SHADOWED HEIR

“Hit her harder. She doesn’t bleed enough to learn.” The words sliced through the air before the punch connected. I didn’t flinch. The blow hit my jaw, sending a flash of white across my vision. My teeth rattled, but I stayed standing. I always did. “Again,” I said through clenched teeth, my voice steady even as my throat burned with copper. The warrior across from me, a tall guy with a smirk that suggested he enjoyed hurting people, hesitated for a moment, unsure if he’d heard me right. Then he glanced at the platform where my father stood with his arms crossed. The command wasn't spoken, but it was clear. He hit me again. This time, I fell, sand biting into my palms as my knees hit the ground. The training ring buzzed with muffled laughter from the other recruits. I tasted blood but forced it down and pushed myself up before anyone could tell me to stay down. Never let them see you fall twice. That was my rule. “Callen!” My instructor's voice cut through the haze. “You call that defense? You’re fighting like a pup.” The other trainees snickered. I ignored them and straightened my spine, even though my ribs screamed. “Permission to continue,” I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. He studied me for a long moment, then gave a short nod. “Fine. But when you’re flat on your back again, don’t cry for mercy.” I wouldn’t. I never did. The next round began. My opponent lunged, predictable and heavy-footed. He went for the shoulder feint again, aiming for the spot where I seemed too slow to block. He had no idea I memorized every rhythm, every flaw, every lazy habit of the wolves who thought I didn’t belong here. I sidestepped and drove my elbow into his gut before his arm even swung. The breath left his body in a choking gasp. He staggered. I could have finished it then — a quick strike to the throat, a flip, a pin — but I held back. I wanted him to recover. I wanted him to think I’d gotten lucky. Because if they knew how good I truly was, they’d tear me apart. The Silvercrest warriors didn’t like being outshined by the Beta’s useless daughter. “Enough,” my instructor barked, stepping up before my opponent could charge again. “Training dismissed.” Relief washed over the ring as bodies started to disperse — bruised, sweating, and whispering. I bent slightly, pretending to catch my breath. The moment no one was watching, I rolled my aching shoulder back into place and straightened up. “Pathetic,” my father’s voice sliced through the noise. Cold. Controlled. I didn’t turn. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. But his boots stopped behind me, and the weight of his presence pressed against the back of my neck. “You lasted longer this time,” he said. “Only took three hits before you remembered how to move. Should I be proud?” “No, sir.” My voice was even, rehearsed. Years of practice. “Good,” he replied, his tone flat. “You’d only embarrass yourself trying.” He walked away before I could respond — before I could stop my hands from shaking. The scent of iron and sweat lingered long after he was gone. The others kept their distance, just like always. Some looked at me with pity, some with disgust. But none dared to speak to me. It was easier that way. When the field emptied, I gathered my bag and slung it over my sore shoulder. The afternoon light spilled across the training ground, turning the dust gold. I stared at the outline of the forest beyond — the only place that didn’t feel like a cage. That’s where I went every night. No one followed me there. The whisper of the trees didn’t mock me. The shadows didn’t care about ranks or bloodlines. There, I could be the fighter I was — not the disappointment my father believed I was. I walked toward the treeline, each step peeling off the weight of the day. My ribs throbbed. My knuckles burned. But the ache was familiar. Honest. I’d choose pain over pity any day. The deeper I went, the quieter the forest became — just wind and my heartbeat. I dropped my bag near a clearing, unwrapped my hands, and let the silence absorb me. Then I started to move. One strike. Two. Three. Fluid, relentless, precise. My body knew the rhythm like breathing. The world blurred into motion and muscle. I trained until sweat ran down my spine and the anger inside me shifted into something else — focus. Strength. Fire. When I stopped, the forest was still. Moonlight crept through the branches. I was about to pack up when a sound caught my attention — soft, deliberate. A twig snapped. I froze. The forest was supposed to be empty. Everyone in Silvercrest knew better than to wander here after dark. I turned slowly, every sense alert. The air carried a faint, unfamiliar scent — clean, crisp, edged with power. “Who’s there?” My voice was low and steady, even though my pulse quickened. No response. Just the sound of something moving between the trees. Watching. I bent down, pretending to tighten the wraps around my wrists. My fingers brushed the knife strapped to my boot. The silence stretched — heavy. Then, just like that, the presence vanished. The wind stirred the leaves again, whispering secrets I couldn’t catch. I exhaled, forcing the tension out of my shoulders. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe I was just paranoid. Still, something felt off. When I finally stepped back into the open, a figure stood at the edge of the clearing — tall, cloaked in black, silver eyes glinting beneath the hood. My breath caught. I hadn’t heard him approach. He didn’t speak. He just watched me, as if he’d been there the entire time. “Training after hours?” His voice was smooth and calm — too calm. “You hit harder than most of your pack.” My pulse raced. “Who are you?” He smiled faintly. “Someone who enjoys watching those no one else notices.” Before I could react, he tossed something onto the ground at my feet — a small metal insignia, marked with a crest I’d only ever seen in books. The royal seal of the Alpha King. When I looked up again, he was gone. Only the echo of his voice remained — soft, chilling, certain. “Keep your strength hidden, little wolf. The King has eyes everywhere.” End of Chapter One. Ember realizes someone powerful knows her secret and that she’s been watched.