The rain had already started by the time Mary stepped onto the mansion’s front steps. The lamps along the avenue glimmered dimly through the curtain of drizzle, their light warped in the wet.

  The Regent was there beside her, one hand steady on her shoulder, the other raising a black umbrella against the storm. The angle of his posture, the faint softness in his expression - it was subtle, but telling. He doted on her.

  They descended the stairs slowly. The carriage door swung open, its bronze trim gleaming faint under the rain. The Regent guided her inside first, then followed without once glancing in my direction.

  The door shut. The carriage lurched forward. Wheels splashed through puddles until the sound dissolved into the wider murmur of the city.

  I stayed there, under the mansion’s overhang, watching the storm swallow the street. The Regent’s words wouldn’t leave me.

  There’s a traitor among us. Can you see them, Damian?

  The phrase circled my mind like a vulture. Again. Again. Until it bled into the hiss of rain against the stone.

  Droplets mixed with smog, streaking down the lamps, pooling in the grooves of the road. The outer city lights blurred into a smear of pale gold and smoke.

  Who could it be? It can’t be Arken or Arthur… they have too much to lose. Nor do I think Arthur would ever betray the Empire for the heretics he so sorely hated.

  So that begs the question, who?

  Before I could finish the thought, footsteps approached behind me.

  Arthur stepped out onto the landing, his broad frame cutting a silhouette against the mansion’s light. His uniform coat was unbuttoned, but his posture was still iron-straight.

  I glanced sideways. “I thought you’d be with your fellow soldiers by now.”

  He shook his head. “I was trying to find you. Didn’t realize you’d be hiding out here.” His eyes cut toward the street, then back to me. “You’re coming with me.”

  I blinked. “Why?”

  His lips pressed in a line. “Because I need to vent some steam. And it’s been a while since you trained with me.”

  I yawned loudly, leaning against the wall. “No. That sounds like the last thing I want to do.”

  Arthur had already started walking. He glanced back just long enough to say flatly, “Then I suppose you’re walking home.”

  The carriage door clicked open.

  I groaned under my breath, tugged my coat tighter, and bolted across the rain-slick steps. “Of course it has to rain now.” I shoved myself inside, trying to shield the new suit with my hands.

  Arthur’s expression didn’t shift, but I swore I saw the faintest curve tugging at his mouth as I flopped into the seat opposite him.

  I brushed water off my cuffs, glaring faintly. “Great. I’m wet and you’re perfectly dry. Fair game.”

  Arthur ignored that, his gaze slipping out the window, rain-light flickering across the steel in his eyes.

  I sighed, settling back. “You’re really going through with this parade, aren’t you.”

  He didn’t answer at first. His jaw flexed once before his voice came low, measured. “I know what you’re thinking. But it’s a gamble I’ll have to take. Arken’s snake-breath is on my neck, and the Regent is watching me with eagle eyes. Waiting for me to stumble.”

  He turned his head, meeting my gaze. “If it works, it kills two birds with one stone. The commoners quiet down, and the heretics reveal themselves.”

  I leaned back, folding my arms. “Things rarely ever go to plan.”

  Arthur gave the faintest nod. “True. But when the choices are limited…” His voice dropped an inch. “All you can do is hope. And pray that your opponent is as clueless as you are. The positives far outweigh the possible negatives, so my decision is final.”

  The words settled like iron. The rest of the ride stretched in silence.

  The carriage rumbled through Morren’s arteries, wheels striking cobblestone as the city blurred past. Alleys narrow as veins. Rooftops hunched like shoulders under the weight of smog. Windows glowing faint against the storm.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  For a moment, despite myself, I admired it.

  Bad feeling, though.

  My gaze stayed fixed on the slick streets, on the flicker of lamps through rain.

  Halrigg… you’d better be gone from here. For both our sakes.

  The carriage rattled on.

  —

  The courtyard stones gleamed slick beneath the storm. Rain hammered down in sheets, pattering against armor, soaking cloth, running in rivulets down the walls.

  Arthur stood across from me, his officer’s coat plastered to his frame, medals dulled by water but his grin sharper than ever. The bastard was enjoying this.

  I dragged a hand across my soaked hair, muttering as I pushed my fringe from my eyes, “Remind me again why we’re doing this in the rain?”

  Arthur raised his blade lazily, droplets streaming down the steel. “Because it feels raw. Natural. The mud, the cold - this is what men really fight in. Not polished courts.” His grin widened. “Besides, my pathway is almost useless like this. No sun. No heat. For once, you might give me a run for my money.”

  I lifted my short sword with one hand, rolling the hilt in my grip. “Do you actually believe I have a chance?”

  Arthur chuckled, water dripping from his chin. “I don’t know. That’s why we’re here.”

  I groaned, raising my blade into a rough stance. Right hand forward, blade angled low, weight shifted back with my left leg.

  Arthur tilted his head, still grinning. “After all this time, and you still can’t find a stance worth a damn. That’s barely more than the basics.”

  I shrugged. “I’m not a duelist. I’d rather my enemies were dead before they ever got within ten meters.”

  That earned a laugh, loud and genuine. “That sounds exactly like you.”

  He slid into his stance - two hands on the hilt, shoulders forward, aggression radiating from every line of his body. His posture screamed offense. Unlike the traditional Imperial stance, which focused more on defense and timing.

  I narrowed my eyes. “…That doesn’t look like the Empire’s traditional form.”

  Arthur’s grin softened faintly. “It isn’t. I was born in the East. The old Eastern Empire. Thought I might show it off, albeit its been a bit since I used it.”

  I blinked. “Right. I forget sometimes.”

  “I prefer it that way,” he said simply. “Some things are better left behind.”

  The rain drummed harder, pooling at our feet.

  Arthur’s eyes locked on mine. “Ready?”

  My eyes narrowed as I watched him. “As I’ll ever be.”

  Steel sang as we closed the gap.

  His first strike came fast, heavy, both arms driving his blade down like a hammer. I caught it with my short sword, the impact shuddering through my wrist. Water splashed, shadows coiling faintly at my feet.

  Arthur pressed, blow after blow, each faster than the last. His style was force incarnate - battering rams of steel. I gave ground, parrying with one hand, slipping aside, letting his aggression slide past me.

  When he overextended, I cut low - my blade nicked his coat, a shallow line against his ribs.

  Arthur laughed. “Good!”

  The next exchange was worse. His weight drove me back, every strike rattling my bones. Still, I managed a riposte here and there, feints that bought me half a heartbeat, enough to breathe.

  But only barely.

  We broke apart, circling in the rain, blades raised. Water streamed down our faces, soaking hair and fabric until it clung like lead. My lungs burned. Arthur, of course, looked like he could keep this up all night.

  His eyes narrowed faintly. “Tell me, Damian. What are the gifts bestowed upon you by your pathways?”

  I kept my blade angled low, breathing hard. “First’s foresight. I get… a glimpse. A before-image of a strike that’ll kill me. And you’ve already seen the second.” My shadows stirred at my feet, restless, almost eager.

  Arthur smirked. “Good.”

  Then he lunged.

  A storm of steel crashed down on me - slash, thrust, cut, feint, each one faster than thought. My vision blurred with overlapping afterimages, flashes of my own death scattering across the rain-soaked stones.

  The shadows lashed up instinctively, intercepting strikes that would have gutted me. My arm screamed as I parried, blade skidding against his again and again, sparks hissing against the rain.

  Arthur’s grin widened with every clash.

  I managed a desperate counter - my short sword slipped past, cutting close enough to shear a button from his soaked coat.

  “Better!” he barked.

  Then his boot hooked my ankle.

  The ground vanished beneath me. I hit the stones hard, water splashing up into my face. Arthur’s blade pressed cold against my throat, his grin triumphant.

  I felt almost nostalgic, looking up at his victorious grin.

  Twice in two days. Should I feel ashamed or astonished?

  “You’ve learned a lot,” Arthur said, his voice carrying over the rain. “That stance may feel awkward, but… it fits you. More than you think. It just needs refining.”

  I groaned, then took his extended hand. My soaked glove slapped into his palm, and he hauled me up with ease.

  “Bastard,” I muttered, though I couldn’t keep the faint smile from tugging at my lips.

  Arthur clapped me once on the shoulder, firm. “Go sleep. You’ll be accompanying me at the parade. Let’s pray tonight that it goes well.”

  The rain kept falling, relentless. I stared up as the rain fell on my face, the night sky almost devoid of stars.

  Even the excitement of the duel had been unable to ease the gnawing feeling in my stomach.

  Hope and pray… I wonder just how far prayers will take us, my friend.