The King’s Offer
953 Words
Feathers still drifted through the room when Ronan decided to make everything worse.
“I’m just saying,” he announced, stepping over a fallen cushion, “most couples start with flowers. You two started with knives, jam, and property damage. It’s refreshing.”
Kael did not look at him.
“Leave.”
Ronan ignored that entirely and bent to pick a feather from his shoulder.
“To be fair,” he continued, “if she does kill you, the court will call it romantic tragedy.”
Aria folded her arms tighter.
She wanted him gone.
She wanted them both gone.
Mostly, she wanted to stop noticing that Kael looked unfairly beautiful standing shirtless in a room full of feathers.
Ronan glanced between them and sighed dramatically.
“No one appreciates genius.”
He headed for the door, then paused.
“Oh. Before I go—there are already rumors.”
Kael’s expression hardened. “About what?”
“That the king is being bullied by a silent human.”
Aria almost smiled.
Ronan brightened. “There! Progress.”
“Out,” Kael said.
Ronan finally obeyed, still grinning as he disappeared into the corridor.
The door shut.
Silence returned.
Aria moved toward the window, dismissing Kael with her back.
Let him stand there.
Let him leave.
Let him stop filling the room with that maddening scent.
Instead, he spoke.
“You’re wasting time.”
She did not turn.
His footsteps moved closer.
“You want me dead.”
Her shoulders stiffened.
“You should improve your odds.”
Slowly, Aria looked back.
Kael stood a few feet away, now maddeningly composed, arms folded across a chest she refused to notice.
He continued.
“I’m offering you training.”
She blinked once.
He watched her carefully.
“Weapons. Combat. Strategy. Whatever you can survive.”
Her pulse quickened.
Training.
Real training.
Not decorative knives and fantasies by the window.
A way to become dangerous.
A way to stop feeling helpless.
A way to kill him.
Suspicion followed instantly.
What kind of fool offered lessons to the woman who wanted him dead?
This one, apparently.
Kael’s mouth curved faintly, as if he could read every thought crossing her face.
“You may use the best instructor in the kingdom.”
Aria narrowed her eyes.
Why?
Because he enjoyed games?
Because he believed she could never hurt him?
Because seeing her leave this room pleased him more than it should?
She hated that the last answer felt closest to the truth.
He took one step nearer.
“You can remain in here punishing yourself.”
Another.
“Or you can come out and become dangerous enough to be interesting.”
Her pride flared.
Arrogant beast.
She crossed the room, snatched the notebook from the desk, tore out a page, and wrote three sharp words.
I need proof.
She thrust it at him.
Kael read the note.
Then, without warning, he took the fruit knife from the breakfast tray and handed it to her hilt first.
“Try.”
Aria did not hesitate.
She drove the blade toward his throat.
He moved only an inch.
The knife sliced a lock of dark hair instead.
He looked delighted.
She hated that expression.
He took the knife gently from her hand.
“Good,” he said. “You’re terrible, but willing.”
She grabbed the notebook again and wrote harder.
Name the instructor.
His eyes flicked over the words.
“Varek.”
Even Aria had heard the name whispered by servants.
The undefeated war trainer.
The male warriors feared.
The one who broke bones and built legends.
Her heartbeat kicked harder.
Kael noticed.
Of course he did.
He held out his hand.
“Come.”
She looked at it as if it were poison.
Then brushed past him without touching it.
A low laugh followed her into the corridor.
The eastern wing went silent the moment she stepped outside.
Servants froze mid-step.
Two guards straightened so violently one nearly dropped his spear.
Aria kept walking.
Every eye in the corridor followed her.
Not because she was human.
Because she had emerged.
Because the king walked behind her.
Because something had changed.
Kael did not care about the staring.
He cared that she was out of that room.
That color had returned to her face.
That stubborn fire still lived in her spine.
He should have felt relief.
Instead, he felt something more dangerous.
Pride.
They crossed the grand hall together—though Aria maintained enough distance to insult him with every step.
Whispers began before they reached the stairs.
“The human girl—”
“She left her room—”
“Where are they going?”
“Training yard.”
“With the king?”
“No. Worse. Varek.”
By the time they reached the lower courtyard, the rumor had grown teeth.
The king had arranged lessons for the human girl.
So she could kill him later.
Warriors pretended not to stare.
Servants pretended not to gossip.
No one succeeded.
At the center of the yard stood a male built like carved stone and bad decisions.
Grey hair tied at the nape. Scarred face. Arms thicker than most men’s legs.
Varek.
He looked at Aria once.
Then at Kael.
Then back at Aria.
“This the assassin?”
Kael’s mouth curved.
“This is the one trying.”
Varek grunted.
“She looks breakable.”
Aria stepped forward, snatched a wooden practice sword from the rack, and swung for his head.
The old warrior caught it one-handed.
Silence dropped across the yard.
Then Varek barked out a laugh so loud birds fled the roof.
“I like her.”
Kael did too.
That was the problem.
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