Leon’s ears were picking up all the sounds around him, enhanced by his lack of vision. The cheering, the footfalls of medics and the flighty sound of someone breathing with increasing dismay.

The blackness behind his eyes was ruined by the feeling of a weight on his leg, eyes creaked open to peer down at what was causing it. Squinted eyes met the panicked ones of Kyyre and Leon made and an effort to reduce his grimacing, to bring himself back to his casual nature rather than groaning and whining. The tiniest graze of something against his skin and then it was gone, but Leon kept staring up at Kyyre unable to hide the pain in them despite the bravado he was about to deal out.

“Die?” He huffed out between short, sharp breaths. “It hurts that you think I’m that weak.” Leon forced the grin to pull at his features, the edges twitching with effort to overcome the need to grind his teeth.

He kept himself still, fighting the urge to pull his arms away from Kyyre to prevent any more nerves from being violated by contact. Even when his hand landed on him and stayed there, Leon did not move to pull away.

“It will take more than a broken arm to kill a Finiovard, Kyyre.” He growled out, the naturalness of his grin fading as a new wave of lightning shot down his arm and made his torso flinch. He could hear the medic approaching, only one for him, this wasn’t lethal. The steady thud of their feet made it feel as though his brain was being vibrated around in his skull, drawing another low sound that originated deep in his chest.

Then he felt hands on him, the astute lack of Kyyre’s weight on his leg, then the hands moved and then pain. White-hot pain as his bones were manipulated without any kind of pain relief. The pain was so blinding that Leon almost didn’t hear Astrid’s voice, it was drowned out by the ringing in his skull. That was until Leon managed to piece together the words he was hearing, forcing himself to focus on them beyond the pain that made him scrunch his eyes closed.

Astrid continued hurling insults, searing words that must have burned their victim. Hostile amber eyes snapped open, head unmoving, Leon looked down his own body to bore holes into the vague form of Astrid’s lopsided figure. Breathing took an uptake, chest rising higher and falling faster as he felt a bubbling anger in his blood. Then the frustration at not being able to move, to get up and sling his own piping hot insults towards Astrid’s cocky face.

Then Kyyre lunged and they were out of his sight, all he could hear was the sound of the struggle and the vibration of the attacks through the rock and sand. Leon’s eyes flicked around, trying to catch glimpses of the event, but he saw nothing.

Only the smack of flesh, the sound of a fight and the splattering of blood. All Leon could do was lay there, useless and wait to hear the bell he knew would come. Surely Astrid would not turn on his companion, he had been so protective of the pale heir but was that simply a ploy to be able to get close enough to take him out? He wouldn’t put it past Astrid, he was a cruel man.

Finally, the bell rang and Leon’s chest fell with a slow relief at hearing Astrid’s name be bellowed out.

“And we have our winner!” The headmaster’s airy voice sounded breathless with shock, a small amount of disbelieving laughter seeping into his words. “Kyyre Aakre takes first place!”

Kyyre had won. Leaving Astrid in second, himself and Fawn third. Luka, Maia and Andromeda last. Keir penalised for not being able to participate.

–

The sound of bells ringing and fights around her were fading in and out of her ears, she couldn’t focus on any one mind as her own spiralled out of control. It was blurring around the edges, confusion taking over her body as she flinched and jerked. The cause was not the medic who was growing concerned with her movements but the flashes of memories within the mind.

Somewhere deep within herself, Andromeda knew what was happening. She was seizing, her body jittering around as the medic frantically waved over more help to control her sudden turn. But her mind was elsewhere, playing through the library of memories within her.

There was a dark alley, the sound of crows and maniacal laughter lifted through the air she felt her body fight to keep alive. Her slices hands dragging along the cobblestone, crawling and grasping at the floor to drag herself forwards.

A child. She was holding a child with bright blue eyes and a giggling face, her arms were too tanned and they were cradling the infant with such love.

Then the same arms were empty and the colour leached out of them.

Riding horseback, an arrow struck through the beast and falling beneath it.

The pain of death, then a memory of murder.

Each time Andromeda felt herself slipping into hysteria that little bit more. How much of this was her? Did she crawl down the streets covered in blood or had that been someone she had stolen a memory from? Or had she fabricated it in preparation to insert it into someone’s mind? Was she the mother of that child? Has she owned a horse? Had she died before?

The medics were stabilising her body as the last bell rang out across the beach and the excited crowd leapt with elation over the unexpected winner. Andromeda’s eyes were glazed over, no longer perceiving what was in front of her, only seeing the images within her brain. Even if the shaking and seizing had been brought under control, her mind was still running rampant and she was suddenly aware of why her bloodline only offered one heir. This was a cruel gift.

The battered bodied on the beach were being tended to whilst the nobles screamed with sick passion for their torture. A sporting event where their enemies' children fought tooth and claw to win, to win trivial soldiers and winter food supplies all for the baffling entertainment of the masses.

Kyyre collapsed, his knees hitting the sand between Astrid’s legs before his body simply gave out. He barely had the strength to brace himself as he fell forward, pressing against Astrid’s chest, arms curling tightly around him. His fingers clenched into Astrid’s skin, as if anchoring himself there, as if he might disappear into the wind if he let go.

He was shaking—trembling with exhaustion, his body wracked with pain from the puncture wounds Leon had left in him, from the sheer effort of fighting. But it wasn’t just his body that ached.

It was the guilt.

Leon.

He had hurt Leon. He had made Leon hurt himself. And Astrid—Astrid had let him hurt him, had let him win, had let him break him just to get him to fight. The realization made Kyyre’s throat tighten, his breath stutter in his chest as he pressed his face harder against Astrid’s bare skin.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean—Leon—I didn’t—”

His words dissolved into nothing, swallowed by the rise and fall of Astrid’s chest.

Astrid was still beneath him, his body warm, solid. Despite everything, despite the way Kyyre had hurt him, his arms came up slowly, wrapping around Kyyre’s back, pulling him in, keeping him close. One hand curled over the back of Kyyre’s head, fingers threading into his white hair, the other resting against his trembling spine.

“Shhh,” Astrid murmured, voice softer than it had been the entire trial. He exhaled a breath, his chest expanding beneath Kyyre’s cheek. “You did good.”

Kyyre shook his head, his arms tightening around Astrid as if trying to undo the damage he’d done by sheer force of will. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” Astrid murmured. “Not really.” He let his hand trail down Kyyre’s back, slow, reassuring. “And Leon? He’s not mad at you. Not even close.”

Kyyre’s fingers clenched against his skin. “I made him break his arm.”

Astrid sighed, tilting his head back against the sand. “Yeah,” he admitted, his thumb absently brushing the nape of Kyyre’s neck. “That was fucking stupid of him, by the way.”

Kyyre made a choked noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and Astrid just held him there, firm and steady, letting him breathe, letting him feel.

“You fought,” Astrid said after a moment, his voice steady, certain. “You won. And now it’s over. You’re okay.” He gave a slight squeeze, grounding him. “We’re okay.”

Kyyre let out a slow, shuddering breath, his body gradually relaxing against Astrid’s as the weight of exhaustion settled deeper in his bones.

The sound of footsteps in the sand barely registered to Kyyre, but Astrid’s body tensed just enough beneath him for him to notice. A soft, steady voice reached them, and a hand—gentle, cool—pressed against Astrid’s arm.

“Don’t touch me,” Astrid growled, immediately jerking away from the contact.

The healer hesitated. “You’re bleeding—”

“No shit.”

She tried again, this time pressing firmer against his shoulder. Astrid batted her hand away, his fingers gripping Kyyre’s side as if to emphasize his refusal. “I said, don’t.”

Kyyre lifted his head just enough to see the healer purse her lips, clearly torn between her duty and her unwillingness to argue. She tried once more, placing her hand on his ribs where blood was seeping into the sand.

Astrid slapped her hand away this time. “I’ll handle it.”

The healer huffed, muttered something under her breath about stubborn men, and finally backed off, leaving Astrid exactly where he was—bloodied, bruised, but happy.

Kyyre’s breath hitched, his throat tightening.

This was my fault.

His fingers clenched into Astrid’s chest as his body began to tremble again, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice barely holding together. Then, louder: “I’m sorry—”

Astrid sighed. “Ky—”

But Kyyre shook his head, his silver hair falling into his eyes as they stung with tears. His chest ached, and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t want to—” His voice cracked, and his body lurched with a quiet sob. “I hurt you. And Leon, I—fuck, Astrid, I didn’t—”

“Hey.” Astrid’s voice was firm, but there was no bite to it. His fingers curled around Kyyre’s wrist, steady and grounding. “Breathe.”

Kyyre tried—he really did—but the guilt was curling around his ribs, constricting, squeezing. “I didn’t—”

“You didn’t kill me.” Astrid exhaled, running a hand down Kyyre’s back, his touch far gentler than it had been during his fights. “And you didn’t kill Leon.” A pause. “Trust me, that idiot is not that easy to kill.”

Kyyre let out a broken, half-laugh, half-sob, but the tears kept coming.

“Shh,” Astrid murmured, his grip on Kyyre tightening for a moment before relaxing again. “You did what you had to. That’s all.”

Kyyre buried his face against Astrid’s chest again, shaking. “I’m sorry.”

Astrid let out another sigh, but his hand never left Kyyre’s back. He didn’t argue. Didn’t tell him to stop. Just held him there, bloodied and exhausted in the sand.

He turned his head, looking over at Leon in the sand, and then craned his neck to try to peer at Andromeda, which gave a zing of protesting pain from his jaw. Astrid turned his head back, looking at Leon with a small chuckle.

Leon did not move as the two medics worked on him, the mind-numbing pain ebbing out into something more manageable. He was used to severe injury, it never was healed as well as it would be here, with these highly educated healers. However, he was blessed with Nibrook blood so that was a lovely thing to possess when you needed to heal injuries. It would take him a few days, at most. Not that it wouldn’t be extremely painful as his body pushed his cells into overdrive to fix the injury on fast forwards.

It didn’t take long for his arm to be secured onto his body with a flimsy white bandage, immediately stained with the drying blood that was smeared and completely coating his torso. He couldn’t help but listen as he lay there, the cheers of the crowd lowering in volume as the adrenaline of the event began to reduce, people peeling away to enjoy the festivities while they all drowned in pain on that beach.

He could hear Kyyre and Astrid, they must have been closer than he thought, but didn’t dare move his head. He didn’t want to look over and witness it. The cruelty of Astrid’s words before their fight had enraged him, but now he could hear his voice comforting Kyyre. It bewildered him. He had thought that Astrid had turned his back on Kyyre, but this was different. He had let Kyyre win, that much was obvious, he had riled him up to get him to attack. Which was curious to Leon, a fight could easily be faked by injuring yourself in lieu of forcing Kyyre into that state. A state that made him shake with tears, he could hear his hitched breathing in between the murmurings of the crowd.

Finally, the medics leaned back and allowed him to sit upright. He couldn’t help that his gaze landed on the two heirs, the pale head drew his eyes immediately. Resting on his back, noting the entanglement of their bodies with curiosity. Those two were…interesting and he wasn’t sure if he meant that in a good or bad way.

He watched as Astrid’s head tilted to the side, drawing his attention quickly. Leon didn’t move from where he sat as he saw the twitch of Astrid’s lips and the subsequent breathy laugh. Behind him, his tail tip twitched in a jerky motion.

He tried not to offer his own snide look, instead following where the man had looked just before meeting his eyes. Leon felt his arm jolt with pain as he spotted Andromeda, three people were gathered around her. All chirping orders and observations to each other as their eyes frantically scanned over her still twitching muscles.

With a scramble, Leon dragged himself up from the sand and sent some flying behind him as he raced over towards them.

“Orchid.” He hissed out between gritted teeth, stopping just short of bowling over one of the healers who gave him a stern look but said nothing. Leon scanned her body, she didn’t look hurt. There was a large bruise forming on her side and stomach, he could see the blooming black and blue beneath her soaked white clothes. Blotchy and angry.

Her eyes were distant, staring off into the nothingness. It was a look he recognised. With a sharp intake of breath, Leon dipped to his knees, pushing some sand up onto her arm in the process. Despite the outcry of shock from the healers, Leon flicked out his hand and raked it across her shoulder. Drawing up beads of fresh blood from her skin through the fabric, causing a deep red to surge into the clothing. For a moment, he waited but when she didn’t move, he drove his claws deeper into her shoulder and almost instantly Andromeda gasped for air as though she had been drowning on dry land.

Heaving for oxygen, her eyes were in a wide panic as they flashed around from side to side, trying to lock onto something familiar. A person, a place, anything. Then she saw Leon’s face staring down at her, slashed with sand and blood.

The heaving settled as she stared blankly at him, trying to place his face in the endless labyrinth that was her memories. Eventually, a glimmer of recognition shone in her eyes and the Andromeda he knew came back to the surface for air.

“Leon.” She breathed out, voice hoarse. The medics watched on in vague confusion, but soon enough began patching up the newest wound to her shoulder as Leon retracted his hand from her flesh. “Thank you.” Was all she offered, that was all that was needed.

The chaos of her mind had been struck back to reality by the piercing indents he had given her, waking her up from the stupor she had been sent into. He had found her like this before, in his kingdom after a night of indulgence where she had drank herself silly. Leon had not taken advantage and slit her throat, he had dragged her back to reality. That was how she had started this relationship with him. Covered in her own vomit, ruined and dishonoured.

Leon offered up a short lived smile, he had nothing else to say either. This had become a regular occurrence, Andromeda would fall into the overwhelming void of her own mind and Leon would drag her back out kicking and screaming.

His head hefted back up and looked back over his shoulder to where Astrid and Kyyre were, watching them closely. Their relationship was a bit more confusing than the one he held with Andromeda and he couldn’t quite place why that sight made the fur along his spine spike up harshly, sticking out from his skin like a fur-lined sail.

Astrid let out a slow, steady breath, forcing himself to ignore the relentless sting of open wounds and the bruises blooming beneath his skin. His body ached in a way that promised lasting pain, but he refused to let it slow him down. Not yet. Not when there was still so much at stake.

Kyyre was still folded against him, his slight frame shivering despite the warmth of Astrid’s bloodied chest. His grip was iron-tight, like he was afraid to let go—as if loosening his hold would send everything spiraling out of control again. Astrid didn’t push him away. Didn’t tell him to get up, to act like a proper heir.

Instead, he let his hand settle on the back of Kyyre’s head, fingers threading into his silken hair, slow and grounding. A quiet motion, one of the few comforts he could offer in a moment like this. Kyyre wasn’t sobbing anymore, but the occasional hiccup still rattled against his ribs, a lingering sign of the exhaustion that had completely overtaken him.

Astrid knew guilt when he saw it, felt it in the way Kyyre clung to him like he might disappear.

He let him stay there.

For now.

But something else gnawed at the edge of his awareness, something sharp and unrelenting. A sense of unease he couldn’t shake, no matter how he tried to focus on the present.

His head ached as he lifted it, the movement slow and deliberate. Every muscle protested, his neck screaming with the strain, but he ignored it. His dark eyes scanned the battlefield, cutting through the settling dust and sand kicked up by their fights, searching—finding.

Leon.

Andromeda.

Astrid’s gaze locked onto Leon first, and something in his chest twisted. The bastard was hovering over Andromeda, his arm next to her shoulder, and that was enough to make Astrid’s fingers tighten ever so slightly in Kyyre’s hair. He watched what he could see, his expression unreadable, the careful mask he had worn for years still perfectly intact. But beneath it, his mind churned. Calculated. Assessed.

His attention flickered to Andromeda next, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Was she alright?

He exhaled sharply through his nose and remained where he was, unmoving except for the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath Kyyre’s weight.

He didn’t yell. Didn’t make any sudden movements.

But his eyes—keen, watchful—never left them.

"Finoviard," Astrid called out, his voice rough, his throat still filled with a bit of blood, but not angry or uncontrolled. The noise caught Kyyre's attention, who lifted his head, blinking wearily. "Is she gonna live?"

As the moment came that Leon was going to rise to his full height and offer to help Andromeda, providing the healers had finished with her, back to her quarters, Leon heard his name. With a quick swivel of his head back around towards Astrid, he let the words settle in the air before he spoke, tail limp and still behind him.

“She’s fine, she’s just-”

“I’m fine.” Andromeda’s voice cut through Leon’s deeper one with a sharpness, preventing Leon from saying anything more than that. She was simple, fine, and that was that. Andromeda did not need someone list Astrid privvy to her history and health status. What mattered was the present and the immediate future.

Slowly, she leaned up from the ground and her head whirled with pain. As though some small creature was slamming a dagger into the temples all the while pouring alcohol on the open wounds. The last medic was lingering, watching her carefully as Andromeda struggled to sit upright. Eventually she lifted a hand to wave at them, dismissing them from her care, which they seemed satisfied enough to do.

Collecting their small bag of things, the woman was about to walk away when Leon jolted out a hand and grasped her wrist. Startling the woman, but she didn’t shy away from the hold that Leon had on her.

“Can you please check him over before you leave?” His voice was toughened from their endeavors, but he made an effort to sound kind as he spoke. Not that he wasn’t a kind person, he was just a little confronting at the best of times. Leon’s hand was pointed towards Kyyre and Astrid, then after realising there would be confusion.

“Not the grumpy one covered in grime, the other one.” He slid his eyes over towards Kyyre, narrowed ever so slightly as he focused his sights on his raised head. Leon could see the tricklings of blood down his form that he had drawn, seeping into the fabric around the puncture wounds. Despite his arm and sliced lip, Leon felt rather comfortable in his own skin now. It was the others he was concerned about and if Astrid was going to be difficult then at least Kyyre could be seen to.

The medic dipped their head and began walking over towards Kyyre.

Andromeda remained silent, the entire time she had been staring over at Astrid. Her eyes gave nothing away, only the tiredness behind them bled through into her expression. The already darkened circles beneath her eyes were minutely more shadowed them they usually were, her eyes that touch less bright.

If this was the first trial, she could only imagine how the orchestrators had ramped things up for the subsequent events. They were always brutal, but a double trial from the get go was a tough pill to swallow.

She didn’t want to envision the carnage that was to follow. All of the heirs, not just her small group would need to rest for days to recover. Would they give them days? She thought not. Andromeda could slide into the minds of those planning their trials, but it would be useless unless she knew exactly who was sorting out the next one. It was a sort of block they put into place to prevent her from foreseeing the next trials days or even weeks before they started. In her first year she had managed to be subtle about it, but the last year she had been sloppy and they had realised.

This year, as she found out rather quickly, only one person knew of the exact ins and outs of a trial. Each trial would be planned by a seperate person and not a word of it spoken until the night before. It made figuring out what came next and extremely challenging task.

Kyyre tensed the moment he heard the medic approach, his breath hitching so sharply that Astrid felt it shudder through his body. His entire frame coiled like a wire pulled too tight, shoulders bunching inward as if he could somehow make himself smaller—less noticeable, less touchable. Astrid, still cradling him in his lap, felt every tremor, every tiny flinch, every instinctive pull away. His fingers curled subtly against Kyyre’s back, pressing in just enough to remind him he wasn’t alone.

The medic knelt beside them, close but not too close, her expression carefully neutral. “I need to check your injuries,” she said, voice even, gentle but unwavering. It was the kind of voice meant to soothe, but it didn’t work on Kyyre.

He didn’t respond. Didn’t move. Didn’t even acknowledge her presence. His pink eyes had locked onto Leon the moment the other man had gestured toward the healer, and he hadn’t been able to look away since.

Leon noticed.

That thought alone sent Kyyre’s heart slamming against his ribs in a frantic, uneven rhythm. Leon had noticed his wounds. Leon had cared enough to ask for him to be treated. That should have made Kyyre feel warm, maybe even safe—but instead, it made him feel sick. It made him feel exposed.

His stomach twisted violently, an ugly mix of shame and confusion bubbling in his chest. He barely felt the dull sting of his wounds anymore, barely registered the blood seeping into his clothes. All he could focus on was Leon—Leon, who had seen him like this. Weak. Hurt. Helpless.

Astrid, perceptive as ever, let out a long sigh through his nose. “He’s not gonna let you touch him,” he muttered to the medic, shifting slightly to better support Kyyre’s trembling weight. “Not without a fight.”

Kyyre’s fingers curled into Astrid’s bare, bloodied chest, not gripping, not clinging—just holding. Just grounding himself in something solid, something real. His breathing was shallow, too fast, almost frantic.

Astrid, feeling every single one of those sharp, erratic breaths, exhaled slowly. His voice was quieter now, meant only for the two of them. “Hey.” He tilted his head down, catching Kyyre’s gaze. “I know you hate this, but you’re bleeding like hell. You need to let her do her job.”

Kyyre swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. His gaze darted back toward Leon for the briefest moment, like he was searching for something—reassurance, maybe—but the second he realized what he was doing, he snapped his head away, face burning with mortification.

Astrid noticed.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Astrid muttered, rolling his aching shoulders. “If you don’t let her stitch you up, Leon’s gonna start hovering over you even more, and we both know you’d rather die than deal with that.”

Kyyre’s face turned even redder, the flush creeping down his neck, and Astrid had to bite back a smirk despite the dull, throbbing ache in his muscles.

The medic watched the exchange with patient interest but didn’t push.

Kyyre’s grip on Astrid loosened slightly, his breathing still uneven, his pulse still too fast beneath his skin. The fear hadn’t left him—it was still there, still sharp, still coiled tight in his gut—but after another long, painful moment of deliberation, he gave the smallest, almost imperceptible nod.

Astrid felt it more than he saw it.

“Good,” he murmured, running a slow, grounding hand up Kyyre’s back, fingers threading through his sweat-damp hair. “See? Not so bad.”

Kyyre let out a shaky, unsteady breath. He wasn’t looking at the medic—he still wouldn’t—but he also didn’t bolt when she shifted slightly closer, hands hovering near his wounds. His entire body tensed, a violent, instinctive flinch, but he didn’t move away.

Astrid sighed, feeling the exhaustion weigh down on him like lead. He let his head tip slightly, turning his gaze toward Leon and Andromeda. His concern was still carefully masked, buried beneath layers of exhaustion and feigned indifference—but it was there. His eyes flickered over Andromeda, the faintent hint of concern at them as he watched her stare at him. Wondering what was behind that gaze.

Leon was off in his own world of bewilderment, distracted by the movement of Andromeda beside him, his eyes scanning over her to seek out any indication that she was about to keel over again. A twitch of a muscle, the wince of her eyes, or the intake of a sharp breath. No such indication came and he allowed his eyes to follow the sound of the medic’s feet crunching in the sand.

His gaze roved over her before terminating on Kyyre, meeting the wide eyes that were fixated on him a soft jerk of surprise. He hadn’t been expecting to have those eyes piercing into him, it made his shoulders tense up as Kyyre refused to look away. Just as soon as he had noticed, Kyyre seemed to grow his consciousness back and yanked his head away from Leon’s view, leaving him puzzled. Slowly, his head tilted to the side as he watched the scene unfold.

In the meantime, Andromeda had pulled herself quietly up to her feet, managing to not use anything for support. Her legs were unsteady in the process, shaking as she tried to force them to remain still, to hide the weakness in them before anyone saw.

There were still other heirs around them raising to their feet and preparing to rest in their quarters, to have their personnel nurture them back to health. All she wanted to do was bathe and sleep. Let the warmth of the water remove the grime from her body and soothe the aching muscles that felt like they were tearing off from the bones.

She took a moment to watch the medic’s hands roam over Kyyre before turning around and beginning to saunter away. Andromeda’s face was pulled into a tight grimace as she took each step, it felt like a thousand needles were stabbing into her joints and wrenching back out again. There was the tiniest of trembles to her legs, but barely noticeable unless one was looking closely enough.

“I shall see you at dinner.” Despite the struggle, Andromeda’s voice was stronger now and steady, no hesitation in her words as she began to walk herself back towards the courtyard. To scurry away into her quarters and hole herself up in there until the evening reared its head and beckoned her for a meal.

Leon’s previously distracted head swivelled back around and he scrambled to his feet, finding himself a little off balance and staggering in the process. He looked between the woman and the two men, then with a small huff of air he quickly made his way to catch up with Andromeda. Pushing away the gravitational pull he felt to stay on the beach, he knew the feeling and he couldn’t help it from forming. He felt it for Andromeda but this was worse.

So much worse.

Leon channeled all of his focus into not turning around as he stalked after Andromeda, tail held rigid behind him as to not betray any of his emotions. He would see them tonight, it would be fine. No one was dead. Yet. They’d be fine.

–

Andromeda did not part any words to Leon before she slipped into her quarters, the guards gave her no second glance of concern for her appearance before shutting the doors solidly behind her.

The bath was already drawn, swirling with oils and whatever else her assistant felt was a good idea to include for her raging muscles. Her legs almost gave way from beneath her the moment they hit the water, buckling from under her in a way that made the woman flail. Splashing the water into the surrounding stonework, a sharp hiss leaving her lips at the twinge of pain that travelled up from her hips and into her torso.

This was agony. It the moment of a fight, it was easy to block out the pain but the aftermath was so much worse. It was like being hit with a mallet, repeatedly slamming into every inch of her body. Unrelenting.

Andromeda’s head tipped back against the edge of the bath, eyes fluttering closed as she let the warmth swirl her mind into unconsciousness.

Astrid exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as he watched the last flickers of movement in the sand, the distant silhouettes of the other heirs dragging themselves from the battlefield. The medic beside him pulled away from Kyyre, satisfied with her work, and turned to him expectantly, only for Astrid to give her a glare that sent her scurrying off without another word.

With a grunt, Astrid shifted, adjusting Kyyre in his arms. The smaller man was limp, entirely unconscious, his body utterly spent. Blood and sand streaked his pale skin, his clothes sticking to him in places where sweat and seawater had soaked through. Astrid sighed. If Kyyre had been awake, he would have complained—about the state of his clothes, about the mess, about everything.

The weight wasn’t much to Astrid, but he was sore, the ache in his muscles like fire licking at his skin. Still, he stood, adjusting Kyyre in his grasp, cradling him as if he weighed nothing. His gaze sharpened as he approached the entrance to the quarters, his eyes locking onto the guards stationed outside Kyyre’s door.

They hesitated.

Astrid’s jaw clenched. His lip curled, canines barely visible as he gave them a sharp glare, daring them to make him repeat himself. The tension was thick—until, at last, the guards relented, stepping aside to allow Astrid through.

Inside, Kyyre’s quarters were dim, the curtains drawn to keep out the dying light of the day. Astrid stepped in, barely making a sound as he walked to the bed and lowered Kyyre onto it, carefully settling him against the soft bedding. His hands lingered for a moment longer than necessary, his warmth seeping into Kyyre’s skin.

Then, he pulled away.

A quiet, exhausted whine escaped Kyyre’s lips at the loss of warmth, and Astrid’s fingers twitched. For a fleeting moment, he considered staying, just until Kyyre woke up. But no—he shook his head, exhaling sharply, and turned on his heel. The door shut softly behind him as he left.

By the time Astrid reached his own quarters, his patience was razor-thin. He strode inside, already tugging at the ruined fabric clinging to his body. He barely spared a glance at the maid who had been preparing his bath—her face flushed bright red as she caught sight of him stripping without a care. With a startled squeak, she fled the room, leaving the bath only half-prepared.

Astrid snorted, unimpressed. He cast a disdainful glance at his pile of discarded, sand- and blood-soaked clothing before stepping into the bath just long enough to wash the filth from his body. His muscles protested the movement, aching for rest, but he denied them that relief, scrubbing away the grime before stepping out and pulling on a simple pair of pants.

“Hinen,” he growled.

A shadow shifted near the edge of the room, and then Hinen was there—just slightly taller than Astrid, but built like a mirror image of him, a predator carved from muscle and sharp edges. His presence was as silent as ever, unreadable.

“Make sure that weird snake isn’t still in here, and then come wrap my hands.”

Hinen moved without a word, his search of the room efficient and thorough. Astrid leaned against the bed, watching idly as the man confirmed that no unwelcome serpents had lingered. Only when satisfied did Hinen return to Astrid’s side, beginning to wrap his hands with the tight precision of a warrior preparing for battle.

As soon as the last strip of cloth was in place, Astrid lunged.

The room exploded into motion, their bodies colliding in a furious burst of movement. Astrid’s fist shot forward, aimed for Hinen’s ribs, but the man deflected it, twisting at the last second and retaliating with a sharp elbow to Astrid’s side. Astrid grunted, but he barely staggered—he pivoted, sweeping his leg out in a brutal attempt to take Hinen’s footing.

Hinen leaped back, dodging, but Astrid was already on him again, driving forward like an unstoppable force. Their sparring was fast, ruthless, each strike landing with a force that sent shockwaves through their bones. Astrid fought with pure aggression, each punch and kick thrown with the intent to break. Hinen, by contrast, was controlled, redirecting Astrid’s power rather than matching it blow for blow.

The hours stretched on, the dim light in the room shifting as time passed. Sweat slicked their skin, blood seeped from split knuckles, but neither yielded. Astrid’s breath came in harsh pants, his muscles screaming from exertion, but he didn’t stop—he refused to stop. He needed this, needed to fight until the ache in his body drowned out the frustration simmering beneath his skin.

Then—a knock.

Astrid froze, his nostrils flaring. A soft voice followed, hesitant yet sweet.

“Sir? Your presence is requested for—”

Astrid exhaled sharply, cutting her off. “Dinner. Yeah, yeah.” He brought his hands up to his mouth, tearing the bloodied wraps from his skin with his teeth, spitting the fabric to the floor. Every inch of him protested, but he forced himself upright, rolling his shoulders as he eyed the blonde standing in the doorway.

“Get Kyyre up,” he ordered.

The woman nodded quickly, vanishing through the door as Astrid ran a hand through his damp hair, exhaling. The fight had done little to take the edge off. If anything, it only made him more aware of the tension still coiled in his gut.

With a quiet scoff, he turned toward his wardrobe, pulling out something clean. If they wanted him at dinner, fine. He’d be there. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to play nice.