The Wolf's Queen Vows

Chapter 16: Early Training

The sun was almost gone, but the air still held the warmth of the day. The old courtyard behind the barracks had once been a place for royal guards to train before dawn, but now it was mostly empty. A few weapons hung on the walls, and the ground was covered with sand that muffled every step.

Galen stood waiting with two wooden daggers in hand. His sleeves were rolled up, and the edge of his jaw was still dusted with sweat from his own drills. When Aveloria appeared, he straightened.

"You’re late," he said, though his tone wasn’t sharp.

"I had to deal with some things," she replied, walking closer. Her dress was plain today, easier to move in, and her hair was tied back.

He handed her one of the daggers. "Then let’s not waste time. You said you wanted to learn how to defend yourself. I won’t go easy on you."

"I’m not asking you to."

He smiled slightly, a brief flicker that softened his face. "Good."

They began with stances. Galen showed her how to keep her knees slightly bent and steady her weight. He guided her hands, adjusting her grip until it felt right. Every time his fingers brushed her skin, she felt a small, quick jolt of awareness. He didn’t seem to notice, but she did.

"Don’t hold your breath," he said. "You’ll tire out faster."

She exhaled and tried again. The first few attempts were clumsy. Her movements were off balance, and her steps were uneven. Galen corrected her patiently, sometimes stepping behind her to adjust her arms. His voice stayed low, calm, steady.

"You’re too stiff. Let your body move naturally. If you overthink, you’ll lose control."

She nodded, breathing harder. Sweat was already starting to form at the back of her neck.

After several rounds of practice, she managed to land a strike on his shoulder, not hard, but enough to make a sound. He raised an eyebrow.

"Not bad," he said. "Try again."

They went again, faster this time. The sound of wood clashing filled the courtyard. Aveloria stumbled, regained her footing, and went for another strike. Galen blocked her easily, turning her momentum back against her.

"Better. But don’t predict me. Watch me," he said.

Her eyes locked on his. She nodded once, then moved again.

For a while, the world shrank to the two of them, the sound of breath, the rhythm of their steps, the sharp clack of wooden blades.

When they finally stopped, Aveloria’s chest was heaving. Galen handed her a small cloth.

"Here. You’ll get used to it," he said.

She wiped her forehead, catching her breath. "How long did it take you to learn all this?"

"Years," he replied. "But you won’t need years. You need focus."

"I have focus."

He studied her quietly. "I can see that. But focus like that doesn’t come from nowhere." frёewebnoѵēl.com

She looked away. "Does it matter?"

"It does to me."

His tone wasn’t demanding, just curious, almost too gentle for someone known for his discipline. She didn’t answer.

He waited a few seconds before continuing, "You’re hiding something. Whatever it is, it’s what’s driving you. I can see it every time you strike. It’s not just about defense." freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

Her fingers tightened on the dagger. "Everyone hides something."

"True," he said, nodding slightly. "But not everyone looks like they’re fighting ghosts."

She didn’t respond. Her face was calm, but her hands gave her away cause they were trembling slightly.

He took a step closer. "Aveloria."

Her eyes lifted to his. "Don’t ask me," she said quietly.

He held her gaze for a long moment. "Fine. But if you ever do want to talk, I’ll listen."

They went back to training. This time, there was a charge between them, something neither of them addressed but both felt. Every move drew them closer. Every correction brought his hand near her skin again, and every time she caught his scent, clean, sharp, familiar, it left her more aware of how close they were standing.

Hours passed before either noticed how dark it had become. The courtyard torches flickered to life, throwing soft light across the ground.

"Last round," Galen said. "Then we stop for today."

She nodded, raising the dagger again. Her arms ached, but she refused to quit.

They moved in rhythm, strike, block, pivot, counter. Then, her foot slipped in the sand in a minor lapse of focus. Her blade turned at the wrong angle, and she lost her balance. Galen caught her wrist before she fell, but the movement pulled him down with her.

They landed hard. The daggers scattered away. For a second, neither of them spoke. The sound of their breathing filled the space between them.

Aveloria blinked, realizing her hands were against his chest. His heartbeat was fast, strong. She tried to move, but he didn’t. His hand was still on her wrist, holding it without force.

Their eyes met. And something shifted, unspoken but clear. He didn’t lean in right away, but when he did, it was slow enough for her to pull back if she wanted to. She didn’t. Their lips met, not rushed, not hungry, but deep. It lasted only a few seconds, yet it felt longer.

When he finally pulled back, both of them were breathing unevenly.

He glanced away first, sitting up and brushing dirt from his hands. "We should stop."

She pushed herself up, too. "You’re right."

But she didn’t move away completely. Her gaze had fallen on his arm, and the sleeve had slipped slightly, revealing tiny red marks along the inside. Some looked older and faded, others newer.

Her chest tightened. "You’re hurt."

He immediately pulled the sleeve down. "It’s nothing."

"Those weren’t from training," she said.

He stood, avoiding her eyes. "You wouldn’t understand."

"Try me."

He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. For a second, it seemed like he might tell her. But then he shook his head. "Not today."

"You shouldn’t hide things like that," she said. "You help everyone else carry their weight, but who helps you?"

He gave a short, dry laugh. "That’s not how this works, Aveloria. Some things stay buried because it’s easier that way."

"Easier isn’t always right."

He met her gaze again. Something was raw in it, not anger, shame, or exhaustion. "Then maybe I’m tired of being right."

She didn’t know what to say to that. Again, the silence stretched between them, heavy and full of things neither wanted to name.

Finally, he bent down to pick up the daggers. "Training’s over. You did well."

She stood and dusted herself off. "Thank you."

He handed her back the wooden blade. Their fingers brushed again, and she felt the same pull she had felt earlier.

"I need to see Marek," she said suddenly, more to herself than to him.

Galen’s hand stilled midair. "Marek?"

"Yes. There’s something I need to discuss with him."

There was a brief pause. "Of course," he said finally.

She looked at him, catching the slight shift in his expression, not anger, but something close to disappointment. "It’s not what you think."

He smiled. "You don’t owe me an explanation."

"I wasn’t offering one."

"Good," he said, though his tone didn’t match his words.

She hesitated, unsure whether to leave or stay. "Galen—"

"Go," he said quietly. "You’ll be late if you don’t."

She nodded once, then turned toward the exit. Her steps were steady, but her mind wasn’t.

When she reached the edge of the courtyard, she looked back. He was still standing there, watching her, the torchlight casting sharp lines across his face.

For a moment, it looked like he might call out to her. He didn’t. Aveloria walked away, the sound of her boots fading down the path.

Galen stayed where he was, his hand resting on his arm where the marks were. His jaw tightened. Then, as if forcing himself to move on, he gathered the weapons and left for the barracks without looking back.