Lessons Beside a Throne
988 Words
By noon, the entire palace knew another new routine.
The king’s council chamber had moved.
Again.
Not to the war room.
Not to the throne hall.
Not even to the private strategy wing.
No.
Kael, Alpha of Alphas, ruler of every pack beneath the moon, had decided that all matters of state would now be handled beside the training grounds.
For “efficiency.”
No one believed him.
Least of all Aria.
She stood in the center of the packed dirt arena with a wooden blade in one hand and sweat already gathering at the back of her neck.
Across the yard, beneath a shaded pavilion draped in black banners, Kael sat at a long carved table while elders, generals, and advisors spoke around him.
Or tried to.
Because every few seconds, his eyes found her.
Aria pretended not to notice.
She also noticed every single time.
A secret, traitorous part of her felt absurdly pleased.
He moved his entire kingdom’s meetings to watch me fail.
Pathetic.
The thought should have been insulting.
Instead, warmth curled quietly in her chest.
She crushed it immediately.
“Less daydreaming. More surviving.”
Varek’s barked command snapped across the yard.
Aria raised her blade.
Three young warriors stood opposite her, each armed with wooden swords and expressions hovering between confidence and terror.
Not fear of her.
Fear of failing in front of Kael.
Good.
She hoped they sweated.
Varek circled them like a wolf in old boots.
“Attack together,” he ordered. “If she cries, ignore it.”
“I don’t cry,” Aria muttered.
His scarred brow lifted.
“So she speaks.”
That was all the response he got.
The first warrior lunged badly.
Aria sidestepped and cracked her blade across his wrist. He yelped, dropped his weapon, and stared at her in offended surprise.
The second came faster.
She ducked under his swing and drove her shoulder into his ribs. He stumbled backward into the third.
Around the yard, murmurs rose.
Apparently the silent human wasn’t as helpless as they had hoped.
Who were they kidding?
She had trained before.
Lucian had insisted on it.
Not because he believed women should defend themselves. No, he had always framed it as elegance. Precision. Discipline. A future queen should never look weak.
He had stood behind her correcting her grip. Guided her elbows. Praised her when she learned quickly.
The memory struck like a knife.
Pain moved through her chest so sharply she nearly missed the next attack.
Lucian was dead.
And whatever lie he had lived beneath, some part of her had once loved him.
Then another thought came.
One day she would kill Kael too.
That pain was worse.
It hit deep and strange, like grief for something not yet lost.
Her blade faltered.
Across the yard, Kael’s hand tightened on the arm of his chair.
He felt it.
Not the memory itself.
The sorrow.
The conflict.
The wound she carried in silence.
An elder beside him continued speaking about border taxes.
Kael did not hear a word.
In the arena, Varek smacked Aria’s shoulder with a practice staff.
“Thinking gets you dead.”
She glared.
“Good,” he said. “Use that.”
He signaled for another round.
This time he sent five males.
Kael’s jaw hardened.
Too many.
Too close.
Too male.
One grabbed Aria’s wrist during a disarm drill.
Kael nearly overturned the council table.
A minister paused mid-sentence.
“Your Majesty?”
Kael’s eyes remained on the arena.
“Continue.”
The poor man wisely did not.
Varek looked toward the pavilion and shouted, “You promised to stay out of my yard, King.”
Laughter rippled through the watching warriors.
Kael’s expression could have frozen oceans.
But he said nothing.
Because it was true.
Varek had agreed to train a human only on one condition:
No interference.
No royal hovering.
No killing students for touching the trainee.
Kael had accepted.
He regretted it every minute.
Aria twisted free from the warrior’s grip and swept his legs out from under him. He landed hard in the dirt.
More murmurs.
More approval.
She heard it.
Felt it.
For the first time since arriving in the palace, eyes watched her with something other than pity or suspicion.
Respect.
It should not have mattered.
It did.
Varek tossed her a set of throwing knives.
“Show me.”
She caught them automatically.
The metal felt right in her hands.
Familiar.
She stepped to the marked line, inhaled, and threw.
Thunk.
Thunk.
Thunk.
Three knives buried themselves in the target’s chest.
The yard went still.
Even Varek looked impressed.
Across the pavilion, Kael smiled without permission.
Aria saw it.
Something reckless inside her straightened.
Then she hated herself for noticing how much better he looked when proud.
“Again,” Varek ordered.
He replaced the target with a smirking young warrior holding a shield.
“Move while she throws.”
The male grinned at Aria.
Mistake.
He darted left.
She threw.
The knife clipped the edge of the shield.
He laughed.
Pain flared through her chest again.
Lucian.
Kael.
Everything she had lost.
Everything she might lose.
The male laughed once more and rushed her.
Something inside Aria snapped.
Not anger.
Not exactly.
A strange force surged beneath her skin, ancient and instinctive. The world narrowed. The air thickened.
Move.
The command flashed through her mind with terrifying certainty.
The warrior’s body obeyed.
He flew backward as if seized by invisible hands, launched clear across the arena.
Straight into the pavilion.
He crashed onto Kael’s meeting table in a storm of maps, scrolls, ink, and horrified advisors.
Silence devoured the training ground.
The young male groaned from the wreckage.
An elder fainted.
Varek slowly turned toward Aria.
Aria stared at her own hands.
Across the shattered table, Kael rose to his feet.
And smiled like he had just found a new kind of war.
- Writer
