"Engaged?!"
I stared up at Father in disbelief. What kind of madness is he spouting while beating me senseless?
I waited for the punchline that never came. His silence was answer enough.
His fist crashed into my face before I could recover. I stumbled back, the sting spreading across my jaw, but I swallowed the pain and steadied my stance.
"I've spoken to your mother about it," he said flatly. "When I grant you the title of crown prince, I will also announce your engagement."
He stood across from me, framed by the pale stone pillar, sword gleaming in his hand.
"I will allow you to choose."
Allow me to choose? I almost laughed. He'll probably line them up for me — noble daughters, political tokens — and I'll be told to 'choose wisely.'
I raised my glaive again. Conversation with Father always ended like this — in silence and bruises.
The real question is: what did he trade to make this marriage happen?
Steel hissed through the air as I sidestepped his downward strike and countered. The glaive sliced upward, forcing him back.
Why announce my engagement at the same ceremony that crowns me heir? Whoever this family is, they must be vital to the kingdom.
I spun the glaive, its motion pulling my body into a rising arc. The weapon's weight and momentum became one with me. I brought it down with everything I had.
The impact was deafening. Metal screamed against metal — a shriek that rattled my bones.
For an instant, I thought I'd broken through. Then came the backlash.
Every muscle burned from the collision. My arms trembled, my ribs ached, but I stood my ground.
Father lowered his sword slightly, smirked, and said, "Our lessons end here. From now on, you train alone."
And just like that — he vanished.
Silence.
The courtyard felt emptier without his shadow looming over it.
I touched my aching jaw. Crown prince. Engagement. Words that should have sounded triumphant now tasted like iron.
"Why did Mother agree to it…" The words left my mouth unbidden. She hadn't spoken to me in years. Every visit turned away, every letter ignored. Now she wants to decide who I marry?
The thought stung more than the bruises.
"Prince. Your next lessons are about to begin." I turned. Edward stood at the edge of the platform, arms folded, wind tugging at his cloak.
"Did you climb all the way up here?" I asked.
He met my gaze evenly. "No. I flew."
I snorted despite myself. "Let's go."
I stepped off the edge and let gravity take me.
The air roared past my ears before my boots struck the ground — not gracefully, but close enough.
Edward landed beside me, barely stirring dust.
He'd changed over the years. No longer the scrawny boy I used to drag through drills — muscle now lined his frame, his stance steady.
Still shorter than me, though. Perks of being a Jotun, I thought.
"This lowly servant greets His Royal Highness."
The tutor — Henrick, or Hen-something — bowed so low his nose nearly brushed my boots.
"Enough with the theatrics," I said. "Start the lesson."
He straightened, clearing his throat with false dignity. "As His Highness commands."
Edward sighed softly. "You really should stop skipping etiquette classes."
"Ignore the slave and begin," I said without looking at him.
Henrick's jaw tightened, but he bowed again. "As you wish, Your Highness."
He moved to the center of the courtyard and spread his hands.
"As His Highness is now Rank Two in Seithr manipulation, there are things you must understand before advancing further."
Eight years. That's how long it had taken me to reach this point.
Eight years of bleeding and burning through control exercises.
Still, I wasn't satisfied.
"At Rank Zero, you learned to form motes of light," Henrick continued. "At Rank One, to blind those who looked upon them. And now, at Rank Two, you can bend light around yourself."
"Yes, and?" I said.
"What I ask, Your Highness, is that you resist the urge to advance further — for as long as possible."
His tone shifted — grave and deliberate.
My brow furrowed. "And why would I do that?"
He hesitated, eyes flicking briefly to Edward.
"Because the mortals call those who wield Seithr 'The Skrym' for a reason. The ability to bend nature comes at a cost — your sanity."
The word lingered in the air.
"It may seem harmless now," he went on, "but at Rank Three, when you begin shaping spells of your own design, each act of creation feeds the fracture in your mind. The more you twist the world, the more the world twists you."
I said nothing. The words dug deep, heavier than his bow ever could.
Henrick lowered his head. "I've taught you all I can. The rest of the path you must walk alone."
When he left, the courtyard felt colder.
The path to power must be walked alone.
"Edward," I said quietly, "we'll follow his advice. Focus on control, not output. From now on, aside from sparring, we'll train separately."
Edward bowed slightly. "As you command, Your Highness. But… will distance not weaken my progress?"
His tone carried something like concern.
"Your light grows stronger near me, doesn't it?" I asked, a faint smile tugging at my mouth. "Maybe you're just too fond of this royal prince."
He shook his head. "My power mirrors yours, that's all. The closer I am, the brighter it shines."
"I know," I said, glancing at him. "That's why you'll train away from me — to see how far your reflection reaches on its own."
He nodded slowly.
His power — the moon to my sun — had always fascinated me.
When his Seithr awakened, I thought he'd followed me down the path of light. But his glow wasn't his own. It strengthened in my presence, like moonlight stealing its radiance from the sun.
Seithr had always been unpredictable, shaping itself to the soul of its wielder. For Edward, that meant reflection. For me — control.
Most peasants thought the gift of Seithr was divine. They didn't know it was learned, cultivated.
Father never allowed those secrets to be taught openly. He wants me to discover them myself, I realized. He wants me to chase knowledge the way he chased strength.
Perhaps ignorance was another form of leash.
I looked up at the sky, pale and vast above the courtyard.
The light shimmered faintly — too bright, too distant — like something alive, waiting to be bent to my will.