There is nothing unusual about this fight to the rest of Valmireth.

To them, it is tradition.

Samhain trials. Power against power. Children turned into weapons to prove they deserve the magic they were born with.

But to me?

She is not just an opponent.

She is the girl I love more than my own life.

If she dies today, I will not survive it. If I am the one who kills her, I will not deserve to.

I know what is expected of me.

I am Cassiel Viremont. Heir to Valmireth. Future king of a kingdom built on strength. Built on the doctrine that power is worth and weakness is a crime.

To rule, I must prove I can do what the crown demands.

And what it demands today… is her blood.

We were both raised to be weapons. No softness. No visible mercy. Aethryn and Noctyra alike are shaped for dominance, not devotion.

She was always positioned as my opposite. Where I am praised as righteous strength, she is whispered about as dangerous. Where I am “good” for the kingdom, she is treated as something darker — something to be controlled.

And yet I know the truth.

She is not evil.

She is disciplined. Fierce. Unapologetically powerful. As unfairly beautiful on the inside as she is outwardly composed.

I wasn’t meant to fall for her.

Growing up, I saw her once a year during trials. That was it. The girl I would someday have to defeat. The girl Father reminded me could never stand beside a king.

I told myself she was just another skilled rival. Another body in the arena.

Gods, life would be easier if that were true.

But years training at Atheris beside her changed everything. Fighting her, learning her rhythm, watching her refuse to bend — my body learned her first. Then my heart followed. And now my soul feels permanently aligned with hers.

But love has no place in Valmireth’s court.

We stand now before the army. Before the court. Before my father.

This is the final Samhain before my graduation from Atheris. The last trial before I am declared ready for the crown.

To prove I am worthy, I must win decisively.

The message must be clear: the future king chooses the kingdom over everything.

Even her.

We begin.

Fighting her has always felt like a dance — brutal and precise. She never holds back. She is ruthless with a blade and just as sharp with her power. She refuses to make me her weakness, just as I refuse to insult her by going easy.

So I don’t.

We move like we were built for this. Strike and counterstrike. Power colliding against power.

But I know what I must do.

I manoeuvre her toward the water feature at the centre of the arena — part of the projection field. I shift the fight just enough. Make it look organic. Earn my advantage.

I trap her there.

And then—

I drive my sword into her side.

Not deep enough to kill. Just enough to look fatal.

Enough to satisfy them.

Gasps. Applause. Approval.

I shove her backward into the water.

It is supposed to look dramatic. Controlled. Temporary.

I forgot.

She cannot swim.

For a second, I wait for her to surface.

She doesn’t.

The crowd roars, believing it is spectacle.

She breaks the surface once — choking.

And I cannot move.

Because my father is watching.

Because the court is watching.

Because the future king does not panic.

Seconds stretch into something unbearable.

She disappears beneath the surface again.

This wasn’t how it was meant to go.

I was meant to injure her. Let her yield. Let her live.

Instead—

They pull her from the water.

The arena empties slowly, celebration fading as officials take control. They call it victory.

Hours pass.

Silence.

Her body lies on the stone.

Limp. Pale. Too still.

Apart from the wound I gave her.

My hands shake.

All my life I have been trained to control others.

But I cannot command breath back into her lungs.

I cannot order her heart to beat.

I kneel beside her but hesitate to touch her, because touching her would mean confirming what I already fear.

I swallow and hold her hand.

It’s cold.

I lean close, my voice breaking in a way the court would never be allowed to witness.

“Please,” I whisper.