Three days of enforced convalescence had turned Aiden's room from a sanctuary into a prison. The beet juice stain had been cleaned, his bandages changed regularly, and the constant stream of well-meaning but suffocating visitors had finally been reduced to a trickle. He was healing, but he was bored. And his mind kept replaying the fight in the arena, not just his own near-defeat, but the way each of the maids had fought.
He found Talia in the training yard, the rhythmic thwack of her wooden practice sword against a post a steady, comforting beat. She was moving with a fluid grace, her red hair a stark slash against the brown dirt and green grass. She was focused, alone in her element.
He approached slowly, not wanting to startle her. She sensed him anyway, her movements faltering for a split second before she resumed her rhythm, her back still to him.
"Shouldn't you be in bed, Your Highness?" she called out, her voice a little breathless.
"I was going crazy in there," Aiden said, leaning against a fence post. "And I wanted to... thank you. Again. Your axe work was impressive."
She stopped and turned, wiping a sheen of sweat from her brow with her forearm. "It was a sloppy axe. The balance was off. But it got the job done." Her eyes flickered to his bandaged arm. "How is it?"
"Sore. It'll heal." He took a breath. This was harder than he thought. "I've been thinking... about the fight. About what you said. About your clan."
Talia's entire posture changed. Her shoulders tensed, her friendly-if-gruff demeanor vanishing behind a wall of ice. "It's nothing. A story for another time."
"It wasn't nothing," Aiden said softly. "The way you fought... it was personal. You have a reason to hate people like that. I have a right to know who I'm fighting alongside."
His words seemed to hit her. He wasn't just a curious prince; he was a comrade trying to understand. The wall around her didn't crumble, but a small door opened.
She walked over to the water trough and splashed her face, her back still to him. When she spoke, her voice was low, heavy with memories.
"The Sky-Fallen Clan weren't always sellswords," she began, her voice barely a whisper. "We were nobility. Protectors of the sacred peaks in the northern Spine. We had a fortress, a history... a home. We were guardians of a unique lineage of dragons, born from the mountain's heart itself."
She paused, her shoulders slumping. "But a warlord, Kael the Iron-Handed, coveted our lands. He saw our bond with dragons not as sacred, but as a resource to be exploited. He came to us under a flag of truce, to celebrate a festival. My father, the Chieftain, trusted him."
Her voice dropped, filled with the cold fire of betrayal. "It was a trick. At the height of the celebration, Kael's men, who had been hiding among our guests, turned on us. It was a massacre."
Aiden listened, silent.
"I was just a girl. I remember the fire, the screams. My father fought at the main gate. He found me in the chaos. He didn't tell me to run. He pressed something into my arms—a dragon egg, the last one from our sacred rookery. He told me, 'Our line must not end. Protect it. Fly'."
She looked at Aiden, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "So I ran. I was a child, clutching this egg, fleeing through the mountain passes in the dead of night. But Kael's elite guard were hunters. They cornered me on a narrow ledge. There was nowhere to go. They were going to take the egg, and... kill me."
Her voice cracked. "I thought it was over. I had failed my father. And then... the entire mountain seemed to roar. A dragon, one I didn't recognize, descended from the peaks above. It wasn't one of ours. It was wild, its scales the color of dying embers, its eyes ancient and full of fury."
A faint, sad smile touched her lips. "It didn't hesitate. It drove the guards back with fire and claw, giving me a chance to escape. It just... looked at me with these ancient, intelligent eyes, as if to say, 'Go. Live.'"
She looked at Aiden, her gaze clear and direct. "I named him Ember. He saved my life. But I ran. I left my father, my clan, my home... all to save an egg. I'm the last of the Sky-Fallen. A coward who ran."
The weight of her confession hung in the air between them. The fiery, stubborn warrior he knew was built on a foundation of survivor's guilt and a promise made to a dying father.
Aiden didn't offer pity. He didn't offer empty words. He just nodded, his expression filled with a deep, newfound respect. "You're not a coward, Talia. You survived. And you kept your promise."
She looked away, her cheeks flushing slightly, the tsundere walls rushing back up to hide her vulnerability. "Don't get all weepy-eyed on me. It's just a story."
"Right," Aiden said, a small smile playing on his lips. "Just a story."
He turned to leave, giving her space.
"Aiden," she called out.
He stopped and looked back.
"When your ribs are healed," she said, her voice once again brisk and businesslike, "your form is terrible. I'll teach you how to actually use that sword of yours. So you don't get your ass kicked by a clumsy oaf again."
It was the most heartfelt, roundabout offer of friendship he had ever received.
"I'd like that," Aiden said.
And as he walked back to the castle, he knew with absolute certainty that helping Talia find her place in the world—and perhaps, one day, reclaim her honor—was no longer just an option. It was a promise.