Ruins And Royalty

Dark Times Ahead -Chp 8 Part 1

The sun beat down mercilessly, baking the stones of the training yard until the air shimmered. Warriors clashed and shouted, sweat slicking their skin as steel rang against steel. I barely spared them a glance. I had one purpose here, and one man in mind.

Sir Damos.

He had told me once that, should I ever wish to learn the chakrams, he could be found in the barracks. And though every brush I’d had with magic had ended in disaster, I knew that steel alone would never bring down the Dark Druid. If I meant to kill Hyathene, I needed more than iron in my hands.

My gaze swept the grounds until it caught on a tall, dark figure standing across the yard, instructing a warrior in full armor. I moved quickly, but as I drew near, the armored figure turned, and I froze.

Of course.

“Prince Aaron?” The Princess of Freyah blinked at me, surprise plain on her face. “What are you doing in the barracks?”

I ignored her entirely, eyes locked on the man I had come for. “Sir Damos, I am here to speak with you.” My tone was flat and measured, hoping to dismiss her presence altogether.

Sir Damos’ lips curved faintly. “Have you finally decided to wield the chakrams?” he asked, his voice as steady as stone.

“Can we perhaps speak in private?” I said, unease prickling as I felt Princess Isalyn’s gaze drilling into the side of my head.

Damos inclined his head. “Of course. Let us get out of the sun.” He gestured toward a shaded platform supported by thick Doric columns, a refuge from the glare. We stepped into the cool half-dark beneath the roof. Damos crossed to a long table littered with steel and strange weapons, his hands resting on the wood as if considering each blade.

“So, tell me, Young Nightingale,” he said at last, his eyes never leaving the table. “What made you change your mind?”

“Does it matter?” My reply was sharp, clipped. I would not dare speak of Hyathene.

“I suppose not.” He exhaled through his nose, heavy with meaning.

“So will you teach me?” I pressed, urgency creeping into my voice. That earned me a laugh. A low, amused laugh like I was but a child demanding a crown.

“That is not how this works,” a familiar voice cut in. Princess Isalyn had followed us, her soft chuckle breaking into the tension as though she were part of the conversation all along.

“I did not ask you, did I?” I snapped at Isalyn, heat rising in my chest. Her voice was the last thing I wanted to hear.

“Calm yourself,” Sir Damos cut in before the moment soured further. “Let me explain. You must first train with unenhanced chakrams.”

“Why?” I scoffed, my jaw tightening. “They’re useless until activated by a word. What’s the difference?”

“It is not as simple as you think,” Isalyn interjected smoothly, hazel eyes steady. “They’re far more dangerous to wield than you realize.”

I bit back my retort, refusing to dignify her intrusion. I had asked to speak to Sir Damos alone, yet she shadowed every step regardless.

“Indeed,” Damos confirmed, voice level. “Only after you’ve mastered the unenhanced form will you attempt mine. That is, if they deem you worthy.”

I faltered, uncertain what he meant. Worthy? This was already spiraling into something more tangled than I had expected.

“I will train you as best I can,” he continued, tone grave, “but in the end, it will depend on how the chakrams respond to you.”

I swallowed hard. Dedication was not the issue. I was willing to go to the bitter end. But if the weapons rejected me, if all of this effort amounted to nothing… then I would be no closer to killing Princess Hyathene. Steel alone was useless. It was Damos’s magic I needed.

“Sir Damos trained for two years before he could wield the enchanted chakrams,” Isalyn remarked from the side, her words landing like a stone in my gut.

Two years. Too long.

Hyathene would play her great hand well before then, rendering the whole process meaningless.

“Are you willing to train with me regardless?” Damos asked, his gaze fixing me like a blade’s point.

“What would be the point?” I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. “The Games of the Gods draw nearer by the day."

“That is the risk you have to be willing to take,” Sir Damos spat back, curling his lip in distaste of my words. “I trained with unenchanted chakrams for a year before mastering them completely... and it took the enchanted ones another year to accept me.”

I gravely considered my options before letting a defeated huff escape me. “Fine Yes, I’ll do it.” My reply matched his gravity. I had no choice but to accept.

“Then you will attend your required training at the Amphitheatre Arena,” he instructed, “and afterwards, you will report here.”

I nodded stiffly. That was that. He returned to drilling the Princess of Freyah, and I prayed silently and bitterly, that she would not be anywhere near my practice sessions.

The rest of my day unraveled no better. I was summoned before my mother and father, who were already seething. Their ire burned hotter when they realized I had returned without the horse or sword I had departed with, nor had I offered them the faintest explanation as to why.

“I do not know what in the Heavens you thought you were doing out there those days,” King Goran thundered, voice like a blade striking stone. “Nor do I care. But as both a royal and a Nightingale, you are expected to conduct yourself with dignity. If you continue to flout that duty, there will be consequences.” His words spat like venom, while my mother’s eyes weighed me down with silent disappointment.

“Consequences?” I repeated, letting the word hang with deliberate challenge.

“Your insolence is intolerable,” Queen Nymeria snapped, her composure breaking into open vexation. “Lose that tone, or we will forbid you from entering the Game of the Gods.”

The threat stung, though I doubted its sincerity. They would never risk barring me, not when so much of their ambition hinged upon one of their offspring becoming champion. Still, I wasn’t about to tempt them further.

“I will not cause you nuisance again,” I said smoothly, hoping to ease their fury.

“If you were focused, if you spent more time training, you would not have been humiliated by Freyah,” my father suddenly added sharply. His words clawed at my patience, and I nearly wished to claw out my own ears. Of course, he meant my bout with Princess Isalyn. Weeks had passed since, yet it clung to me like a curse. I was beyond tired of the reminder.

“I will redeem myself,” I said, forcing my voice steady, the words genuine. I would. I had to.

“Yes, you will,” my mother hissed. But she did not stop there. Her lips curled, venom dripping with every word: “And you will do so by taking her life when the time is right.”

The air left me. My heart lodged in my throat.

“Why?” The word escaped before I could restrain it, sounding far more alarmed than I wished.

“That is how you will redeem yourself to us,” my father declared. His gaze lingered on me, cruel satisfaction etched in his features. Then, with a low, amused chuckle, he let my horror steep in silence.

“Were you not the one who asked who else you might take out?”

“I-I…” My voice faltered, the memory striking like a whip. I remembered all too well the arrogance I’d worn that day, jesting about the executions of the young Bellafay royals as though bloodshed were a game.

“You are the perfect choice,” the Queen said, her tone deceptively smooth, though her eyes glittered with something dark and merciless. “You did not hesitate when the others did.”

My chest tightened. There was no room left to resist. “I accept,” I said, the words falling flat, hollow. Defeat clung to every syllable. Refusing them was impossible, an unthinkable act. I was beneath them, and obedience was my only currency. I had defied their rules before, skirted their decrees but this was no ordinary command.

Even as I spoke, I saw Saurora’s face. My sister’s gaze lingered before me, heavy with the certainty of her disappointment. If she ever discovered this, I would be beyond forgiveness. The thought gnawed at me, tearing into my insides like a ravenous wolf at a lamb. Still, I held my head high. I would not give my parents the satisfaction of seeing me break. But inside, my thoughts spun like a storm I could not contain.

My burdens were already stacked high, yet now this... this weight that could crush me. There was no escaping it. When the moment came, I would have to end the Princess’s life. Without faltering. Without remorse. That was the law of the Game of the Gods: blood would always be claimed, if not by a competitor hand, then by a beast’s.

And yet… as much as Saurora would despise me for it, a part of me found grim relief. If she had been tasked with killing her beloved, she would not have been able to refuse either. Better the stain fall on me. Better I carry the weight of her hatred than see her shackled with that guilt herself.