The crowd circled around the ornate practice hall, watching with bated breath as Seraphina stood across from Duke Alric, a wooden practice sword in her hand. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation—after all, it wasn't every day that a noble lady faced off with a duke in a public duel.
With a nod from the prince, the duel began.
The clash of wood echoed through the hall. Seraphina moved with a dancer's grace, her footwork swift and sure, meeting the Duke's strikes with practiced ease. Blow after blow, their spar turned into a spectacle—her agility matching his strength, her precision countering his raw power.
Gasps echoed as Seraphina's blade nearly grazed the Duke's shoulder, and he laughed under his breath, clearly impressed. "You weren't exaggerating," he said mid-duel, voice low enough for only her to hear.
She offered no reply, too focused on her stance, her breath, and—
Her eyes flickered to the edge of the crowd, where the Crown Prince stood with arms folded. His expression wasn't one of casual amusement. No, his gaze burned—intense, unreadable, his jaw tight and his eyes locked on her every move. There was something darker there.
Jealousy.
And for the briefest second, Seraphina's concentration wavered.
A misstep. Her foot slipped against the polished floor just as she parried the Duke's strike. She stumbled, balance faltering—and before she could catch herself, strong arms steadied her.
The Duke's.
He held her gently, yet securely, one arm around her waist, the other catching her sword before it clattered to the floor.
The hall fell into a stunned silence.
From across the room, the prince took a slow step forward, his eyes glinting with something more dangerous than before.
And Seraphina, still breathless in the Duke's arms, realized she might've just stepped into a storm greater than any duel.