A Wicked Game [The Crown Saga II] (Under Editing)

A Warrior's Struggle

I burst out of the tunnel, panting and sweating like a fleeting desert animal.

Cursed that interview. I had just gotten somewhat comfortable using the tunnel to the Battle Arena again, and now I could barely force myself through it.

The darkness and the torches reminded me too much of that horrible room with the Faceless Shifter. However, it was the safest way for me to reach the Battle Arena without risking being caught on camera or running into Caiden.

My chamber wasn't big enough to practice Art's favored Dance of the Warrior. It sounded ridiculous to claim that my room wasn't big enough. That place was enormous, but too much stuff had been in the way.

Besides, the Battle Arena had become my favorite place in the entire palace. Here, I could train until every worry that haunted me was but a mere speck of darkness in my fogged mind.

I straightened my back and inhaled the heavy air of the dressing room. I needed to master this dance to advance to the next level of my training, and I was so close.

The Battle Arena was completely deserted, just like I'd expected.

I dropped my bag, braided my hair, and started stretching.

The Dance of a Warrior required flexible limbs. I'd gotten much more flexible in the past months, but far from enough, according to Art—grumpy old man.

After ten minutes of warming up, I stepped inside the boundaries of the circle I'd drawn with the piece of charcoal Art had given me. Because apparently, I also had to limit how I used the floor.

I exhaled and twisted my limbs into the starting pose. Then I began.

My body moved gracefully across the floor, muscle memory guiding me through every step until I finished. Something was missing. It wasn't quite right, so I did it again. And again. And again.

I repeated the dance until beads of sweat coated my brow, drops racing down the bridge of my nose, and until I could barely breathe.

"Cursed blood," I muttered through gritted teeth, bracing my hands on my knees to catch my breath. Why couldn't I figure out what was wrong?

"You need to flex your wrists."

I froze, my breath hitching at the sound of his voice behind me. Slowly, I turned my head to see Caiden leaning against one of the pillars supporting the platform above the dressing rooms.

"You are one difficult woman to get a hold of, Willow Aldwyn," he said, pushing himself away from the pillar and out of the shadows.

I recalled the sweatpants he wore from our previous training sessions together, but the top was new. The sleeveless shirt hung loosely from his shoulders, accentuating his brawny arms and revealing more than I needed to see. My face burned.

"What are you doing here?" I whispered, still as unmoving as a statue. "You're not supposed to be here."

He was supposed to be having lessons in classical literature now.

Caiden smirked and stopped right beside my bag. He squatted and unzipped it. A surge of panic compelled my body to start moving, and I tumbled forward.

"I guess you would know," Caiden said as he rummaged through my bag. A light in his eyes told me he had found what he had been looking for.

"Caiden, wait!" I said, jumping for my bag. I was too late.

He ripped the piece of paper covering his schedule from its pocket and held it far away from my reach.

"Why do you have this, Will?" he asked as I futilely attempted to jump for it. He was too tall.

I scowled at him. "It's none of your damned business," I hissed. "Give it back!"