Ever since the day I became the king's third hand, the crown prince has looked at me differently. His eyes dart back and forth nervously, he shoves his hands into his pockets and forces his smiles. There's nothing ordinary about him anymore, not when he's around me. After all that time it took for him to heal, and he's back to behaving like a different version of himself, a prince I haven't yet met.

Often times, I find myself wishing for the prince I met when I first arrived at this castle.

Precisely why I look into his fake expression of joy upon seeing me, and say, "I don't really have the time. I just left a meeting and—"

"Then you have the time," Silas interrupts. "I was just on my way to the training room, I thought you'd like to join me for a round or two." Flashbacks of a bedridden prince come back to me. At the time, all I wanted was for him to improve, but it never came, not until we left again. We, as in...

I don't give myself the opportunity to finish the thought. I nod. "I guess that won't take too long. Besides, we have yet to spar together."

Silas splays his arms wide this time giving me a real grin. "All the more reason to knock me on my ass when you win," he jokes.

"I may have improved on my skills, but I don't think I could beat a prince in a duel," I say confidently as we turn, heading in the direction of the training room.

All the king has me doing these past weeks is building muscle I'll use during battles or duels between those that wish to beat me. I have little, started with hardly anything, and am working my way into the warrior he wishes me to be. I've noticed changes, precisely in my arms and shoulders—along with a slight muscle definition in my legs. It's nothing compared to the female warriors and guards I've seen in the castle, but I'll get there. Someday. That'll take years to build up, years I'll have.

I'm always the first one to unload sacks of grain from wagons and carry water buckets into the stables, no matter how many times the servants plead to let them do the job rather than me. King's orders, I tell them. Often times, if I notice anyone needs a job requiring strength, I step up and do my best until my arms are burning and I can't feel my fingers.

Binx would tell me I'm overexerting myself. I tend to disagree.

In the training room, the ceilings reach higher than I could ever touch. The vaulted top cascades into a mezzanine and a loft for viewers to watch the training, specifically those of importance. The velvet chairs just beyond the white banister are proof of that as is the gold-plated torches and braziers. Unused, rather for looks.

Silas straps on a leather breastplate as I do the same, as well as pauldrons over the shoulders, metal poleyn's over our knees, and vambraces strapped to our forearms. Armor for training doesn't hold a requirement, but there's no sense in not wearing it. Half the battle is suiting up for the war, then fighting it. If you can't properly protect yourself, you're as good as dead.

I pick a sword from the back wall stocked with weapons. It's a boring sword, the pommel is a simple diamond, and the handle is leather. What a contrast.

Instead of opting for a weapon he's not familiar with, Silas chooses the sword at his belt and draws the gleaming blade from its sheath.

"That's quite a sword you have there," I compliment.

Silas smiles. "The blade was specifically forged for my hand to fight in battles once I'm king." He points the tip at me as we stand face to face in a training square.

The rest of the room is empty, none of the guards are training today as they're too busy preparing for the king's departure to the battlefield. That is not a meeting I want to take part in, although the king's phantom call may reach me soon and I'll have no choice but to go.

If he calls for me, I must stop whatever I'm doing. If I don't, my body loses all control, agony shoots out from all directions, and I can hardly see straight. As if he holds a rope tied around my middle, the king tugs up it, forcing phantom spikes into my back. I have no choice but to follow his order when he calls for me. If I resist, my body can't fight off that ache without a terrible ordeal of self-loathing and invisible pain. No crystal in the world can help that.

"You'll be holding out on that title for a long time," I say. "Your father has no plans to give up his throne."

Silas blinks. That genuine smile of his disappears as quickly as it had arrived when he saw me in the hallway. Any mention of his father or my association with him seems to shut down all the people I used to consider my friends. If they don't agree with my lifestyle...to hell with them. I've chosen this path for myself.

At first, I don't think Silas will say anything. He runs his fingers along the clean blade as smooth as Illbre's waters. When his eyes meet mine, there's nothing left of that awkward prince that's just trying to be my friend. The Silas I first meet isn't there, and the broken shell of a man isn't here. This is the Silas that trains to be a warrior, a prince on a battlefield—for when that time comes. It's a shame he's not going with us to prove to the soldiers he cares; after all those deceased apology letters, it's impossible not to. His father's name isn't at the bottom, it's his.

All those names and nothing to show for it. That's why we're going to the battlefield to bring home a win for the soldiers. They deserve it. That win is in their honor.

Silas flips the sword from one hand to the other. The blade glistens like stars against the sunlight bleeding in from the walls of windows. "All reigns must end, even my father's. The kings before him did the same, and my father will not stray from tradition," Silas muses.

"I'm sure you're aware of the traditions to the Marron bloodline." I crouch into my fighting stance, one foot positioned in front of the other. I balance my weight as Silas flips his hair out of his eyes, moving into an attack position as well. "Once the new king takes his throne, the previous ruler is to die."

I attack first, cutting to the right with my sword only to meet his blade. It's a quick dance before I'm striking left, moving against my position to bring the sword back around to my front after he dragged my strike away. He crouches low and a slash of wind in the air from the force of my blade is the only sound I hear. A complete miss.

It's not a second before his blade aims for my right side and I duck away, running my sword along his to drag it where I want the blade to go. Hardly enough as he comes back with another, a quick slash I'm forced to defend before he spins, aiming for my head. I pull a trick from his own book, ducking to crouch underneath—only to feel the wind cutting through the air—barely missing the scarlet strands of my hair.

I rock back and forth on the balls of my feet, clenching my sword tight. A quick jerk of my head is all it takes for the longer strands of my hand to move out of the way. The mass of a prince crouches, extending his blade out towards me, yet somehow keeping it close enough it would be dangerous to attempt at disarming.

Silas shakes out his wrists. "I'm aware of the traditions. And I know that my father isn't ready to die although he plays like he is."

"A king is not always subtle about what he wants." I twist the handle of my sword in my hand and Silas watches my every move. Unnerve him before striking. "Sometimes, a leader must go through great lengths to achieve what they desire."

"What would you know of leadership?" He asks, his voice graveled.

I snarl. With a quick twist to gain momentum, I aim for his middle, forcing him to jump back. A feeble attempt at defense and one that may cost him. I bring my sword up from the depths of the lower part of my body, advancing another step while he's forced to retreat. Each move of my own is too quick for him to calculate, he can barely parry without having to retreat—step by step.

Unable to block the sword rising from the depths of hell, I force Silas back, able to slide the edge of his blade against mine on the way back down, all before he reaches the end of the training square, forced to stop. I bring my word down from over my head and use all my strength to attempt cutting him in half, but prepared, meeting my blade to create the perfect 'T'.

The handle rattles in my palms and Silas, reaching forward, shoves our two blades apart and slashes for my throat. I skitter back, attempting to use my shoulder as a block.

Anger seeps off the crown prince as he stares at me down his nose. I know this is more than a simple match in training. He wants something more, brought me here for a reason.

"You've blindly followed him ever since the day you swallowed the potion," Silas remembers. It's a memory I cherish one too many times a day. "Yet, you don't realize what his reign has done to the innocent people of this kingdom."

I scoff. "Innocent people? The people of this kingdom are not innocent, they've done plenty to unnerve their leader. He has every right to commit the acts he has."

Silas strikes, swiping low for my legs, but I block and jump back.

"What about the witches with mortal powers? Beheaded in the streets because they're not like you and I. Their powers are weak so they're killed; their families are, too. Men, women, children, all of them."

Even with the clarity in my head, I can't come up with an answer. But I blurt something. "The king wants his residents to be strong. We do not desire witches of lesser power if they can't do anything to help this land advance to what it could be."

Now it's Silas's turn to laugh. "Witches of lesser power? Like your father?" He raises his brows. "He was a witch of lesser power and my father killed him. Mani is of lesser power; do you remember him? Mills, too. They're all given the powers of a witch, but they're granted mortal life."

His words are quick but not as fast as me. I rush at him to bring my sword down over his head. He swipes the blade to the side and I shift my power to the left, bringing the sharpened weapon back around horizontally. These moves are routine now, they feel as natural as walking or breathing.

I've been in this training room too many times to know what it takes to win a battle. And this one I will not lose, not even against the prince of Esaria and the bold words he has against his father's reign. Words I could very easily share to the leader of this great kingdom. What would he have to say about his son's rebellion? If that's a term to be used loosely.

Needing momentum, I twist, taking my entire body off the ground and strike from above, slicing overhead. I push Silas back, but he manages to block, somehow, against the threat that nearly takes him down.

As he blocks, he twists to the side, where the blade takes him. I take that as my shot. Driving my elbow into his gut with a grunt, I make that my final move before stepping back, nonchalantly breaking back to my corner.

From the blow, Silas groans and bends at the waist, clutching onto his stomach. With my back turned to him, he shouts, "He's your enemy! From the day you were born, the king has always been your enemy."

"Those that are jealous will attempt to break apart relationships stronger than they'll ever dream of having." I turn on my heel to face him, crossing my arms over my chest while my sword hangs tightly in my fingers.

Silas's hand slides away from his abdomen. Although he pants, the words that come out next are clear enough to make me flinch. "What about Renit? What about the relationship you had with Renit?"

"I remember everything he did." Planting my feet firmly on the ground, I prepare myself. "He killed my parents." I lunge forward, bringing my blade down, but Silas drags away the attempt.

My shrill cry of anguish echoes through the room.

"He burned down my home." Another bloodied occurrence to the list. My attack comes from below this time, swiping across his middle but he's ready to force that away, too. This is child's play to him. "He forced me to be his Grounding, and he abused my power."

I forget all elements of defense, using one hand to bring the sword over my head and strike down the middle. Again, his blade crosses with mine and I haven't put up enough strength to defend against his. Silas shoves back, and with distance, slaps the sword against my arm to distract me.

A cry of pain escapes my lips and that's all the time he needs. Silas disappears from my vision and something slams against my heels, forcing me off the ground. One second, I'm securely in place, a floor underneath me. The next, I'm falling back, my entire body in the air. My back slams against the floor and, as if I've never taken a breath before, all the air slams from my lungs.

A hoarse cough sounds from my throat and my back arches, pain splintering from my spine. Silas stands over me, panting, and points the sword at my throat. I lost.

"Binx has been your shadow for the past month, he hasn't left you alone and there's a reason," Silas lies through each labored breath. "It's not because he cares about you or wants to protect you. He's a witch of illusion, he's forcing you to believe things that aren't true."

"Bull shit," I counter hoarsely. I wheeze and my chest rises and falls in sharp rhythms.

"It's true." Silas nods and extends a hand. Although I don't want to take it, I do, and he helps me back to a standing position. All I receive as an apology is a simple pat on the back before he returns his sword to the leather sheath at his belt.

At least no one is watching this, especially the king.

"Renit didn't do all those things to you. My father planned them out and Renit had no choice but to execute them."

I shake my head. "No, I see him in my memories—burning down my home and killing my parents. He swung the ax. I watched him."

The breaths come easier now, but a splitting pain through my lower back will not subside until I've rested. After a rough night in the pits, dealing with a strong blow to the back, I have little room for enemies, especially those dealt by a strong prince.

I point my finger at him, all I can do to emit the rage burning in my core. "You've been saying this for a month now, but I know it's not true. None of it is. I've always been and always will be loyal to my king. He's given me the chance for a better life." Silas opens his mouth, words at the ready, but I hold up a hand to stop him. "I don't want to associate with someone that will try to take away the best thing that ever happened to me. If you're going to take this away from me after I've lost so much, you're no better than your brother."

I don't give him the benefit of another word. Turning on my heel, I stomp out of the room without bothering to sheath my sword. It's still in my grip and held tightly, stronger than I've ever clasped a weapon. I don't want to shove Silas out of my life, I've already lost too many, but I won't allow them to stop on me—repeatedly.

A flash of leather armor reveals itself as does Silas. I stop in my tracks before reaching the door, the exit he now blocks. I clench down my jaw and the leather handle groans underneath my tightening squeeze.

"I'm not letting you leave until you realize the truth. This isn't you, you're not the king's third hand and you're not meant to be his killer," Silas blurts. "You have to listen to me."

I ignore the subtle pleading in his voice. What a show the prince has managed to put on, likely for his brother. If they've had contact in the past month, that's information in need of recognition by the king. He needs to know that his son is close; whether I want to reveal that or not. It's best for the safety of the kingdom.

The prince is unarmed. I take one step back as he drops his arms, taking a deep breath of relief, and slash for his exposed skin. Blood sprays and Silas lets out a cry of pain. It's a result of the deep gash in his arm, the only shot I could get without causing too much damage.

Silas presses his hand against the wound in a foolish attempt to stop the bleeding. It drips onto the marble floor, pooling quickly. "this is your warning," I threaten as I step close to him.

He's too busy hissing in pain, yet he hears my words.

"If you keep attempting this, there will be more to come. And next time, I won't nearly be as friendly as I have in the past—including today. You may have won in training, but I will not let that stop me."

I push past him and into the hall. Sheathing my sword, I walk with confidence until I'm around the corner and allow my shoulders to slouch again. After forcing myself to stand up straight and appear as deadly as a warrior, I'm exhausted. And as soon as the king gets wind of my loss to his son, I'll be back in the training room and forced to pack on more strength.

Until then, I'll find the time to sleep—if there is any at all.