The Dririan axe thudded against the practice post, sending a jolt up my arm that I barely registered anymore. Sweat clung to my neck and temples, despite the wind tugging at my shirt and whispering through the courtyard. Even without Caspian present, I kept to his training schedule, maybe even stricter than he would’ve made it. The ache in my muscles gave shape to the days, the bite of the axe in my palm kept my thoughts from drifting too far into the questions I still didn’t have answers to.

  I paused mid-motion, the axe poised in the air for a moment before I brought it down again. This time, the post splintered slightly, and I let the axe fall with a hiss of breath. I stared at the damage in the wood, forcing my shoulders to roll loose and let the tension bleed out.

  Seymour had lived, just as I expected him too, but apparently they had been able to repair most of the superficial damage to his face. In order to help make it seem like Seymour had been attacked by a beast, I had made sure to leave shallow, uneven cuts across his cheeks and jaw, mimicking the kind of frantic swipes a cornered magical creature might leave behind. Not enough to ruin him, but enough to suggest that he’d only barely survived. Whatever priests his father summoned had been skilled enough to preserve the symmetry of his face, aside from the obvious loss of his eyes and tongue.

  The story being passed around was exactly what I had feared; Amalia wasted no time telling everyone that Seymour had been studying the increasing magical disturbances along the border, and that one of his specimens had escaped. No one questioned why Seymour had been working alone or what he’d been doing with a beast that apparently only he had captured. The lie was just palatable enough to be swallowed whole and once his father appeared with a corpse of the supposed beast, there was no reason to look deeper. There were still those who found his research repulsive, considering most magic beasts were at least sentient, but those voices were quickly drowned out.

  I lifted the axe again, preparing to continue my routine. Seymour was alive, yes, but he was voiceless, blind, and effectively leashed. The best he could hope for now was Amalia’s stubborn ambition carrying him through the wreckage of his life like some kind of relic. And while it irritated me that his reputation had been salvaged, at least he couldn’t tell anyone the truth and his threat to my mother had been eliminated. It was something to be grateful for, despite the mess I had made in my rashness.

  Tritetia returned to Isadora’s palace a few days after we returned, although from the gossip among the servants, she was more or less ignoring Valaine. She had also been ignoring me, but I was taking it better than Valaine was. After all, I still didn’t know what to do with the slight twinge of guilt I felt toward using her, and if Tritetia actually blamed me, I found myself unsure of what I would even say.

  I dragged the axe into its downswing again, letting the weight of it carry through the motion. The cracked post finally gave way and split clean down the middle, tumbling in two halves across the courtyard stone with a dull knock. I left the axe where it landed and stood over the wreckage, breathing in the silence that followed.

  I didn’t like any of this. Protecting my mother was supposed to be simple and yet, things were more complicated than they had ever been. I couldn’t even ask Tritetia is my mother’s fate had changed when I hadn’t even asked if she was alright, and I hated not knowing how much my actions may have cost me. Every part of the plan had made sense when it was just thoughts in my head but it was now obvious that nothing was as simple as I wanted it to be.

  I wiped my face on the sleeve of my tunic and turned from the broken post, not bothering to reset it. The practice yard looked empty with no Caspian standing at the edge, arms crossed and eyes sharp. At first I welcomed the lack of critique, but now that it had been gone for several days, it felt like a weight had been misplaced. Like I was swinging into air.

  I walked across the yard, slipping back into the quiet halls of Arvendon palace. My servants mostly kept to themselves, greeting me if I happened to walk by, but none ever sought me out. Tavian and Nyssara gave me daily updates on the goings-on, but I only pretended to be interested. It was to get me into the habit of running an estate, but I wasn’t actually allowed to make any decisions yet. Isadora and Caspian were still the final decision makers, so I didn’t see much point in the formalities of pretending to govern.

  Stolen story; please report.

  I didn’t bother changing out of my training clothes as I passed the main corridor toward the study, where I knew Isadora was already waiting to start my lesson. She still hadn’t started teaching me Naeran history, although she had promised to ask the Emperor and Empress about allowing me to learn. Of course, that had been before the whole Seymour incident, and I could only hope that my stunt hadn’t soured her willingness to fight that particular battle on my behalf.

  “What did you say?”

  I paused as I heard the surprised tone in Isadora’s voice, glancing ahead to the study door. It was closed like always, but I pressed myself against the stone anyway, allowing my horns to manifest. As soon as I did, I recognized the subtle pattern of Tavian’s breathing, but he seemed… panicked.

  “All of them, save Prince Caspian himself, perished,” Tavian repeated and I frowned, not daring to move closer to the door. That couldn’t be right; Duke Miller had returned to the capital only two days after his son was injured and Seymour had said no one died. If the beast harassing his men was so strong that only Caspain had survived encountering it, then how had any of the merchants escaped unscathed?

  “How? All of those men were trained by Caspian.”

  “I don’t have the details, your Highness. Only what the letter from him says. All the men with him have perished, and he is secretly making his way back to the Palace to avoid news of his injuries,” a piece of paper rustled in Tavian’s hand, and I could guess he was handing it to Isadora to read. “It says he’ll leave it up to you to decide how to announce the outcome, but he wants the families compensated for the fallen.”

  Silence filled the room as Isadora read, and I strained to make out the subtle shifts in her breath—low and measured at first, then brittle. There was always something exacting about Isadora’s quiet; like every moment of it was a calculation in progress. Not the same as Caspian’s quiet, which was often louder than his words.

  “It doesn’t even say what they fought.”

  “I’m sure His Highness plans to tell you in person.”

  “If Caspian isn’t forthcoming, that means something is off about what they faced,” Isadora sighed heavily, and I heard as she crumpled the letter before tossing it into the fireplace. The slight flare of the flames as it devoured the offering filled the silence, and then: “We’ll tell the truth. The cost was heavy, but Caspian and his men managed to slay the beast.”

  “And?”

  “Summon Duke Miller to the palace. We’ll need to discuss how to protect his merchants going forward,” I quickly moved further into my hiding space as I heard Isadora sit down, a clear sign that she was done discussing the matter. My horns disappeared just as Tavian opened the study door, walking past me as he hurried to follow Isadora’s orders. I waited until the door swung closed again to step out, considering what I had heard.

  Nothing like this had happened before. I didn’t think much of it when Caspian said he was heading for Pyraxia, but if the Crown Prince had been injured while dealing with a monster threat, there was no way the Marquess wouldn’t have heard about it. In fact, Blackwood would have been elated and likely would have treated me and my mother to a special dinner, as he often did when he received news that pleased him. Yet, we never had a special dinner until after my fourteenth birthday, when Isadora’s coronation was delayed due to Caspian being sent to Driria for three years.

  I slowly began toward the study, my thoughts even more jumbled than they had been before my training session. Now… now Caspian was returning to the Imperial Palace in secret, injured enough that he didn’t dare risk anyone knowing exactly what he had fought at the border. And Caspian wasn’t the type to conceal his injuries out of pride. He hid them when the truth was worse than anyone could stomach.

  Was it because of me? Had I changed things too much?

  What did this mean for my mother?

  The thought made my throat tighten, and Caspian’s words from years earlier echoed in my head again.

  If you really want to protect her, you need to let her go.

  I stopped just outside the study door, not bothering to knock. I need to talk to Tritetia; whatever guilt I felt, I would swallow it, push it aside in order to face her. If she needed an apology I would give it; if she needed me to beg, I would do it. But I needed to know.

  I needed to know what I had done wrong.