Chapter 13

How to Survive a Northern Court

The first lesson Kael taught her had nothing to do with wolves.

It was about silence.

“You pause too long before answering insults.”

Lyra looked up from the training dagger she was unsuccessfully attempting to balance across her palm.

“I’m sorry, should I start insulting people faster?”

“Yes.”

Kael didn’t even blink while saying it.

Snow drifted steadily across the lower training courtyard while northern soldiers sparred nearby beneath gray winter skies. Steel clashed rhythmically in the background, punctuated occasionally by laughter or someone swearing after getting knocked flat into the snow.

The fortress felt strangely alive this early in the morning.

Cold air. Warm breath. Movement everywhere.

Lyra was beginning to understand why Blackfang wolves seemed restless whenever forced indoors too long.

Three days had passed since the archive incident.

Three deeply strange days.

Kael hadn’t mentioned the prophecy again.

Not directly.

But something between them had shifted afterward.

Not softer.

More attentive.

Like he’d become aware of her constantly without meaning to.

And apparently his solution to that problem was:

training.

“This is ridiculous,” Lyra muttered while trying again with the dagger.

Kael leaned against the wooden fence surrounding the training grounds, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“You live in a fortress full of political predators.”

“I’m aware.”

“You’re physically outmatched by most of them.”

“Very comforting.”

“And you have a habit of provoking dangerous people accidentally.”

That one offended her enough to look up properly.

“I do not accidentally provoke people.”

Kael raised one dark eyebrow.

Lyra hesitated.

“…often.”

Fenrir, standing nearby sharpening a blade, laughed openly.

The truth was:

Kael had decided she needed training after Lord Vaelen left Blackfang with bruises around his throat and several wounded feelings.

Apparently nearly triggering an inter-house political disaster qualified as a learning opportunity in the north.

“Again,” Kael said.

Lyra sighed dramatically before attempting the knife grip a second time.

Wrong again.

Naturally.

Kael crossed toward her then.

Not hurried.

Just steady.

The kind of movement she was beginning to recognize before he even touched her.

“Your wrist is too stiff.”

His voice lowered slightly as he stepped behind her.

“Relax your grip.”

Easy advice from a man who held tension like it personally owed him money.

Lyra became suddenly aware of his proximity again.

The warmth of him at her back despite the freezing weather.

The faint scent of cedar and smoke clinging to his coat.

And annoyingly—

her own heartbeat reacting immediately like it remembered the library.

Kael reached for her hand carefully.

His fingers wrapped loosely around her wrist while adjusting the angle of the dagger.

“There.”

The contact lasted maybe three seconds.

Possibly four.

Still somehow long enough to make concentration difficult afterward.

“Better,” he murmured.

Unfortunately his voice sounded rougher than usual too.

Which did not help.

Fenrir looked up from across the courtyard.

Watched the two of them silently for half a second.

Then very deliberately returned to sharpening his blade while hiding what looked suspiciously like amusement.

Traitor.

“You’re staring again,” Lyra muttered quietly once Kael stepped back.

“I’m assessing.”

“That’s becoming your favorite lie.”

Something flickered briefly across Kael’s face.

Gone quickly.

But real enough that Lyra’s chest tightened unexpectedly anyway.

The training continued for another hour.

Mostly knife work.

Positioning.

How to identify weak points in conversations before they became threats.

According to Kael, northern courts operated almost identically to battlefields.

People simply smiled more while attempting damage.

“You hesitate when cornered,” he observed after disarming her for the fifth time.

Lyra brushed snow from her sleeves irritably.

“Some of us weren’t raised conquering territories.”

“No.” Kael’s eyes stayed on her. “You were raised apologizing for existing. Different survival skill.”

The words landed harder than she expected.

Because he wasn’t mocking her.

Just noticing.

And somehow that felt worse.

Around them, training soldiers continued moving through drills while wolves lounged lazily near the outer walls watching the activity with half-lidded eyes.

One enormous black wolf had followed Kael into the courtyard earlier and now rested near the fence beside Fenrir like a silent shadow.

Every so often, it looked toward Lyra with unsettling focus.

“Do they always watch people like that?” she asked quietly.

Kael glanced toward the wolf.

“He likes you.”

“That doesn’t feel reassuring.”

“It isn’t.”

Helpful.

Very helpful.

The wind picked up sharply around midday.

Snow swept sideways through the training yard hard enough that several soldiers finally retreated toward the covered weapon racks.

Lyra’s fingers had gone numb hours ago.

She was fairly certain Kael noticed.

He noticed everything lately.

“Enough,” he said finally.

Relief nearly made her emotional.

Fenrir immediately abandoned his sharpening duties.

“Excellent. She survives another day.”

“You say that like it disappoints you.”

“It disappoints everyone less than your knife handling.”

Lyra threw a practice dagger at him.

Fenrir caught it midair without effort.

Rude.

Kael shook his head once beneath his breath before walking toward the covered side corridor leading back inside the fortress.

Lyra followed beside him, flexing warmth slowly back into her frozen hands.

For a while neither of them spoke.

The silence felt easier lately.

Less sharp around the edges.

Then Kael said quietly:

“You did well today.”

Lyra blinked.

Because praise from him sounded almost unnatural.

Like hearing thunder compliment someone’s gardening.

“I dropped the dagger six times.”

“Only six.”

“That’s your encouragement technique?”

“It’s working.”

Annoyingly, it was.

They reached the stone archway leading indoors just as another wave of snow swept violently through the courtyard behind them.

Lyra instinctively reached for the wall to steady herself against the wind at the exact same moment Kael reached toward her.

Their hands brushed briefly in the middle.

Bare skin against bare skin.

The reaction hit both of them immediately.

Lyra felt it first—

a sudden sharp warmth racing unexpectedly up her wrist beneath the silver markings.

Kael went still beside her.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

His eyes dropped toward her hand automatically.

Then toward the glowing silver lines faintly visible beneath her skin.

For one strange suspended moment, neither of them moved away.

The wind howled through the courtyard behind them while snow swirled across dark stone, but the atmosphere beneath the archway had gone strangely quiet.

Smaller somehow.

Kael’s fingers shifted slightly against hers before he seemed to realize what he was doing.

Then he stepped back first.

Too quickly.

Like distance itself had become necessary again.