[Draven’s POV]

The patrol returns at dusk, and I stand at my study window with a stack of supply manifests spread across my desk, pretending to read while my attention fixes on the figures emerging from the tree line below.

Boots strike stone, armor shifts, voices overlap in familiar cadence. Another completed sweep. Another day without incident. I track them automatically, counting, assessing posture and pace, habit ingrained too deeply to ignore.

My gaze catches on two figures lingering near the courtyard fountain, set apart from the rest by nothing more than choice.

Riven stands close to Evelynn, his posture easy in a way that has always irritated me. He says something I can’t hear, and she laughs—soft, unguarded, the sound carrying through the cooling air.

It isn’t loud, isn’t meant for an audience, which somehow makes it worse. His hand brushes her arm briefly as he gestures. Familiar. Casual. She doesn’t pull away.

Something tight coils low in my chest.

Not jealousy, I tell myself immediately, irritation snapping sharp at the thought. Vigilance. Riven has always been reckless with affection, too quick to offer warmth to anyone who looks like they might need it. He collects broken things and convinces himself they’re his responsibility. That instinct has nearly killed him before.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” Khaira rumbles through our bond, her tone thick with amusement.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I reply, even as my fingers tighten against the stone windowsill.

“Of course you don’t. That’s why you’re gripping it hard enough to crack the wood.”

I release my grip at once, jaw tightening. “I heard that.”

“Good. You were meant to.” Her satisfaction bleeds through the bond. “Denial doesn’t suit you, Draven. Neither does the jealousy you’re pretending isn’t consuming you right now.”

“Neither does your unsolicited commentary,” I answer flatly. “Yet here we are.”

Below, Riven laughs again, touches Evelynn’s shoulder before turning toward the barracks. She watches him go for a moment longer than necessary, expression unreadable, before turning away with a faint smile. I tell myself I’m cataloguing behavior, assessing potential vulnerabilities. Nothing more.

A knock cuts through my thoughts.

Venna enters without waiting for permission, posture rigid, dark hair pulled back with military severity. She wastes no time. “My lord. I have my report on the houseless woman.”

“Proceed.”

I turn from the window, forcibly severing my attention from the courtyard below.

“Her combat skills are adequate. Better than adequate, actually,” Venna says, displeasure threading her voice. “But her background remains suspicious, and her loyalties entirely unclear.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know.”

“She’s dangerous.” Venna steps closer, lowering her voice. “I don’t know what she wants, but she wants something from us. And your brother seems quite taken with her.”

My expression remains carefully neutral. “Riven befriends everyone he crosses paths with. It means nothing.”

“Does it?” Venna’s eyes sharpen. “Because from what I’ve observed, you seem quite taken with her as well, my lord.”

“Careful.”

“I’ve served you faithfully for years,” she replies evenly. “I’ve earned the right to speak when I see a threat to this house.”

“She’s hiding something,” Venna continues. “Let me investigate her properly. Let me dig into where she came from, who trained her—”

“Don’t.”

The word lands with finality.

“Stand down. At least for now.”

“My lord—”

“I said I’ll think about it.” I meet her gaze until she looks away first. “That will be all.”

Venna bows stiffly and withdraws, frustration barely contained. The door closes, and silence settles over the study, heavy and unwelcome.

I should return to my work. Council matters wait. Borders don’t secure themselves. Instead, restlessness pushes me from my chair.

I tell myself I’m verifying a potential threat as I leave the tower. Duty requires vigilance. Nothing more.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Khaira murmurs.

The training yard lies mostly empty in the fading light. Torches haven’t yet been lit. One figure moves alone near the weapons rack, blade flashing in controlled arcs.

Evelynn.

“I never claimed to be comforting.”

A hint of a smile tugs at her mouth. I notice. I shouldn’t.

We train until torchlight replaces dusk. Sweat darkens her collar, silver hair escaping its braid, cheeks flushed with exertion. She looks like a warrior who has earned her place—strong in a way that has nothing to do with softness.

“Enough,” I finally say. “You’ll exhaust yourself before dawn.”

She lowers her blade, breathing hard. “Thank you. For the instruction.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Tomorrow I’ll find new flaws.”

“I look forward to it, my lord.”

The title sounds different when she says it. Less formal. Almost deliberate.

“You’re more than you pretend to be,” I say quietly. “I haven’t decided if that’s dangerous.”

She holds my gaze without flinching. “Maybe it’s both.”

The honesty lands harder than expected.

“Get some rest,” I manage. “Training resumes at dawn.”

She bows and walks away. I watch until she disappears through the archway, pulse slow to settle, aware of an inconvenient truth I refuse to name.

She’s a mystery I should solve. A threat I should eliminate.

Instead, I realize I went looking for her long before I admitted it—to confirm my suspicions, I told myself. To observe. To assess.

The lie sits poorly.

I remain in the torchlit yard long after she’s gone, knowing only one thing for certain: whatever she is, and whatever she’s hiding, she’s already altered the balance in ways I do not yet understand.