Gabriel stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his black doublet, the fabric snug against his growing frame. His reflection showed more than just physical changes—his shaved head, the beginnings of a mustache he had recently trimmed away, and the lingering purple bruise around his eye all told a story of transformation. He had grown taller, his shoulders broader, though his limbs still felt gangly. The academy instructors had assured him it was normal, a part of the awkwardness of a growth spurt, but Gabriel couldn’t help feeling like he was still waiting to grow into himself.
He practiced the smile he had come to wear so often—a smile that had slowly but surely won him kinship among the other students. Earning their respect hadn’t been easy. Each time he faced an opponent, each time he pushed himself harder in training, he added another grain of sand to the scale. It was as if every challenge he overcame placed a weight of respect on one side, while his initial lack of strength sat on the other. Over time, the balance tipped in his favor, the sheer weight of his grit and determination far outweighing any lack of perceived power. The scale had shifted, and now, when he smiled, it wasn’t just a mask; it was a symbol of how far he’d come.
His anger, once a constant companion, was now kept in check through the meditation exercises Tunklard had taught him. Gabriel found himself counting each breath with deliberate focus. As he pulled knee-high black boots on, it became a ritual, each breath measured, each movement precise. One breath to lift the boot, another to slide it over his foot, a third to pull it snug. The rhythm of his breathing grounded him, turning what could have been a mundane task into a moment of calm—a meditation that kept his anger at bay and his mind centered.
Tunklard had made him look inwards more often than he had initially liked. But it was necessary. Gabriel had become more reflective, a growing understanding of the cost of using his powers. He had practiced his magic almost every night until the unnatural felt natural. But the price was high. His hunger, always present, had grown worse, gnawing at him even when he ate his fill for days on end. Even now, he felt a phantom growl in his stomach, even though he hadn't used any magic for the past moon cycle. But his recent avoidance of using power had caused his hunger to start to abate, and even his anger had somewhat subsided.
The witch had lied to him, telling him that using his power would bring relief. If it hadn't been for Tunklard, Gabriel knew he would have lost himself by now to the anger. He knew that he was just a tool for the old woman, and his anger would have made him susceptible to anything she said. It was a stark reminder of Tunklard's warning: the witches had their own motives, and his well-being was not among their priorities.
Strapping on his black hilt ceremonial sword, Gabriel left his quarters in the castle. Tonight, he would see many familiar faces—though few would expect to see him at the winter ball. As he walked through the castle, servants bustled about, finalizing preparations for the evening, their movements hurried but dignified. Gabriel fiddled with the sleeve of white his under shirt as he observed the surrounding activity.
In one of the corridors, he spotted the Spider, speaking in hushed tones with another man. Gabriel passed by, nodding to the Spider, a man he didn't particularly like but recognized as a potential ally if handled correctly. The Spider responded with a slow blink, a subtle acknowledgment that the other man likely missed. Gabriel had grown to respect the man, their relationship evolving from one of tension to one marked by thoughtful exchanges.
Gabriel passed the royal guards stationed at the entrance to the royal hall. He recognized one of them as the Captain who had previously allowed him to speak with the king. Gabriel could sense that the Captain still harbored some resentment toward him for the deception involving the Paresh to gain entrance to the king. The Captain offered no greeting as he approached.
As Gabriel stepped through the double doors, he was met with a transformed space. The usually cold, gray stone walls were now hidden behind rich tapestries, depicting scenes of past glories and woven in deep reds and golds that seemed to shimmer in the flickering candlelight. The air was thick with the mingling scents of roasted meats, spiced wine, and the faint perfume of fresh pine boughs used to decorate the room. The soft strains of stringed instruments played in the background, their melodies weaving through the quiet conversations and occasional bursts of laughter. Despite the warmth inside, a slight chill from the winter air still clung to the room, creeping in from the grand windows and reminding Gabriel of the cold just beyond the walls. He couldn't help but think of the villagers huddled around meager fires, and how the resources used here might have warmed many more homes. The extravagance, though beautiful, seemed at odds with the harsh realities of winter and his thoughts on Balatia practicality.
As he surveyed the room, Gabriel spotted a few familiar faces—older academy students he had seen around but never spoken to. He nodded in their direction but didn’t approach them, knowing that those in the academy often looked down on younger students.
Noticing a group of familiar boys, Gabriel grinned and casually threw his arms around two of their shoulders. “Hey, friends, what brings you here?” he asked with a wide, toothy smile.
The two boys turned instantly, their eyes widening in surprise.
“Orion! What are you doing here?” Lakan exclaimed, his eyes wide.
Gabriel laughed, noticing Ryn’s eyes scanning the crowd nervously, as if checking whether they were in trouble for having an unexpected guest among them.
“Oh, you know me—I live for a good party. Couldn't pass this one up.”
Ryn shook his head with an exaggerated sigh. “But you’re not ranked in the top ten.”
Lexon, the only other student at the academy without a warrior lineage, crossed his arms. “You’re ranked last.”
“Thanks for the reminder, big man,” Gabriel replied with a cheeky grin.
“Seriously, Orion, should you be here?” Lakan asked, his brows creased with concern.
Gabriel decided it was time to let them in on the secret. He had enjoyed the fun long enough, and it was just as good as he had expected. Jonan would love to hear about this little prank later.
“I wasn’t invited by the academy,” Gabriel revealed with a sly smile. “I was invited by someone else.”
“Who?” Lexon asked, curiosity piqued.
“Now that would ruin the fun, wouldn’t it?” Gabriel teased.
“I liked you better when you were quiet and brooding,” Lexon grumbled.
“You like me plenty,” Gabriel shot back with a grin.
Gabriel had grown closer to Lexon over time. The boy had a habit of quietly watching him during training sessions, his expressions always open and easy to read—unlike Ryn, who often wore a calculating look. Gabriel had come to respect Lexon for his straightforwardness and genuine nature.
Just yesterday, Lexon had congratulated him with a sincerity that Gabriel hadn’t expected. It was a rare moment of validation after what felt like an eternity of struggle. Yesterday had marked Gabriel’s first victory in three moon cycles. He had meticulously calculated when he needed to start winning to have any chance of making it to the final rounds, and fortunately, he still had a grace period. After his fight with Elias, Gabriel suffered four more losses, then managed only draws—except in his bouts against Lakan and Lexon.
Gabriel was still firmly in last place, but he knew he could win the upcoming matches. Soltis had offered no words of encouragement and hadn’t coached him individually. Everything Gabriel had learned had come from his own toil, careful observation, and the guidance of Tunklard. His off-hand was now stronger than his injured arm had ever been, and he had slowly started to incorporate forms that utilized both arms.
“The princess is coming this way,” Ryn whispered, his voice tinged with eager excitement, cracking slightly.
Gabriel’s eyes were drawn to Princess Adriella as she entered his vision, her golden dress catching the light and shimmering with every movement. The fabric clung to her lithe frame, emphasizing her grace as she glided across the floor. Her bare arms, slender and smooth, seemed almost ethereal in the soft glow of the chandeliers. For a fleeting moment, Gabriel’s thoughts wandered to Jessinta—what would she have looked like in such a gown? He quickly pushed the thought aside. Beside Adriella stood her handmaiden. Her auburn hair fell in soft waves around her face. Green eyes, framed by long lashes, flicked up briefly to meet Gabriel’s before darting away,
“Orion,” the princess addressed him with a regal air.
“Princess Adriella, you look magnificent. Your presence truly graces us,” Gabriel said, offering a slow, respectful bow.
Her smile faltered for a brief moment before she regained her composure. With a dismissive tilt of her head, she extended her hand just enough for Gabriel to reach it, her gaze already shifting away as he leaned in to kiss her gloved hand.
“May I introduce you to the most eligible bachelors of the academy?” Gabriel said.
The boys turned various shades of red, stuttering as Gabriel introduced them, one by one.
Lakan, usually brave and composed, turned beet red and stammered, “I’m Lakan,” immediately after Gabriel had already introduced him. Gabriel nearly winced at his friend’s fumble, feeling a strong urge to knock some sense into him.
“They’re a bit young to be called bachelors, don’t you think?” the princess remarked with a dismissive glance.
“They fight with the strength of those much older,” Gabriel replied.
“If they fight like you, I’m not impressed,” she shot back, her tone sharp as she cast a critical eye over him.
Gabriel let out a light laugh, unfazed by the jab. “Alas, I must rely on my charm while these boys rely on their brawn. Though I suspect Ryn here might take offense at that,” he added, throwing an exaggerated wink in Ryn’s direction.
Before the princess could respond, Gabriel shifted his attention to the handmaiden standing quietly beside her. He had only seen her a few times before, most notably when she and the princess had spied on him during his training with Tunklard in the private courtyard.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of an introduction, my lady,” Gabriel said, extending his hand to the petite blonde.
“My name is Lara, and I’m not a lady,” she replied softly, her cheeks tinged with a delicate blush, her eyes cast downward.
Gabriel gently kissed her ungloved hand. “The pleasure is mine, Lady Lara,” he said with a warm smile.
Her cheeks deepened in color, and she returned his smile demurely. Gabriel couldn’t help but feel she deserved a kind word or two if she had to deal with the princess all the time. He noticed Adriella’s hand balling into a fist, a reaction that brought a slight curve to the corner of his lips.
“Come along, Lara. We have no need to linger with the likes of him,” the princess snapped, dragging her friend away. As they walked off, Lara glanced back at Gabriel over her shoulder.
Gabriel turned back to his friends, who were all staring at him in open-mouthed astonishment.
Lexon was the first to break the silence. “You know the princess?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Gabriel replied with a wry smile.
Ryn nudged him hard in the ribs. “She’s the princess, Orion. You can’t talk about her like that.”
“She’s a princess, sure. But respect isn’t something granted by birthright—it’s something earned. We’re not Eldorians.”
“Even so, she’s still the princess,” Ryn insisted, his voice low and cautious.
Gabriel shrugged, “It’s fine. I think we are starting to grow on each other.”
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Lexon scoffed, crossing his arms. “Doesn’t look like it.”
Gabriel chuckled, thinking back on the many dinners he had shared with the royal family. They had become a second family to him, warm and welcoming, offering a sense of belonging that he had once taken for granted. Over time, he had earned quiet acceptance from nearly all of them—everyone except Adriella.
“Were you flirting with that girl?” Lakan asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and disbelief.
“That girl has a name, Lakan. It’s Lara. No need to be rude,” Gabriel replied with a smirk.
“How do you get so good at it?”
Gabriel grinned. Lakan always became tongue-tied around girls. “It’s all in the merchant’s blood, my friend. Victra blessed me with a silver tongue to charm all the young beauties of Balatia.”
As the words left his mouth, Gabriel couldn’t help but reflect on the duality of his identity. He wasn’t the charming, smooth-talking student they saw; he was the exiled prince of Accamania, carrying the weight of his past like a shadow that refused to fade. Every word he spoke, every move he chose, was a careful balance between the boy he had been and the man he was becoming. Identity, he realized, wasn’t just about who you were born as—it was about the choices you made, the person you chose to become.
Gabriel was lost in his thoughts when a sudden movement snapped him back to the present. A young woman approached them, her steps light and familiar. Before Lakan could react, she playfully punched him on the arm.
"Ow, what was that for?" he protested, rubbing the spot with an exaggerated wince.
"Just making sure you’re still paying attention," Hale teased, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.
She then turned to Gabriel. “Orion, it’s strange seeing you without blood or broken bones.”
“I’ll try not to make a habit of it, or I wouldn’t have an excuse to talk to you,” Gabriel said.
Lakan’s expression soured, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. Gabriel noticed the change and swallowed hard, realizing he might have pushed it too far.
Hale, picking up on her brother’s mood, chuckled and gave Lakan a playful nudge. “Alright, I’ll let you boys have your fun. I should probably hang out with people my own age anyway,” she said with a grin before turning to leave. After all, she was three years older than them.
As soon as she was out of earshot, Lakan burst out, “My sister!”
Even Ryn looked unimpressed, while Lexon stared at Gabriel as if he were a messenger sent straight from Victra herself.
Gabriel raised his hands in a mock surrender, a grin playing on his lips. “I was just being nice, I swear.”
The boys exchanged glances; the tension hanging in the air for a split second before they all burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the hall.
As the laughter began to die down, Gabriel's gaze drifted across the room and landed on Commander Galland. Their eyes met, and a silent understanding passed between them. The noise of the crowd faded into the background as Gabriel straightened his posture and quietly excused himself, making his way toward the man who had become his mentor.
He’d seen Galland frequently over the last few moon cycles, often seeking answers to questions the commander chose not to address. Whether it was about his refusal to challenge for the throne or other matters, Galland’s silence echoed Tunk’s own reticence. As he approached, Gabriel saluted in the military fashion. Galland returned the gesture with a soft smile, pulling Gabriel in closer.
“Commander, it’s good to see you,” Gabriel said.
Galland gave him a firm pat on the back. “You too, little wolf.”
“Are you ever going to call me anything else?”
“Only when you earn a proper name,” Galland teased.
Gabriel stood a little straighter.
“How’s the academy treating you?” Galland asked.
Gabriel’s smile faded. He had entered the academy with dreams of making a name for himself, but the reality was far harsher. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, he was still ranked last, and the fear of not making it through the first year loomed large.
“I’m... still last,” Gabriel admitted, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.
“You’ve been injured, lad. But I heard you won your bout yesterday,” Galland said, his tone carrying a note of quiet pride.
Gabriel blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected Galland to notice, let alone care about his progress in the academy.
“I sponsored you to the academy,” Galland continued, his voice firm. “It’s my duty to keep tabs on you. Loyalty isn’t something you show only when it’s easy. It’s about standing by those you believe in, even when the odds are against them. Remember that.”
Gabriel’s chest tightened at Galland’s words, a mix of gratitude and determination swelling within him. He had been unsure of his place, of his worth, but Galland’s belief in him reignited a spark of confidence. Loyalty was a two-way path, and Gabriel silently vowed to prove himself worthy of the commander’s trust.
“Thank you, Galland.” Gabriel’s voice softened, his usual bravado slipping away for a moment. “Thank you... for everything.”
Galland waved off the sentiment with a gruff chuckle. “Enough of that. Now, come, let me introduce you to my family.”
As Gabriel’s thoughts wandered, his gaze followed Galland across the room. He watched as the commander made his way toward an older couple. The man was tall but stooped, his once broad shoulders now hunched with the weight of age. His skin was pale and weathered, etched with deep lines. His military coat, a deep navy blue adorned with faded gold epaulettes, hung loosely on his frame, and a heavy cane supported his every step. Beside him stood a woman with dark hair streaked with silver that was artfully pinned back. Despite the years, her eyes still sparkled with a lively intelligence, and her smile, though gentle, carried a trace of the beauty she once radiated. Gabriel took a deep breath, grounding himself before stepping forward to join them.
“Gally, my boy, it’s so good to see you,” the woman exclaimed, her voice warm with affection.
Galland sighed softly, but his tone was gentle as he replied, “Hello, Mother.” Then, turning to the older man, he added with a nod of respect, “General.” He gestured toward Gabriel. “Orion, this is my mother, and this is the Red General.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Gabriel said, inclining his head politely.
“Oh, darling, aren’t you just adorable,” Galland’s mother cooed, her eyes twinkling. She turned to her son with a proud smile. “You’ve chosen well, my boy.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Galland replied, a hint of sheepishness in his voice. Gabriel was struck by how different the commander seemed in the presence of his family—a softness he’d never seen before.
“See, Gally, there’s more to life than just fighting,” his mother continued, her gaze sweeping the room. “Look at all the beautiful ladies eyeing you. Isn’t there one you’d like to call your wife someday?”
“No, Mother,” Galland responded with another sigh.
“He’s distracted enough as it is,” the General interjected, his voice carrying a stern edge. “He needs to focus on his duty.”
Gabriel felt the tension tighten in Galland beside him. The General’s gaze shifted to his son, a grim look crossing his face. “There’s trouble with the Accamanians. War is coming.”
Gabriel blinked, startled. This was the first he’d heard of it.
“What’s happening with Accamania?” Gabriel asked, his curiosity piqued.
The General ignored him, fixing his gaze on his son instead. “I didn’t raise you to be a commander. I didn’t raise you to be weak.”
“Commander Galland,” Gabriel interjected, his voice steady as he emphasized the title, “is the strongest man I know.”
The General’s eyes narrowed. “Strong enough to have a first-year student defending him? Sponsoring this child was a mistake—a stain on our family’s honor.”
Gabriel’s own anger began to simmer, a familiar heat rising in his chest. He knew men like Galland’s father all too well—men who equated power with domination, who saw any sign of weakness as a flaw to be eradicated. It reminded him of his own father, and the impossible expectations that had been placed upon him as a prince of Accamania. No matter how much he tried to distance himself from his past, it lingered like a shadow, cast long and dark across his new life in Balatia. Every interaction, every judgmental glance, felt like a reminder of the boy he had been and the man he was struggling to become.
But Gabriel also recognized that power wasn’t just about meeting expectations—it was about defining your own. He had left Accamania to escape a noose, but he found that here, he found a place where he could shape his own destiny, unbound by the rigid identities imposed on him by others. He was slowly forging a new identity, one battle, one friendship, one act of defiance at a time.
“You’ll be marching soon,” the General continued, his voice cold and commanding. “Teach those Accamanian scum why they should fear us.”
Galland’s expression remained unchanged as he bade a brief farewell to his mother, nodding curtly to his father before gesturing for Gabriel to follow him. Once they were alone, Galland spoke without turning around, his voice steady. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” Gabriel asked, quickly neutralizing his expression.
Galland paused, choosing his words carefully. “He was once the finest of generals, but his maiming left him a shadow of the man he used to be. The bitterness has consumed him.”
Gabriel nodded, but the weight of his earlier thoughts pressed on him. “What’s happening with Accamania?”
Galland hesitated, but the gravity of Gabriel’s concern must have urged him to respond. “Honestly, not much. There was a skirmish on our northern border, in a village called Brooks Rest. A few Accamanian soldiers caused some trouble, and the local authorities dealt with them.”
“Dealt with them how?” Gabriel’s voice tightened.
“An axe to the head,” Galland replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Gabriel swallowed hard, once again reminded that he lived among people who would end his life without hesitation if they ever discovered his true identity.
The thought weighed heavily on him as he bade Galland farewell and made his way back to his friends. He pushed his worries aside, though a nagging unease remained—he knew the situation with Accamania could escalate, and he dreaded what that might mean for both his people and the Balatians.
As he crossed the hall, he passed Velar, who was standing near who he assumed to be his father and brother because of their resemblance. Velar’s sneer was unmistakable, but Gabriel chose to ignore it, focusing instead on the company of his friends and the fleeting joy of pilfering food.
He rejoined his friends, who were huddled together, their voices low but excited as they plotted their next move. The sweet scent of stolen wine clung to the air as they passed around a contraband goblet, each taking a furtive sip. The taste was sharp and bitter, not something they particularly enjoyed, but it wasn’t about the flavor. It was the shared thrill of mischief that made it worth the risk. Even Ryn couldn’t help but crack a rebellious grin as he joined in. The warmth of the nearby fire crackled, blending with their hushed laughter and the occasional clatter of a tray as a servant passed too close for comfort.
The night unfolded in a blur of laughter, food, and revelry. Gabriel allowed himself to relax, setting aside the growing worries about tensions between his adopted home and his true homeland. He danced with his friends, saved a dance for the youngest princess, and even caught the eye of a few younger ladies who approached him for a turn on the floor. By the time he found a seat, exhaustion had settled in, but it was a welcome fatigue. The bards' melodies filled the air, weaving tales of past glories, and when their final song—an ode to King Saxton’s triumphs—ended, the hall erupted in applause.
Gabriel joined in, clapping along with the rest, feeling the warmth and camaraderie of the evening. For a moment, he was simply enjoying himself, savoring a rare sense of peace.
As the applause faded, the king stepped forward, his presence commanding attention even amidst the lingering echoes of the bards' final notes. “I should bring the bards more often!” he bellowed, his voice resonating through the hall with a warmth that matched the glow of the torches.
He raised his goblet high, the deep red wine inside catching the light as it swirled. The crowd responded with a raucous cheer, the sound of clinking goblets and sloshing wine filling the air. The rich aroma of aged wine and roasted meat mingled with the sweet scent of spiced cakes, creating a heady atmosphere that seemed to hang heavily in the room. Gabriel observed, with a wry smile, that the Balatians were not just formidable warriors—they were also masters of revelry.
“Thank you for joining me, friends,” the king continued, his voice carrying a warmth that contrasted with the often cold and brutal reputation of Balatia. “I’ll keep this short so we can all go back to drinking!”
As the crowd roared in approval, Gabriel couldn’t help but reflect on his place here, in this kingdom that was slowly becoming home. He had come to understand that loyalty was earned, not given freely. There was no pretense of strength by the king, because it was already known. The king didn’t need to posture or play political games; his authority was felt, not forced. The king had earned the loyalty of his people not just through his prowess in battle but through his ability to make them feel seen, valued. Gabriel realized that to secure his own place, to carve out his identity in this world, he needed to do more than just fight—he needed to inspire that same sense of loyalty, that same belief that he was worth following.
“But while you’re all here, I do have an announcement,” the king said, his voice lowering slightly. The room quieted in anticipation. “The Eldorians have reached out to us to explore more... diplomatic relations.”
Instantly, a chorus of boos and jeers rippled through the crowd. Balatians, Gabriel had learned, didn’t much care for anyone outside their borders.
The king waved his hand dismissively. “Enough of that. A delegation will be visiting us, including Queen Alicent and Princess Lahera. They’ll arrive in the fall, and we’ll host a grand tournament and another ball in their honor.”
This time, the boos turned into murmurs. The mention of a tournament stirred the crowd, and Gabriel could see the excitement in the eyes of those around him.
“Enjoy the rest of the night, everyone. Drink your fill,” the king declared, raising his goblet high before draining it in a single, confident motion.
The room erupted in cheers, the lively energy sweeping through the hall. As the excitement buzzed around him, Gabriel’s mind churned with questions. The king’s announcement lingered in his thoughts; its implications unclear.
He leaned slightly toward Ryn, who sat beside him, knowing his friend often had a sharper understanding of political nuances. “What do you make of this?” Gabriel asked, his voice low enough to keep their conversation private amidst the noise.
Ryn’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure. There’s no history of Balatia and Eldoria seeking such close ties in recent memory.”
“Do you think it’s because of the Paresh?”
“Possibly,” Ryn replied, his voice thoughtful. “It could be a strategy to secure peace, or it might be something more... significant. The princess coming could mean there’s more to this than just diplomacy.”
Gabriel rubbed his shaved head, a habit that surfaced whenever his thoughts grew too heavy. The notion of closer ties with Eldoria gnawed at him. Was it merely a marriage proposal—a convenient alliance between royal families to seal a new pact? He wanted to believe it was a defensive strategy against the Paresh, but his instincts screamed otherwise.
The air around him seemed to thicken, heavy with the weight of impending doom. The future, once a nebulous uncertainty, now loomed before him like a dark storm gathering on the horizon, ready to swallow everything in its path.
Gabriel had seen enough of the world’s harsh realities to know that power was often wielded with a hidden agenda. What if this alliance wasn’t about protection but about conquest? What if it was the key Balatia needed to finally bring Accamania to heel?
Gabriel’s identity, once tied so closely to Accamania, was now inextricably linked to Balatia. But what did that mean for him when the storm finally broke? Where would his loyalties lie when the winds of war began to howl?
Even as the echoes of the bards' last melody faded from the hall, Gabriel’s thoughts were elsewhere, the faces around him blurred, the laughter and music a distant echo.
A cold certainty settled over him, as if the warmth of the evening’s festivities had been stripped away. The storm wasn’t just on the horizon—it was here, gathering strength, ready to sweep away everything in its path. And he knew, deep in his bones, that there would be no escaping it.