Chapter 11 Sleepless Night
[Nyx]
Realizing what I was thinking, I abruptly stepped back, trying to hide my reaction.
Lysander's lips curved into a slight smirk, his eyes glinting with amusement. "You didn't actually believe me, did you?" He chuckled, the sound low and teasing.
"You—!" I felt mortified and angry, reaching out to pinch his arm hard. "Don't get too cocky, Crowley."
I scoffed, regaining my composure. "Of course I didn't believe you. Who are you trying to fool? We both know this is a political transaction. My father gets a more loyal warrior, you get a better political ladder, and I'm just the sacrifice."
"And are you content being a sacrifice?" Lysander asked calmly. "Being a marginal figure, watching your brother ascend to greatness?"
"I'd rather die," I admitted harshly. "My brother is a complete asshole. He plays with women's feelings, then puts on this self-sacrificing act when it suits him. The most ironic part is that everyone plays along with his charade."
Lysander leaned against the stone railing, his posture relaxing slightly. "Then I can help you. You could join the warriors, earn respect through merit, change those rumors."
I studied him as if seeing my future husband clearly for the first time. "You know about the rumors? You've investigated me?"
"Learning about one's fiancée seems reasonable," he admitted frankly. "I don't believe you're that person."
"How would you know?" I challenged. "We've barely met twice."
"I just do," he replied simply.
His gaze dropped to the bruises on my wrist. "My offer about training still stands. I'll train you personally."
After a long silence, I nodded slowly. "Fine. When do we start?"
"Tomorrow morning," he replied decisively. "6 AM at the eastern training grounds."
"Six in the morning?!" I nearly choked.
Lysander raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering across his face. "What's the matter? If you can't wake up on your own, I'd be happy to provide a wake-up service."
I straightened my spine. "That won't be necessary. I'll be there."
"We should get back now," Lysander checked his watch. "Before we draw attention."
As we walked side by side back toward the wedding hall, I found my perception of my unwanted fiancé shifting in subtle ways. Perhaps, I thought, there were pieces on fate's chessboard I hadn't anticipated.
---
I stared at the ceiling, watching shadows dance across it as the digital clock on my nightstand changed from 2:37 AM to 2:38 AM. Despite my best efforts, sleep eluded me. My mind kept replaying combat sequences I hadn't practiced in years, muscles twitching slightly in response to imagined movements.
You're excited about tomorrow, Sylva observed, her voice unusually gentle in my head.
"I'm not," I muttered into the darkness, though the lie was obvious even to myself.
It's okay to admit you like him, you know.
I sat up abruptly. "What are you talking about?"
Lysander, Sylva replied, and I could practically feel her wolfish grin. Your heart rate increases every time he's near. I can feel it.
"That's called irritation," I hissed. "I don't like him. He's arrogant and infuriating."
Well, I like him, Sylva declared. He's strong, capable, and he looks at us like we're worth something.
"Oh my god, you're such a lovesick puppy," I groaned, flopping back onto my pillow. "Stick to hunting and leave the romance to humans."
Wolves mate for life, you know, she teased. And that one would make an excellent mate.
"Shut up, you horny furball," I muttered, feeling heat rise to my cheeks despite myself.
The truth was more complicated. After agreeing to train with Lysander, I'd spent hours reviewing old techniques in my mind, remembering the feel of properly executed strikes, the rhythm of controlled breathing. Despite all my cynicism, the prospect of returning to training had awakened something I thought long dead—anticipation.
I rolled over, punching my pillow into a more comfortable shape. Three years since I'd trained properly. Three years of drinking, partying, and cultivating a carefully crafted image of not giving a damn. And here I was, sleepless like a child before their first day of school.
By the time exhaustion finally pulled me under, the eastern sky had begun to lighten. I managed perhaps an hour of fitful sleep before my alarm shattered the silence.
The shrill beep pierced through my unconsciousness at 5:15 AM. I instinctively reached to silence it, my body screaming in protest at even that small movement. Every muscle felt like it had been pulverized, the aftermath of yesterday's pathetic attempt at self-training combined with my sleepless night.
You promised him. Stop lying to yourself.
Sylva's voice cut through my mental fog, clear and insistent. I groaned, forcing my heavy eyelids open. My bedroom remained cloaked in pre-dawn darkness, the air still thick with lingering exhaustion.
Is this your idea of "reclaiming yourself"? Lying in bed?
"Shut up," I muttered, forcing myself to sit upright. Dizziness hit immediately, and I needed several seconds to steady myself.
I staggered to the bathroom, each step a fresh agony. In the mirror, I pulled off my sleep shirt to examine yesterday's self-inflicted damage. Purple bruises bloomed across my arms and abdomen like some twisted art project. I looked like shit.
The ice-cold water shocked my system as I splashed my face, making me gasp. The woman staring back at me from the mirror was almost unrecognizable—pale complexion, dark circles under dull gray-blue eyes. The prodigy warrior from years ago had vanished, replaced by this hollow shell.
You've disappointed everyone, especially yourself.
I walked to the deepest corner of my closet and pulled out a long-forgotten gym bag. The sound of the zipper felt jarringly loud in the quiet room. Inside were my old training clothes—black compression leggings and a lightweight functional top with the Moonblade pack insignia in the corner. I struggled into them, finding the top hanging loose and the pants sagging at the waist. I'd lost more muscle in three years than I'd realized.
It was already 5:47. I cursed, bolting out the door and nearly colliding with Ariel, who was about to knock.
"Miss Nyx, are you—"
"No time," I grabbed an apple and water bottle from the hallway table. "Talk later."
The morning air bit at my lungs as I ran. By the time I stumbled onto the eastern training grounds, I was already seven minutes late.