Elara’s POV
The next seven days blurred into a single, relentless rhythm.
I woke before dawn, long before the palace stirred, and ran the outer paths until my lungs burned and my injured leg screamed in protest. I trained late into the night when the warriors had retired, practicing the moves I had watched Dana’s fighters perform. No one guided me. No one offered advice. I learned by watching, by failing, by forcing my body to remember.
Every muscle ached. Every bruise reminded me I was still healing. But I did not stop.
I was determined.
I knew I might not win the rematch, but I refused to be beaten so easily again. I would not give Dana or Lucian or anyone in this palace the satisfaction of seeing me break.
On the final evening, the day before the rematch, I needed to clear my head
