluntly than I'd intended. "Ever since the night of the autumn equinox celebration."
We had danced that night, and for a brief moment, with her in my arms under the lantern light, I had forgotten my purpose at the academy. Forgotten who I was. Forgotten everything except the way she felt against me, the scent of her hair, the surprising strength in her hands.
"I haven't been avoiding you," she said, but her eyes slid away from mine. "I've just been busy with training and—"
"Livia," I interrupted softly. "I'm not a fool."
She sighed. Behind her, the dragon shifted, its massive tail sliding across the straw-covered floor. There was something oddly protective about the way it positioned itself behind her.
"It's complicated," she finally said. Her cheeks flushed darker, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "Your family is far above mine. Nothing could come of it."
I seized on her words, moving closer still. "So you've thought about it, then. About us. You've considered the possibility."
The flush spread down her neck, and I found myself fascinated by it, wondering how far it continued beneath her collar. She backed up slightly until she was pressed against the wooden door of the stall. “That’s not what I meant," she protested, but her voice lacked conviction.
"Isn't it?" I was close enough now to see the flecks of gold in her dark eyes, to notice the rapid pulse at the base of her throat.
"We both know there's something between us. Something more than friendship. You’re not like anyone I've ever met, Livia.
You don't care about status or court politics.
You speak your mind. You're stronger than half the men in our combat class. When I'm with you, I feel..."
I trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence without revealing too much. When I was with her, I felt like Jalend - not Jalius. I felt like a version of myself that could exist outside the suffocating expectations of the imperial court.
"You feel what?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Free," I admitted, the truth slipping out before I could stop it.
Something changed in her expression then—a softening, a moment of vulnerability that I'd never seen in her before. I reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face, letting my fingers linger against her cheek.
"Why do you keep pushing me away?" I asked, my voice low. "And don't tell me it's because of our families."
She hesitated, and I could see the conflict in her eyes.
Sometimes, in the quiet hours of the night, I allowed myself to imagine an impossible future.
One where I wasn't the prince. Where I could take Livia and disappear to some distant corner of the empire, or beyond its borders.
Where we could live simply, without the weight of duty and bloodlines.
It was a dangerous fantasy, one that would be considered treasonous if my father ever discovered it.
And yet, standing there with her, it felt more real than the future that had been mapped out for me since birth.
"Jalend," she whispered, and there was a warning in her voice, but also something else. Something that sounded like longing.
I closed the final distance between us, my hand sliding to the back of her neck. I gave her a moment to pull away, to stop what was about to happen. She didn't.
Her lips were softer than I’d imagined, and for a heartbeat, that was my only thought.
Then she answered the kiss. A soft gasp parted her lips, and a small, desperate sound escaped her throat as her hands came up to fist in the front of my tunic, pulling me closer as if she were drowning and I was her last breath of air.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, I rested my forehead against hers. "Still think it's complicated?" I murmured.
Instead of answering, she pulled me back to her, kissing me with renewed fervour. My hands slid down her sides, feeling the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips. She made a small sound against my mouth that sent heat coursing through me.
I found myself speaking without planning the words, whispering against her skin all the things I'd imagined doing to her.
How I'd thought about the taste of her neck, the feel of her bare skin under my hands, the sound she might make when I touched her in just the right way.
Words that would have shocked the imperial court, words that shocked even me with their raw honesty.
Her response was to tug my shirt free from my trousers, her hands sliding beneath the fabric to trace the muscles of my back.
The feel of her fingers on my skin was electric, sending a shudder through me.
I caught her lower lip between my teeth, gently biting down, and was rewarded with another of those small, intoxicating sounds.