Page 56 of Shackled By Shadows

I know he didn’t understand why Oberon had insisted on my staying close at night. I appreciate it, strangely, but I am also grateful for the space. It isn’t easy getting used to someone caring for you, especially in this way, whatever way this is.

Oberon shoots Ash a sharp glare but doesn’t acknowledge his jab. Instead, he shifts into his commanding tone. “Ash, you and I have business to attend to,” he says firmly, then adds, “We’ll return later this evening. You two—” he glances at Zander and me, “—can get settled in the meantime.”

After they leave to meet with the village leader, I find myself left alone with Zander and his ever-present scowl. The tension in the room is immediate, the silence uncomfortable. Neither of us knows what to say, and the stillness stretches between us until Zander finally breaks it.

“I heard you fought in the last war,” he says, his voice as rugged and deep as I’ve come to expect. I can’t tell if it is a question or a statement, so I simply nod in response. “Then you must have some basic combat training, even if you haven’t used it recently.” His tone is flat, but it doesn’t leave room for disagreement.

I feel the weight of his words, and briefly, my mind wanders back to the last war, to the screams that still echo in my ears.

The battlefield was a blur of steel, and the earth was soaked with the blood of the fallen. My brother and I fought as one, fierce and unyielding, our backs to each other, cutting down every soldier that came too close. We weren’t just fighting for survival. We were fighting for our home. For everything we had left.

I didn’t see the soldier creep up behind me. But my brother did.

I felt the shove before I heard the sickening sound of a blade sinking into flesh. One second, he was there, alive, fighting. Next, his body lurched forward, steel buried deep in his back. His blood was hot as it sprayed across my hands. His eyes met mine, not in fear, not in pain, but in silent acceptance.

Rage tore through me, raw and blinding. I turned to strike, to make them pay, but I never got the chance.

A hand fisted in my hair, yanked my head back, and then—pain—a sharp, blinding impact at the base of my skull. My vision swam. The world tilted. I hit the ground hard, my limbs numb, my thoughts sluggish. My power flared instinctively, but another blow followed, and this time, everything went dark.

The last thing I saw before the darkness swallowed me whole was the insignia on his chest, silver and black, the mark of the King’s elite—the High General, Keagan.

A chill runs down my spine, dragging me back to the present. The memory fades, but the pain lingers. I nod again, still not sure if he expects an answer.

“Good,” he says, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinizes me. “That’ll at least give us a starting point to see what I’m working with.”

Zander stares at me for a moment longer, his gaze intense, before he speaks again, lifting an eyebrow. “What are you waiting for? Don’t you have sparring clothes?”

My eyes go wide. “Right now? You want to spar right now?” Surprise floods my tone.

“Unless you have something better to do.” Zander’s voice is taut with an edge I can’t ignore.

I hurry upstairs into a room that already has clothes in my size. I don’t know how Oberon always manages to do it, but no matter where I go, there is always an outfit waiting for me, perfectly my size and tailored for the situation.

I open a drawer in the simple, quaint room and begin rifling through the fabrics. I’m not sure what I am looking for or what counts as training clothes, but I know the breezy, elegant sundresses in the drawer won’t do.

I open another drawer and find a pair of brown leather shorts, a matching vest, and a sheer white undershirt. Perfect. I glance around for shoes, looking for something other than the high-top boots I brought. By the plush linen bed, I find sandals in different colors, and a pair of brown boots made from a material I can’t quite identify. They are lightweight and airy but still protective and perfect for the sand outside.

I dress quickly, tucking my necklace into the leather V-neckline, and make my way back downstairs. Zander is still standing in the same spot, having opted not to change into something more suited for the weather.

We head out into the village, following a small path leading away from the house and into the endless sea of sand. He stops a few steps ahead and gestures for me to join him. “This is where we’ll train.”

I feel both grateful and nervous. Grateful that no one is around to see me fall on my face, but nervous about being alone with Zander, so far away from the house. His eyes hold an intensity that sends shivers up my spine.

“I’ll start slow,” he says, his voice cool and collected. “Your only objective is to block me.”

My heart races as I steel myself, unsure what to expect. The wind whips my hair, obscuring my vision, and I barely see him before he makes his first move. The next thing I know, my feet are swept out from under me, and I hit the sand with a thud.

Zander towers over me, his stance unchanged, arms behind his back. I can feel the quiet authority in his posture. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small. “You can’t protect yourself if you can’t see,” he says, handing me an elastic to bind my hair.

I stare at him, confused. “You just carry those around with you?”

He gives me a bored look. “Although I can fight blindfolded, I prefer sight.”

I groan but obey, twisting my loose strands into a quick braid, muttering under my breath. As I move to stand, he steps back a few paces before preparing for his next attack.

The rest of the session goes much the same way, except now I can see every time I am about to be put on my ass.

He knocks me down, then offers instructions with his usual detached tone. Despite how many times I fail, he doesn’t back down. His criticism is constructive, pushing me further than I think I can go. It is exhausting, but I can feel myself improving, even if only a little.