I woke to pale sunlight filtering through the window, my body stiff and aching in ways I was still getting used to. My thigh throbbed dully beneath the bandages—a constant reminder of how fragile my position here truly was.
By the time I’d dressed and made my way out of the cabin, the village was already stirring. I pulled my coat tighter—one of the plain wool ones Erik had given me and headed toward the healers’ den.
The walk was longer than I remembered, my injured leg protesting with each step. But I kept my pace steady, my face carefully neutral. I couldn’t afford to show weakness. Not here.
When I pushed open the door to the healers’ den, warmth and the sharp scent of herbs greeted me.
Olivia was already there, bent over a wooden table, grinding something in a mortar. She looked up at the sound of the door, her face breaking into a bright smile.
“Marielle! There you are!” She set down the pestle and wiped her hands on her apron. “I was wondering if you’d come back.”
“Here I am,” I said, closing the door behind me. I managed a small smile as I crossed to my usual station near the shelves. The familiar routine was comforting—sorting herbs, preparing salves, the steady rhythm of work that required focus. Olivia hummed softly as she worked, occasionally commenting on various patients or complaining about how Astrid had reorganized the herb storage again without telling anyone. I responded when appropriate, but mostly I kept my head down, my hands busy.
I was trying very hard not to think about yesterday.
About Axel.
About the conversation we’d had in the snow, and the things he’d said about loving someone he couldn’t have.
And about Olivia.
Sweet, kind Olivia, who’d looked so happy the other day when he’d brought her honey cakes, even as she worried he was looking at me instead.
She had no idea Axel’s heart had already moved on—to someone else entirely.
At least it wasn’t me. That was the one mercy in all of this. I wasn’t the cause of her heartbreak.
But I knew something she didn’t, and that knowledge sat heavy in my chest. Should I tell her?
Or would that only make things worse?
I pushed the thoughts away, focusing instead on the herbs in front of me. It wasn’t my place to get involved.
“Everything all right?” She paused her stirring, raising a concerned brow at me.
“Just tired,” I said quickly. “Didn’t sleep well.”
“Mm.” She didn’t sound entirely convinced, but she let it drop. Instead, she returned to her grinding, the pestle making a steady thunk thunk thunk against the mortar.
We worked in comfortable silence for a while longer. The old healer, Halla, came and went, checking supplies and muttering about needing more willow bark. Astrid appeared briefly, shot me a cool, assessing look, then disappeared into the back room without a word.
I tried not to let it bother me.
By midmorning, most of the urgent tasks were finished. Olivia stretched, rolling her shoulders with a groan.
“Gods, my back is killing me,” she muttered, arching backward with her hands pressed against her lower spine. “I swear, hunching over that table is going to turn me into a question mark by the time I’m thirty.”
I smiled despite myself, setting aside the last bundle of dried chamomile. “Perhaps we should take a break?”
She agreed almost instantly.
Olivia leaned against the table, studying me with that open, friendly expression she always wore. “So,” she said casually, “how are you settling in? I mean, really. It’s been… what, a few days now?”
I nodded. It felt both longer and shorter than that somehow.
“It’s been… an adjustment,” I admitted carefully. “Everything here is so different from what I’m used to.”
“I bet.” Olivia’s eyes were curious but not prying. “Where are you from, anyway? You’ve never really said.”
My chest tightened. This was dangerous territory.
“East,” I said vaguely. “A small settlement. Nothing special.”
“Must’ve been pretty different from here if you’re calling this an adjustment,” Olivia said with a laugh. “What was it like? Your home?”
Marble halls. Silk sheets. Servants who anticipated my every need before I could voice it. Gardens that bloomed year-round under careful cultivation. Music and dancing and the suffocating weight of etiquette and expectation.
“Quieter,” I said instead. “Smaller. Less… chaotic.”
“Yeah, this place can be a lot,” Olivia agreed. “Especially during winter when everyone’s cooped up together. Wait until you see it during the summer festivals—that’s chaos.” She grinned. “But the good kind. Lots of drinking, dancing, and fighting. Sometimes all at once.”
I tried to imagine it and failed. The idea of staying here through spring, through summer, felt both impossible and strangely appealing.
“Ooh! But the winter festivals are my personal favorites!” Olivia’s eyes lit up with genuine excitement. “There’s something magical about celebrating in the snow. We light massive bonfires, and everyone gathers around telling stories and singing. The mead tastes better when it’s cold outside and warm going down.” She laughed. “And the ice games! Have you ever seen grown men try to wrestle on a frozen lake? It’s hilarious.”
Her enthusiasm was infectious. I found myself smiling despite the weight I’d been carrying all morning.
“It sounds… wonderful,” I said honestly.
“It is.” Olivia’s expression softened. “You’ll see. The midwinter festival is only a week away. You’ll get to experience it yourself.”
A week. The words hung heavy with implications I didn’t want to examine too closely. Would I still be here in a week? The thought of remaining in one place, of settling into something resembling normalcy, felt both dangerous and desperately tempting.
But why was I even asking myself these questions when I had nowhere else to go? Desmond had made sure of that. The moment I’d fled the palace, I’d belonged nowhere, wanted by no one except those who wished me dead.
“Do you ever think about leaving?” I asked before I could stop myself.
Olivia blinked, surprised by the question. “Leaving? Like… the village?”
I nodded.
She was quiet for a moment, considering. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “When I was younger, I used to dream about seeing the world beyond these mountains. Visiting the southern cities, maybe even crossing the sea.” Her expression turned wistful. “But then I grew up and realized… this is home. These people are my family. For all its problems, this is where I belong.”
Her words settled something in my chest—though whether it was comfort or envy, I couldn’t say.
Astrid appeared in the doorway, her sharp gaze sweeping the room before landing on us.
“Taking a break?” she asked, her tone making it clear what she thought of that.
“Just finished the morning prep,” Olivia said cheerfully, unbothered by Astrid’s disapproval. “Everything’s restocked and ready.”
Astrid’s eyes flicked to me, lingering just long enough to make me uncomfortable, then she nodded curtly. “Good. Halla wants more willow bark tea prepared. The fever cases in the east longhouse are getting worse.”
“On it,” Olivia said.
Astrid disappeared back into the storage room without another word.
“She’s in a mood today,” Olivia muttered once she was gone. “More than usual, I mean.”
I didn’t comment. Astrid was always in a mood around me, it seemed.
We returned to work, this time preparing the medicinal tea Halla had requested. The process was simple but time-consuming—stripping bark, boiling water, measuring precise amounts. Olivia hummed while she worked, occasionally making observations about various patients or commenting on village gossip I only half-understood.
It was… pleasant. Normal, even.
For a brief moment, I could almost forget I was a fugitive princess hiding among people who would kill me if they knew the truth.
Almost.
When the tea was finally prepared and stored in clay jars, Olivia stretched again, this time adding an exaggerated groan for effect.
“Okay, seriously, if I don’t move around, I’m going to seize up completely,” she declared. She turned to me suddenly, her expression shifting to something curious. “Hey, Marielle—you do know how to fight, right?”
“I… not really,” I admitted slowly. “I never had much reason to learn.”
Olivia’s eyebrows shot up. Then, to my surprise, she laughed—bright and genuine, like I’d just told her the funniest joke.
“Oh, well, ain’t that something!” She grinned, shaking her head. “A girl who can’t throw a punch. That’s—” She paused, her smile softening into something more thoughtful. “Actually, that’s kind of sad. What if someone tried to hurt you?”
They already have, I thought, but didn’t say.
“You know,” Olivia continued, leaning against the table, “I take defense classes in the afternoon. Over at the training grounds, with Ingrid.” Her eyes lit up. “You should come! It’ll be fun!”
“I… I’m not certain,” I said hesitantly. The idea of throwing myself into combat training—with my injured leg, my complete lack of experience, and a village full of people who already looked at me with suspicion—sounded like a recipe for disaster.
“Oh, come on!” Olivia grabbed my arm, her enthusiasm infectious. “It’s not that bad, I promise. Ingrid’s tough, but she’s fair. And you need to learn something, Marielle. What if—” She stopped herself, but I could fill in the rest.
What if Erik’s not there to protect you?
I bit my lip, considering. She wasn’t wrong. I’d been dependent on Erik’s protection since the moment he’d found me bleeding in the snow. But what happened if—when—that protection wasn’t enough? What if I needed to defend myself?
What if the past I was running from finally caught up to me?
“All right,” I said quietly. “I’ll come.”
Olivia’s face lit up. “Yes! Oh, you’re going to love Ingrid. Well—maybe not love. But you’ll respect her. Everyone does.”
* * *
The training grounds sprawled across the far side of the main courtyard, a wide clearing packed down and cleared of snow. Wooden practice dummies stood at intervals, their surfaces scarred and splintered from countless strikes. Weapon racks lined one edge, displaying an intimidating array of swords, axes, and wooden training weapons. This was where I had seen Erik training that night after dinner.
Elevated on a low wooden platform stood a woman who could only be Ingrid. She had one knee propped up, her boot resting on the edge as she leaned forward, speaking animatedly to a cluster of younger women gathered below. Whatever she was saying had them laughing—though the sound cut off abruptly when she glanced up and spotted us approaching.
She was tall with broad shoulders and arms that were clearly corded with muscle beneath her leather bracers. Her striking red hair fell in a loose braid past her shoulders. Her face was sharp and angular, with high cheekbones and eyes that were sharp and calculating.
She looked like she could break me in half without effort. She also freakishly resembled Astrid.
I turned to Olivia, lowering my voice. “She resembles Astrid, doesn’t she?”
Olivia followed my gaze and grinned. “Oh yeah! That’s because Ingrid is Astrid’s older sister. Didn’t I mention that?”
“No,” I said, my eyes widening slightly. “You didn’t.”
“Oops.” Olivia shrugged cheerfully. “Well, now you know. They’ve both got these killer eyes—runs in the family apparently. But personality-wise?” She made a face. “Ingrid’s way less prickly. Astrid’s got serious issues.”
That was putting it mildly.
“Livi!” Ingrid called out as we approached, her voice carrying easily across the grounds. “You’re late!”
“Only by a few minutes!” Olivia called back. “And I brought a new recruit!”
Ingrid’s gaze shifted to me, and I felt the weight of her assessment immediately. She looked me up and down—taking in my too-thin frame, my careful posture, the way I favored my right leg ever so slightly.
“A new recruit,” Ingrid repeated slowly. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled—sharp and knowing. “Welcome.” She hopped down from the platform with easy grace, landing in the gravel without making a sound. As she walked closer, that sharp gray gaze never left me. “What’s your name?”
“Marielle,” I said, keeping my voice steady.
“Marielle,” she echoed, testing it out. She circled me once—slowly, deliberately. “And where are you from, Marielle?”
“East,” I said carefully.
Ingrid stopped in front of me, arms crossing over her chest. “And you want to learn to fight?”
“I… yes.”
“Ever held a weapon before?”
“No.”
“Ever been in a real fight? Defended yourself from an actual threat?”
I hesitated. “Not… in the way you mean.”
Ingrid’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Not in the way I mean,” she repeated, almost amused. She glanced at Olivia. “Where’d you find this one?”
“The healers’ den,” Olivia said brightly. “She’s been helping us out.”
“Ah.” Ingrid turned back to me, her expression unreadable. Then, without warning, she clapped me on the shoulder—hard enough that I had to lock my knees to keep from staggering.
“Well then, princess,” she said casually, like the nickname was the most natural thing in the world. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
My blood turned to ice.
She knew.
No—wait. The way she said it… It wasn’t an accusation. It was almost… teasing?
Oh.
Just a nickname. An ironic one, yes—painfully ironic—but nothing more than a nickname.
I forced myself to breathe normally.
“Don’t worry,” Ingrid said, still grinning. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll move like a fighter. Or you’ll be too bruised to move at all. Either way, you’ll learn something.”
Several other women had gathered at the training grounds—maybe ten in total, ranging from girls who looked barely older than teenagers to a woman with gray streaking through her dark hair. They all watched me with varying degrees of curiosity and skepticism.
“Everyone, this is Marielle,” Olivia announced, pulling me forward. “Be nice.”
I felt every pair of eyes fixed on me—assessing, judging. Some looked merely curious. Others seemed openly doubtful, like they’d already decided I wouldn’t last.
My instinct was to shrink back, to make myself smaller. But I forced my spine straight. If I showed weakness now, I’d never earn their respect. And I needed that respect to survive here.
Ingrid clapped her hands together, the sound sharp and commanding. “All right, enough chatter. Warm-ups first. Twenty laps around the grounds, then stretches.”
Twenty laps? My stomach dropped. I could barely walk without my leg throbbing, and she wanted me to run?
But I couldn’t say that. Couldn’t show the injury, couldn’t admit weakness. Not on the first day.
I glanced at Olivia, who just shrugged sympathetically.
The other women took off immediately, their boots crunching against the gravel as they circled the training grounds. I followed Olivia, trying to keep up despite the screaming protests from my injured thigh.
By the fifth lap, I was breathing hard.
By the tenth, my leg was on fire.
By the fifteenth lap, I was seriously considering whether death by embarrassment was preferable to whatever fresh hell this was turning into.
Olivia jogged beside me, barely winded. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I gasped out, which was a blatant lie.
“You don’t look fine.”
“I’m… managing.”
When we finally finished—me limping across the line well after everyone else—Ingrid was waiting with her arms crossed.
“Injured?” she asked bluntly.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“Recently?”
Another nod.
Ingrid studied me for a long moment, then sighed. “Should’ve mentioned that before running twenty laps, princess. But all right. You’ll do modified training until that leg’s healed. No excuses after that.”
“Understood,” I managed.
“Good. Now stretch before your muscles seize up.”
The stretches were almost worse than the running—every movement pulled at sore muscles I didn’t even know I had. But I gritted my teeth and pushed through, determined not to show just how much I was struggling.
After stretches came the actual training.
Ingrid paired us off—experienced fighters with novices. I ended up with a woman named Runa, who had kind eyes but hands that moved with practiced efficiency as she demonstrated basic defensive stances.
“Feet shoulder-width apart,” Runa instructed, adjusting my position. “Knees slightly bent. You want to be balanced, ready to move in any direction.”
I tried to copy her stance, feeling awkward and exposed.
“Not bad,” Runa said. “Now, if someone comes at you like this—” She moved forward slowly, her hand reaching toward my shoulder. “What do you do?”
I stared at her blankly.
“Block,” Runa said patiently. “Bring your arm up—like this—and deflect. Try it.”
I raised my arm clumsily, and Runa’s hand brushed past it easily.
“Again.”
We drilled the same movement over and over until my arm ached and I wanted to scream from frustration. Around us, the other pairs moved through similar exercises—though most of them looked far more competent than I felt.
“You’re thinking too much,” Runa said after my tenth failed attempt. “It needs to be instinct. React, don’t plan.”
Easy for her to say.
After what felt like hours—but was probably only thirty minutes—Ingrid called for everyone to switch partners and move on to something new.
I ended up facing Olivia, who grinned apologetically as Ingrid explained the next drill.
“Grappling basics,” Ingrid announced. “Your opponent grabs you—how do you break free? Livi, demonstrate with your partner.”
Olivia stepped forward and grabbed my arm—not hard, but firmly enough that I couldn’t easily pull away.
“Now what?” I asked.
“Twist,” Ingrid said. “Use their grip against them. Turn into it, drop your weight, and break the hold.”
I tried. Failed spectacularly.
“Again.”
Failed again.
“Princess,” Ingrid said, walking over. “You’re fighting like you’re afraid to touch her. This isn’t a dance. It’s combat. Commit.”
She grabbed my other arm suddenly—and my goodness, her grip was like iron.
“Now break it.”
I twisted, threw my weight into it—and actually managed to slip free.
“There!” Ingrid released me, nodding approvingly. “See? You’ve got it in you. You just need to stop being so damn polite about it.”
She clapped me on the shoulder—a gesture clearly meant to be encouraging.
I nearly crumpled from the force of it once again.
“Good,” Ingrid said, apparently oblivious. “Keep that energy. Again!”
The rest of the session passed in a blur of aching muscles, failed techniques, and the growing certainty that I was going to wake up tomorrow unable to move.
But I kept going—through the drills, through the sparring, through the final conditioning exercises that left me gasping and drenched in sweat despite the cold.
I was a princess, for goodness’ sake. I’d thought sitting through state dinners was an endurance test, hours of forced smiles and careful conversation, nodding along while my parents discussed treaties and trade agreements I was never meant to understand. How naive I’d been. How sheltered.
My parents.
The thought struck like a blade between my ribs.
I pushed it away, forcing my focus back to my aching muscles, my burning lungs. Now wasn’t the time to get sentimental.
When Ingrid finally called an end to training, I nearly collapsed with relief.
“Not bad for your first day, princess,” Ingrid said, walking over as the other women began gathering their things. “You’ve got a long way to go, but you didn’t give up. That counts for something.”
“Thank you,” I managed.
She studied me for a moment, her gray eyes sharp. “You’re hurt worse than you’re letting on.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I’ll manage,” I said.
Ingrid snorted. “Stubborn. Good. You’ll need that.” She paused, then added, “Come back next week. At the same time. We’ll work on that stance of yours.”
It sounded like an order, not an invitation.
“I’ll be here,” I said.
Ingrid nodded, satisfied, then strode off to speak with some of the other women.
Olivia appeared at my elbow, grinning. “See? That wasn’t so bad!”
I gave her a look.
“Okay, okay, it was pretty bad,” she admitted, laughing. “But you did great! Seriously. Most people quit halfway through their first session.”
“I considered it,” I said honestly.
“But you didn’t. That’s what matters.”
I managed a weak smile, though every muscle in my body screamed in protest.
We started making our way back, my steps slow and deliberate. The sun had begun its descent, casting long shadows across the snow. My breath came in steady clouds, and despite the cold, I could still feel the heat of exertion radiating from my skin.
Then, cutting through the quiet evening air, came the deep, resonant sound of a horn—long and low, echoing across the stronghold.
“Dinner,” Olivia announced unnecessarily, her face brightening. “Perfect timing. I’m starving.”
I wasn’t sure I had the energy to eat, but my stomach betrayed me with a quiet growl. Apparently, physical exhaustion didn’t eliminate hunger—it only made it more insistent.
“Come on,” Olivia said, linking her arm through mine with careful gentleness, as if she knew exactly how sore I was. “Let’s get some food in you before you collapse. You’ve earned it.”
As we walked toward the longhouse, the village came alive around us with people emerging from their homes and workshops, and I felt that strange sensation again—the one I’d felt this morning when Olivia had mentioned the winter festival.
Like maybe, just maybe, I was beginning to belong here.
Even if it was only temporary.
Even if it couldn’t last.
For now, it was enough.
ns216.73.217.74da2
and then Add to home screen.