After leaving the room, I headed straight back to the apartment to get ready to train with Nicki. As soon as I got to my room I stripped off the dress—then hesitated, holding the silky fabric between my fingers for a moment before throwing it into the corner. Part of me wanted to rip it to shreds; another part wanted to smooth out the wrinkles. Even though I'd sworn I wouldn't let anyone decide what I would be, Natalie's words echoed in my head. She was effortlessly perfect in a way I both despised and desperately wished I could be. I hated her. I wanted to be her. I hated myself for wanting that.
I glanced at the ornate silver clock on the wall, its hands pointing accusingly past 1pm. My stomach sank. Half the day had vanished into those insufferable "lessons" while Derick had been waiting. We were supposed to meet for lunch at noon. I bit my lower lip hard enough to taste copper, then spotted my sleek black phone on the bedside table, partially hidden under yesterday's discarded sweater. The device still felt foreign in my hand—a luxury I wasn't accustomed to remembering, like so many other things in this new life.
The screen illuminated with notifications that made my chest tighten: one missed call from Derick at 11:30am, his handsome face smiling up from the caller ID, and a text message that had arrived precisely at noon, when I should have been sitting across from him.
From Derick:
Hey Cassy, I just spoke to my mom, she said your lesson was going to go extra long today. I hope everything is going ok, call me if you need anything. I love you.
My throat tightened as I traced his name on the screen with my fingertip. I closed my eyes, picturing the exact path through the east corridor that would lead to his study. Three minutes, maybe four if I ran into guards. I clutched the phone against my chest, then set it down carefully on the nightstand. The training clothes Nicki had provided lay folded on the chair—practical, nothing like the silks that had clung to my skin. I changed quickly, refusing to glance at the clock again. Crown princes didn't abandon diplomatic meetings because their mates missed them, and future queens didn't interrupt royal business because their hearts ached. I tied my hair back with hands that only trembled slightly.
I did however decide to send a quick text. My first text.
I stared at the blank message field, fingers hovering uncertainly. What was the right thing to say? I backspaced three different attempts before settling on: "Hey Derick, Sorry I forgot my phone. Still getting used to having one. Meeting Nicki at training hall now. Bringing phone this time." My thumb hovered over the send button. Should I add "love you too"? Would that sound desperate? Natural? I added it, deleted it, then added it again, my heart hammering against my ribs as I finally squeezed my eyes shut and jabbed send, immediately dropping the phone onto the bed as if it might burn me.
Get it together Cassy! I scolded myself, snatching the phone back from the rumpled duvet. The device burst into life with a shrill ring that made my heart leap into my throat. My sweaty fingers slipped against the sleek case, sending the phone tumbling across the mattress in a graceless dance. I lunged after it, nearly falling face-first onto the bed. The screen flashed Derick's name alongside his photo—that half-smile that always made my stomach flutter—and I jabbed at the answer button with a trembling finger, pressing the warm glass surface against my ear hard enough that it hurt.
Derick's voice came through the phone, deep and warm. "Hello? Cassy?"
My knees went weak, and I sank onto the edge of the bed. "Derick?" The word came out higher than I meant it to. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Hi." Better. Almost normal. I pressed my palm against my chest, willing my heart to stop racing like I was some pathetic, love-struck teenager instead of a future queen.
"Hey," he said softly. "Just got your text and thought I would call you."
I twisted a loose thread on my training pants, winding it tighter and tighter around my finger until the tip turned purple. "Is everything ok?" I glanced at the mirror across the room, catching sight of my flushed face, my hair already escaping its ponytail. What if Natalia had already gotten to him?
His voice softened to that private tone he used only with me. "Just missed you. Been thinking about you all morning, actually." I could hear the smile in his words, the way they curled around me like a warm blanket. My cheeks flushed hot as the purple thread mark on my fingertip.
"I missed you too," I whispered, hugging my knees to my chest, suddenly wishing I could crawl through the phone and into his arms. The tightness in my chest melted away like snow in sunshine.
A deep sigh whispered through the phone, warm against my ear. "I just want to run to you right now," Derick murmured, his voice honey-thick, "and hold you until the stars burn out." My heart fluttered like a caged bird, and I pressed my palm against my chest as if to keep it from escaping. My smile spread so wide it almost hurt.
"I'd let you," I whispered back, "But Nicki might hunt us both down if I'm late." I glanced at the clock, my laugh soft and reluctant, like letting go of his hand.
I heard Derick's playful growl through the phone. "I'd like to see her try," he said, his voice dropping to that adorably grumpy tone that always made my stomach flip. I couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up from my chest, and he responded with a dramatic sigh that melted into something softer. "I will come pick you up from the training hall after you finish," he promised, "and maybe steal a kiss before anyone notices."
"I'd like that," I said, my voice soft. After we hung up, I pressed the phone against my heart for a moment, feeling the lingering warmth of his words. The knot that had been twisting in my stomach all morning had dissolved. Even Natalie's cutting remarks seemed distant now, like shadows retreating from sunlight. I slipped the phone into my pocket, my movements lighter as I straightened my shoulders and headed for the door, no longer dragging my feet but nearly floating across the floor.
I made my way to the training hall the same way Nicki had shown me yesterday. It all still felt unfamiliar, but I found the courtyard and then the massive facility tucked behind the east wing. Through the double doors, the sharp scent of sweat and determination hit me. Warriors sparred on blue mats in the center—bodies colliding with controlled violence, the thud of takedowns punctuating grunts of exertion. Along the perimeter, Nicki spotted me from her treadmill, where she ran at a pace that would leave most gasping, and waved me over with a grin that promised I wouldn't escape today's session unbruised.
Nicki slowed the treadmill to a stop as I approached, her breath barely labored despite the machine's display flashing numbers that made my calves ache just looking at them. She swiped a towel across her forehead, her grin wolfish.
"Perfect timing. Ready to discover muscles you never knew existed?" she asked, eyes glinting with what I could only describe as predatory enthusiasm.
I swallowed hard but nodded, remembering Derick's faith in me.
"Yesterday was just reconnaissance," she said, beckoning me toward a table covered with what appeared to be hand-drawn diagrams of torture devices—or possibly exercise routines. "Today we start the real transformation."
For the next two hours, Nicki put me through drills that blurred the line between sanctioned violence and old-fashioned pack hazing. We did basic stretches, then quick footwork on blue rubber mats, followed by relentless sets of squats and lunges—most of which ended with me sprawled awkwardly, gasping for breath. Nicki watched with eagle eyes, correcting my form with a tap on the shoulder or, more often, a barked command from across the mat. She never let me wallow in humiliation; each time I failed, she made me do it again, only this time faster.
"Keep your knees bent, Cassy! This isn't a ballet recital," she snapped as I straightened too soon and almost toppled backward. The burn in my thighs was glorious, in the way that only pain I chose for myself could ever be. I relished it, even as sweat stung my eyes and turned my hair into a sodden halo.
Finally, Nicki called time. My lungs burned with each ragged breath as she tossed me a water bottle. I caught it clumsily and tilted my head back, gulping until cool rivulets escaped down my chin. "You did great today!" Nicki's voice cut through my oxygen-deprived haze. I lowered the bottle, searching her face for any hint of sarcasm, any twitch at the corner of her mouth that might betray pity disguised as praise.
Nicki's eyes lit up with genuine admiration as she tapped my shoulder. "I'm serious," she said, her voice firm but warm. "Most beginners collapse after forty minutes, but you pushed through a full two hours. Your form on those last takedowns? Natural talent. And the way you kept getting up even when your legs were shaking? That's the kind of grit we can't teach." She nodded toward two warriors who'd paused their sparring to watch us. "Even they noticed."
Heat rushed to my cheeks at the thought of an audience, but before I could recover, a familiar voice behind me sent my heart leaping into my throat. "Noticed what?" Derick asked.
I spun around to find Derick and Matt standing there. Derick was in crisp black dress pants and a pressed blue button-up making him look like he'd stepped out of a magazine while I was dripping with sweat. My body ached to launch itself at him, but I hugged my damp arms to my chest instead. No such restraint from Nicki, though—she bolted past us and hurled herself at Matt with enough force to send them both crashing to the training mat. The impact made me flinch. Tomorrow he'd be sporting bruises that had nothing to do with training.
Derick's eyes never left mine as he closed the distance between us, his strong arms wrapping around my waist and lifting me effortlessly until my feet dangled above the training mat. His lips found mine with hungry precision, tasting of mint and promises. The crisp fabric of his button-up crinkled beneath my sweaty palms as I reluctantly broke the kiss. "Derick," I whispered against his mouth, "I'm going to ruin your perfect clothes." But even as I protested, my fingers betrayed me, curling into the collar of his shirt, desperate to pull him back.
His breath warmed my lips as he whispered, "I don't care," the words vibrating against my mouth. "I just missed you too much." His eyes—deep amber with flecks of gold—held mine, intense and unblinking. Heat bloomed across my cheeks and down my neck as he pressed his lips to mine once more, this time a gentle, lingering touch that made my toes curl inside my training shoes. His strong hands spanned my waist as he lowered me slowly until my feet touched the mat again, but he didn't step away, his thumbs tracing small circles against my damp shirt.
Nicki and Matt untangled themselves from their embrace, as she pulled him to his feet with surprising strength for her compact frame. A few warriors nearby exchanged knowing glances, their muscled shoulders shaking with silent laughter before they returned to their sparring matches, the rhythmic thud of bodies hitting mats resuming around us.
Derick's fingers intertwined with mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in a way that sent tingles racing up my arm. His amber eyes caught the fluorescent lights overhead as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rumble. "I wanted to know if you would like to go out to eat?" The corner of his mouth quirked up in that half-smile that always made my heart stutter. "Matt and I were talking about taking a double date into town—this little bistro with string lights on the patio and the best chocolate soufflé you've ever tasted."
Nicki's eyes bulged comically wide. "The Gilded Fork?" She bounced on her toes like a sugar-rushed toddler, her deadly warrior hands now fluttering like excited butterflies. "I once arm-wrestled their sous chef for the last chocolate soufflé and won!" She did a little shimmy-dance that looked hilariously out of place on someone who could probably snap a man's spine. "Their truffle fries are my love language!"
Derick's eyes crinkled at the corners as he turned back to me. "She's not exaggerating—the manager threatened to ban us for life. Something about 'disturbing the ambiance.'" His fingers squeezed mine gently. "What do you think?"
My stomach fluttered with something that wasn't hunger. "Absolutely," I said, already imagining candlelight dancing across his face. "I'm in."