SELENE
CHAPTER 12
Dawn broke too swiftly.
Selene had not glimpsed Aeris once through the long night. She had gone to her sister's chamber again and again, only to find it cold and bare. No sign of Aeris, nor of Soren, who now spent more hours in that room than his own.
Worry curled tight in Selene's fingers as she walked the path toward the fighting grounds, where their youngest sister would face a man built like an oak. Her hand twisted in unease until another hand, warm and steady, came over hers. The heat of it spread, softening the tightness in her chest. She looked up and met Veyla's gaze.
Veyla's face was calm as still water. Of all the sisters, she stood closest to the earth, closest to the old gods. She walked in step with the past, with quiet rites the royals had long cast aside. Her black hair fell heavy down her back in waves, framing a round, untroubled face. She wore black too, deep and plain as night, not in mourning, though it might seem so, but because she had always loved the color. Selene said nothing of it. She only leaned into the warmth and gave her hand a small, grateful squeeze.
"What are we to do with Aeris?" she breathed out, her voice thinner than she meant it to be.
Veyla's reply came gentle, like low wind. "You know her heart better than I, Selene. Once her mind is set, no words will move her." Then, after a pause, "Mayhap she will not lose. She has been training with Soren."
Selene gave a slow nod. She knew that too. Aeris had kept it quiet, no doubt out of pride or spite. She believed they looked down on her, and perhaps they had, once. But Selene had seen them, Aeris and Soren, sparing in secret, blades glinting beneath torchlight, a few stolen glimpses over the years.
Still, it would not be enough. Not against him. The man of scars and strength, forged by war and time. Selene's chest tightened again, the morning air too sharp, too full of dread. Selene clasped Veyla's hands again and gave a firm squeeze. "I pray you are right."
From the left hall came footsteps,heavy, sure. Thorne stepped into view, with Eiran and Lazeran close behind.
"Where is Aeris?" Thorne asked, his tone clipped.
"I have not seen her," Selene replied.
"That girl," Eiran muttered, lifting a hand to his brow, rubbing it as though the weight of her wore on him. "Where could she have slipped off to now?"
"I'm here."
The voice came from the archway ahead. They turned as Aeris strode into view, Soren trailing a step behind her.
Selene's breath caught. Aeris looked nothing like a princess. She wore a man's tunic, loose at the shoulders, and her wild curls had been hidden beneath some strange leather cap that pressed her hair flat. Trousers hugged her legs, boots laced tight to her knees, and at her belt hung a pouch that could hold blades or bones. Only the gods knew.
She moved with a spring in her step, like she hadn't a care in the world, and then without warning, she clung to Selene's arm like a bear cub seeking warmth.
"Silly girl," Eiran said, eyes sharp as flint. "Where have you been?"
"Getting ready," Aeris replied, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "You know I must prepare for battle."
Her words were as bold as her garb, and just as maddening.
"This is no jest, Aeris," Thorne said, voice taut. "You do understand that, don't you? Father will give you a way out. He will. So I beg you, do not speak. Not before the court. Let him handle this."
His eyes burned with a brother's dread and fury. He looked a breath away from throwing her over his shoulder and fleeing the halls altogether.
Aeris shook her head, steady and sure, as Selene watched her closely. "I need no way out," she said.
Lazeran stepped forward then, voice smooth as still water, though the furrow in his brow betrayed the storm beneath. "Listen. Prince Zerek has given his warrior leave to break you. Do you understand what that means?"
Aeris glanced at Selene, then gave a small shake of her head.
"It means he may do anything to you. Anything. If you set foot in that court, you may not come back whole."
Selene's heart clenched at his words. Her limbs felt cold, heavy. But Aeris only let out a dry snort.
"Let him try," she said, with the fire of a forge in her voice. "Don't worry, Lazeran. I won't lose."
Then she tugged on Selene's arm, just as she had when they were small, like a fox cub trying to charm its way free after a prank. Her face twisted into that pleading expression that had so often softened Selene's heart, no matter the trouble Aeris had stirred.
"Sister," she murmured, "you're not still cross with me, are you?"
Selene wasn't angry. She was afraid, deeply, bitterly afraid. She set her hand over Aeris's, cool and trembling.
"Aeris," she said, voice low, "what if you lose? Have you thought of that? You'll be bound to Prince Zerek married to him, taken from Duskari to the far barren lands of Skaldur. You may never see us again. Truly, have you thought this through?"
Aeris looked away, her expression unusually solemn. Then she nodded, resolve hardening in her gaze. "I know. If I fail, I'll deal with the consequences. But if I don't—if I win—then you won't have to bear this burden, Selene. What you can do, I can do too. I will carry my own weight, I will protect our family. Just watch me. I will win."
She grinned, and for a fleeting moment, Selene almost believed her.
Until she stepped into the arena.
Until Scar strode forward, his scarred face twisted with cruel amusement.
And then, all that remained was hope. Hope that even if Aeris lost, she would not lose her life.
Nyra and Karlene arrived, settling into the royal seats, their expressions grim as they flanked their father. His face was set In stone as he stared down at the battlefield below. Across the arena, Zerek and his men lounged in their space, pleased, confident. The contrast between them was stark. Zerek's warriors in their weathered leather and black furs, while Selene's family sat stiffly in robes of crimson, gold, and deep blue. It was glaring, an omen of what was to come.
Selene feared the ending, but she could not bring herself to speak it. She could only pray that no life would be lost.
The horn sounded.
Father rose, his voice firm despite the weight in it. "The fight ends when one surrenders. Any weapon is allowed, so long as it is not silver." He hesitated, as if searching for more to say but no words could stall what was coming. "Begin," he sighed.
And the battle began.
Scar reached for no weapon, trusting his fists alone.
Aeris did not follow his lead.
She pulled her dagger from her boot and lunged first.