Kaelis' pov

I could not sleep all through the night I had spent here- I had spent it staring at the empty walls that surrounded me.

I was moved into a chamber that was bare- the walls were cold and damp. A cot stood in the corner and the mattress had a hole in the middle. 

The blanket was rough and itchy against my skin and a small hole- wouldn't be caught dead calling it a window. It wasn't for ventilation... that was for sure. 

The room had no table or chair or anything that would have served as comfort.

This was what they called a room for me but it felt not so different from the prison I had woken up in.

I sucked my teeth when the thought of the king saying this was how they treated their guest rushed into me. 

"Guest, my ass," I murmured, barely audible.

I pressed my hand against my chest, trying to calm the wild thudding of my heart. I told myself to breathe slow, to stay calm, but it did not help as my body got tensed and restless, my hands shaking when I brought them together.

At sunrise, a noise broke the silence as the clashing of metal against metal, sharp enough to make me flinch. I turned my head just in time to see a tray shoved through the gap at the bottom of the door. The food clattered as it scraped across the s floor. The sound echoed in the bare chamber, louder than it should have been.

"Eat, Ashfang spy," a guard spat, his voice thick with disgust. He made the word spy sound like filth, like it was something rotten in his mouth.

The door slammed shut again with a force that made the walls to quake and the lock scraped into place. The footsteps faded, leaving me alone again with the tray of food and the silence.

The smell of the food overwhelmed my senses- salty and sour. My hands shook when I reached for it, I wanted to throw it back at the door, scream that I wasn't who they thought I was but the hunger clawing inside me won. 

I pulled the tray closer, eating with slow bites, each swallow burning down my throat.

I had been called Ashfang... the word sounded familiar but I still couldn't place it.

Was it a place?

Was it mine?

The questions circled my thoughts until my head hurt.

When dawn came, I had not closed my eyes once.

The door slammed open. Two soldiers stepped inside, silver chains hanging at their belts. Their eyes gleamed with open hate.

"On your feet," one barked.

I rose, legs stiff and my body aching. They flanked me and marched me like a cow to the slaughter through narrow halls until the air grew heavier. I could already hear voices ahead, low growls of anticipation.

At the center of the hall, a circle had been drawn with silver dust. Its edges glimmered in the light. 

The man on the throne sat waiting, his golden gaze fixed on me from the moment I entered. He didn't waste time with questions as his voice rolled through the hall, calm but sharp.

"You stand here not to speak," he said, "but to prove. Words are nothing and the truth is what matters."

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. My stomach twisted with the fear and anticipation curling inside me like a living thing. 

He gestured, and the silver dust flared in the light. "This is the Trial of Truth. Only one who is sincere will leave this circle alive. Those who lie... will die. Choose your actions wisely, Kaelis Dreadmoor. The people of Silvermaw will watch and they will cheer your fall if you fail. They will honor your strength if you survive."

A voice in the crowd hissed, sharp, cruel: "Burn the spy! Burn her alive!"

My throat tightened as the sound swallowed me. I felt small, trapped, their hatred pressing in from every side.

The man on the throne  raised his hand and the chamber fell silent, his eyes stayed locked on me.

"If you are sincere, you will survive," he said. "If not, your body will break before us. Either way, the truth will be known."

The hall erupted in cheers. I could taste their desire for my death in the air.

I wanted to speak. To tell him again I didn't remember, that I wasn't lying but his gaze told me it no longer mattered- the  time for words was gone.

From the far side of the circle, a heavy figure was dragged into the middle. Another prisoner. Broad, tall, muscles tensed like coiled steel. He sneered, showing teeth white against his scarred face. 

My stomach flipped. 

The king stepped back, his hands folding behind his back. "Begin."

The guards shoved me forward into the center of the arena. My legs trembled, my arms ached, my breathing came in shallow gasps. Sweat dripped down my skin despite the cold as I I lifted my fists instinctively, feeling the familiar weight of my body against gravity, the instinct to defend myself rising.

The man lifted his sword and advanced. The first strike came fast, slicing through the air where I had been standing a few seconds before. I twisted, narrowly avoiding it, and causing me to stumble, catching myself just in time. 

He swung again, slower this time, calculating. I blocked instinctively, pushing with all my strength. The force knocked me back two steps. 

"You are fast," he growled, wiping blood from his mouth. "But not fast enough."

My chest burned, ribs screaming, but I rolled forward, using momentum to pivot behind him.

My mind flared with surprise... I... I knew where to move before he struck. How? My thoughts were blank, but my body moved like it remembered every battle I had never consciously learned.

He turned, raised his sword, and struck again. I ducked, my knees scraping the floor, twisting low to strike at his legs. He staggered slightly, but he was fast way too fast.

Pain exploded in my shoulder as he backhanded me. I stumbled backward, tasting blood. My vision blurred, sweat and blood dripping into my eyes. I wanted to scream, to give up, to collapse-but something inside me refused.

I ducked another strike, moved and grabbed the hilt of his sword as it passed, twisting with all my strength. He roared behind his helm, and for a moment, his balance faltered. I drove him back, forcing him to step aside.

"How am I doing this?" My chest heaved, each breath burning.

Another swing. I ducked low, and struck. His sword clanged against the stone, sparks flying. My muscles screamed, my body trembling, but I kept moving, dodging, striking, pushing him to his limits.

The crowd roared. Some cheered, some jeered, others whispered among themselves. I didn't hear them- all I could hear was the pounding of my heart and the sound of my own breaths ripping through my chest.

I twisted again, narrowly avoiding a blow to my head. Pain flared down my side as he kicked, sending me stumbling. 

My knees bled and my vision blurred- I gasped, tasting blood in my mouth.

I pushed forward, kicked, twisted and rolled again. Each strike I made, each block, each dodge was precise, instinctive. My mind raced, heart hammering, chest heaving, and yet part of me was calm. 

My body knew. 

My body moved before I thought about it.

His armor left a gap at the side- finally an opening. I struck, knocking him to the ground. 

He hit hard, the breath forced from his lungs, but I did not bring my blade down to finish him. My chest heaved, sweat and blood dripping from my hair and arms. I looked down at him as he struggled beneath me, eyes wide, breathing hard.

I stepped back, shaking and exhausted. My muscles screamed, every joint aching, but I had held back. I would not be the killer they expected. 

The crowd gasped, murmuring in disbelief. Shock rippled through the hall; the murmurs became whispers of awe and anger.

The man stepped forward from the throne, his expression unreadable, cold and calculating.

"You survived," he said finally. His voice echoed in the hall, carrying weight. "Few do. That makes you... dangerous."

I staggered slightly, knees trembling, and my eyes found the hooded figure again. His gaze met mine across the hall. Lips moving silently. One word formed in my mind, striking deep: 

Mate.

Kaelis' pov

The past two weeks had changed me in ways I did not expect. At first, I thought I would break, but had they let me help in the clinic, and that work kept me standing. 

I carried water for the healers, held down bandages, steadied trembling hands when patients were too weak to lift themselves.

It was not much, but it was enough to remind me I was not completely useless. Even when my hands shook, even when my stomach turned at the sight of wounds, I forced myself through it.

The King had also moved me from that cage they first called a room. Now I slept in a chamber with sunlight pouring through wide windows every morning. I could see the sky, the trees dancing in the distance, and when I stepped close enough, I could even feel the warmth of the sun across my face. The mattress was still hard and the blanket scratchy, but compared to where I had been, it felt like another world.

Why give me comfort now after keeping me in a place that felt like a cage?

And in those quiet hours, when the work of the clinic was done, my thoughts returned again and again to that night in the arena- when I first felt my bond snap.

The sound of it still haunted me. 

It settled in my chest like a fire that would not go out. I remembered the way his eyes had found mine, sharp and unshaken- every time the memory rose, my breath grew unsteady, and I hated it... I hated the way it left me shaken... I hated more the silence that followed because he had not appeared since.

A soft knock broke my thoughts.

My head turned sharply toward the door. For a moment, I didn't move. My pulse climbed as though something waited behind it. 

Finally, I forced my voice steady. "Enter."

The door creaked open.

A girl- a bit younger than I was stepped inside, quick on her feet, carrying a tray with folded clothes. She set it down carefully as her movements were too precise, as if she was trained not to spill a single drop of air. Her eyes lifted, steady, meeting mine with an expression I could not read.

"My name is Myra," she said, her voice smooth, not unkind but not soft either. "I am your handmaid, assigned by King Soren. I am here to help you prepare for the festival tonight."

The name stung like a spark across my skin. 

King Soren.

I straightened on the bed, my hand tightening on the blanket until they hurt. I did not answer at once, as my eyes were fixed on her face, searching for a trick or  a hint of mischief behind her calm.

My lips felt dry as I shaped the words. "And this King Soren... he is the ruler of Silvermaw?" My voice quiet but edged.

Myra nodded once, not breaking her gaze.

I let out a breath, slow but controlled. "Why would a king give me a handmaid?" My voice trembled but I held it together. 

Her answer came smooth, practiced. "Because you are his guest."

I studied her carefully, eyes narrowing, waiting for some crack in her mask. I added at last, though my voice came out softer than I meant.

"Since when does a prisoner earn that kind of service?"

She did not flinch. "That was then. Now the King has ordered me to care for you- food, clothes, whatever you require."

I let out a soft chuckle. "And if I reject it?"

"If you resist, the guards will drag you instead." Her face wore a wild smile that was way too fake but for the first time, her eyes flickered- as if she could smell my unease.

I let out a long breath and rose slowly from the bed. "Fine," I muttered, eyeing the fabric like it was some sort of trap.

Two other maids slipped in quietly, carrying more gowns, they spread them across the bed. 

"You must be washed first. It is not proper to wear these without cleansing." Myra added.

The water smelled of lavender and it clung to me as they poured it down my back. Drops slid over my body as it was running to the floor. My body felt lighter, almost strange as if I was being peeled clean layer by layer.

When they finished with the whole makeover, one of the maids held up a polished metal plate. My reflection stared back at me- my face was pale, my eyes darker than I remembered, framed by braids weaved with silver. The gown shined with each movement, making me look like someone I didn't recognize.

The drums outside beat louder now, steady and deep, vibrating through the walls as Myra stepped back and looked me over- like a proud artist looks at his paintings.

"Good," she said. "It is time."

The maids led me through the halls, their footsteps soft, my own loud in my ears. We stepped into the open courtyard- people filled the space, laughter mixing with shouts, the crowd alive with song. Drums beat in rhythm, shaking the ground beneath my feet.

And then my eyes found him- King Soren.

He stood at the edge of the throne- tall and broad, golden eyes glittering like firelight but he was not alone.

The hooded figure stood close beside him as his shoulders were tense, his head bent, his voice low. 

I could not hear the words, but I saw the way his hand clenched tight at his side, the way his body leaned forward as if dragging with restraint.

Soren listened, his gaze sharp, unreadable then his eyes slid past him and landed on me.

The hooded man followed that gaze too.

Even across the distance, I felt the pull. My chest tightened, my skin tingled, as my eyes locked on them, and the world narrowed to that single line between us.

Then, without warning, he turned... the cloak swallowed him as he vanished into the crowd, leaving me standing with my heart pounding, as if someone had ripped away something I hadn't even realized I needed.

"You look lovely tonight," Soren said, his voice carrying easily over the noise.

I smiled faintly, though my chest still ached. "Then I must warn you, my king," I said softly. "Do not mistake a dress for gratitude. I would rather not be rude."

His lips curved, almost a smirk. He stepped forward, took my hand firmly in his, and held it in place before I could pull away.

"Walk with me."

The crowd parted as he led me forward. Whispers followed, sharp as knives. Every stare pressed against my skin as he guided me up the steps and motioned to the chair beside his throne.

"Sit."

I sat, keeping my chin high though my body trembled.

The crowd hushed when Soren rose. His voice was deep, commanding, impossible to ignore.

"Tonight, we honor tradition. Tonight, we celebrate strength... The Festival of Moons begins..."

The roar of an engine had cut him short.

A rider burst into the arena, cloak snapping like a banner and wheels spitting sparks.

The crowd erupted- cheers and screams mixed together as if they had anticipated it.

Some chanted in rhythm with the pounding drums, others threw their hands up, fists punching the sky as if a god had descended among them. Children scrambled onto their shoulders just to catch a glimpse. Women pressed forward, eyes shining, calling out as though the rider might hear only them. 

The energy shifted like a storm breaking loose and the wild hunger of a pack welcoming its champion.

It wasn't just excitement- it was worship.

My breath hitched, sharp and shallow, my heart pounding so hard it ached. I couldn't move or look away.

I froze.

The bike came to an abrupt stop, and the rider alighted with  ease. Tall, broad-shouldered, and his steps were slow but certain. 

Each movement was measured, confident, and pulling every eye in the courtyard.

He reached up, gripped his helmet, and pulled it free.

Black hair spilled loose, falling in waves around his face. His jaw was strong, dusted with scars. His cheekbones were high and sharp, his mouth full and set in a firm line.

Then his eyes met mine.

Deep brown, so dark they almost seemed black under the light but they were steady and burning.

Heat rose in my chest, spreading through every nerve as the pull was stronger now, so sharp it left me trembling.

He walked forward towards the throne... each step sounded like a heartbeat- my heartbeat.

When he stopped before me, his presence filled the space, drowning out the noise of the crowd. Slowly, he reached for my hand, and almost instinctively I had stretched it out without thinking, then his fingers closed around mine, warm and firm. 

He lifted it, bowing his head, and his lips brushed my skin.

The world stopped- up close, he was the most handsome man I had ever seen since I had been in Silvermaw and he was fucking breath-taking.

He raised his head, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Orin Ashvale," he said, his voice low but clear, every word meant for me. "I am here for you, my lady."

Kaelis' Pov

I barely had time to process his words before Soren's deep voice cut through the crowd.

"This is Orin Ashvale, reigning champion of the Festival of Moons race," he announced.

The crowd erupted again- shouts, cheers and people hitting their hands on the chair. The sound slammed into me, and every eyes seemed to follow him, yet he looked straight at me.

He lifted a brow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, and the look he gave me... it was bold, sultry and almost teasing. Heat rushed to my cheeks and my throat went dry. 

I didn't know if I should look away, smile, or run but instead I sat, my eyes fixed on him.

"You look tense," he said, voice low.

"I'm... not tense," I snapped, the words sharper than I intended but my pulse betrayed me, pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it.

His brow lifted. "No?" His gaze dropped to my hands, where my knuckles whitened against the arm of the chair. "Strange. You're holding on like the ground might vanish beneath you."

Heat rushed to my cheeks as I loosened my grip at once, annoyed with myself and with him for noticing. "Maybe I just don't like being stared at."

He chuckled low, and the sound sank under my skin. "I doubt that's true. You've been stared at your whole life, haven't you?" His eyes burned into mine, steady and unflinching. "But me..." He leaned closer, his breath brushing against my ear though he didn't touch me. "...I'm not just staring, but I'm watching."

Before I could answer, the ground trembled beneath the roar of more engines. Six more riders rode into the arena, each one dressed in iron and leather, their weapons shiny under the flames. The air smelled of smoke and bloodlust.

The crowd surged to their feet, chanting, howling, the frenzy growing louder with each rev of the bikes.

"I'll see you at the finish line, my lady," he said, flashing me one last sultry look that stuck like a touch on my skin. 

Then, with a mocking bow, he excused himself and strode back toward his bike.

And as the others lined up beside him, engines growling like beasts ready to kill, I realized... this was no race.

It was war on wheels.

Orin gave me one last glance, slow before he swung onto his bike with effortless grace, his movements were smooth almost like he was dancing.

Six riders lined up behind him, each a storm waiting to break.

The first, a massive brute with a spiked mace strapped to his back, growled as he revved his engine. Sparks flew from his wheels scraping the concrete floor.

The second, lean and fast, carried a pair of whips tipped with razor wire. She circled her bike, fingers flexing like claws, eyes scanning for weakness.

The third had jagged blades welded to his wheels, teeth gnashing at the edge of his helmet. Every turn, every jerk of his bike sent shards of metal flashing.

The fourth, massive like a war elephant, had a ram-like attachment on the front, ready to crush anything in his path.

The fifth carried a crossbow rigged to fire explosive bolts. He crouched low, aiming, ready to launch.

The sixth had a chain of spikes dangling from his handlebars, spinning like a deadly fan. He cracked a grin that made me shiver.

Orin didn't flinch. He leaned forward, fingers tight on the handles, muscles coiled.

"On your marks-" the announcer bellowed.

Engines roared. The wind stung my eyes. My pulse raced faster than the engines themselves.

"Set-"

The crowd was deafening, anticipation crackling like lightning.

The starting horn blared.

They were off.

Engines roared and tires screeched, sending dust and sparks that rose like fire and smoke from hell.

And him- Orin.

He didn't just ride; rather he commanded, his eyes were fixed on me as though I was the only one in the arena- the others might as well not exist.

The first rider swung his mace as they shot forward. Orin leaned low, his bike sliding close to the dirt, and kicked the man's wheel. Sparks flew, sending the man staggering sideways.

The crowd howled in great delight.

My hands flew to my mouth.

Orin dodged a strike meant to take off his head, his bike swerving so close to the barrier I thought he'd crash. Instead, he laughed... laughed and glanced up at me, his teeth flashing in a grin.

A weird feeling rose in my chest... something I could not name.

Fear?

Anger?

The wire whip lashed toward Orin's shoulder. He twisted, letting it scrape across his arm, as the leather jacket got ripped against the whip.

I wanted to look away. Gods, I wanted but instead I leaned forward, breath shallow, and my heart was hammering so violently that it hurt.

Orin looked back at me. He smirked as though every kill was a private performance meant for me alone.

I hated it...

I hated the way my breath caught in my throat, the way my pulse seemed tied to his every reckless move.

Then blood sprayed again. A rider tried to slash Orin's arm, but he twisted, grabbed the man's wrist mid-swing, and slammed it down into his own wheel. The scream that followed made my skin crawl.

The fourth  rammed him head-on. Orin jumped the bike, tires skidding as the  brute roared, striking his bike with fists wrapped in chains. Orin twisted mid-air, landing with great precision.

The fifth fired explosive bolts. One landed near Orin, dirt and flame erupting. Fire engulfed his arm but he quickly put it out, and  leaned into it, moving forward at high speed and  laughing low under his breath.

The sixth swung the spinning chain like a hurricane. It cut deep into the ground beside Orin, knocking stones at his chest. He shifted sideways, chain grazing his shoulder, leaving a thin scratch. 

His eyes met mine... he was fire and danger as every movement was brutal yet controlled, his bike an extension of him. The others fell, one by one, until there were only two left.

And Orin's bike  was burning.

Flames had circled the frame of the bike and had curled around his legs.

I rose halfway from my seat as panic clawed its way up my throat.

He didn't falter nor did he slow down, instead he drove faster to his last rival, sending sparks flying as they scraped together. With one savage push, he sent the man rolling into the dirt.

Orin's bike was already burning, flames swallowing up the sides and smoke covering him whole...

The crowd was on their feet, chanting his name, calling for blood and for glory.

I couldn't hear them... I could only hear the hammer of my own pulse.

And then he crossed the finish line.

The bike collapsed beneath him, flames devouring it whole.

The crowd exploded, chanting his name like he was more than a man like he was a god of blood and steel.

I was already moving before I had time to think, shoving past guards, my skirts tangling around my legs as I ran to him and the roar of the crowd nothing but noise in my ears.

"Orin!" I shouted, dropping to my knees.

My hands fumbled with his helmet and my fingers trembled so badly I could barely undo the clasps.

Finally, it came free, and I dragged it off as smoke and sweat clung to his skin and his cheek coated with soot and blood.

His lips curved, the faintest smirk despite the ash smeared across him  as if he'd been waiting for this moment all along.

I hated how my heart stuttered and the heat low in my stomach when his eyes locked on mine. Hated the part of me that ached with relief.

"Oh, princess," he rasped, voice rough but unbearably smug. His eyes burned into mine, steady and unshaken.

"I don't die easily."