The training yard was rimed with frost when Elinora stepped into it that morning. Silver fire burned in the sconces along the walls, casting cold light across the hard-packed snow. The air was so sharp it stung her lungs and bit at her fingers through her gloves.
Riven was already there, near the weapons rack, rolling his shoulders with ease. His cloak lay folded on the bench, leaving only a fitted black tunic that clung to the sharp lines of muscle beneath. The faint glow of his mark throbbed through the fabric, a quiet pulse that drew her gaze before she could stop herself.
“Come here,” he said.
She obeyed, stepping across the yard. “You said we’d start breaking the chains.”
“We will,” he said. His silver eyes scanned her like a predator reading the air for weakness. “But not all at
