Every day since the sparring session, Freya’s life had fallen into a rhythm dictated by Rion’s iron will.
Mornings began with the clatter of wooden swords in the sparring chamber, her body pressed close to his as he molded her into a fighter.
The flight lessons she’d once cherished were banned, grounded by his decree until the traitor who’d tampered with her wings was unmasked.
She couldn’t wander Corvia’s sprawling grounds alone anymore—guards shadowed her every step, their presence a constant itch beneath her skin, even within the palace walls.
By day, she sparred with Rion, his bare chest a distraction she couldn’t shake, then trailed through Corvia’s markets and vistas with Bea and the ever-present sentinels.
At night, she retreated to the archives, losing herself in the dust
