The name felt like it came with weight. Not one of authority—but reverence, almost. Like I was supposed to bow or lower my gaze.
I didn't.
But I also didn't speak right away.
"I will be your teacher," she continued. "Instructor. Mentor. The terms are flexible. What matters is that you listen."
She sounded… practiced. Controlled.
I hated how calm she was.
Then again, compared to Vaelith's frostbitten approach, maybe calm wasn't so bad.
Nari gestured to the spread between us, never breaking posture. "Would you care for tea with your meal?"
The word meal didn't fully register until the scent of grilled meat and savory herbs hit me.
My stomach twisted again—harder this time.
I nodded, a little too quickly. "Yeah. I... I would."
Nari offered a small bow with her head, not deep, but precise.
Without a word, she reached for the teapot and poured. The liquid hit the porcelain in a slow, measured stream—steady enough I could almost hear the rhythm of her breath behind it. She offered the cup in both hands, the handle turned toward me.
I took it, fingers brushing hers for half a second. She didn't flinch. Just let go the moment I had it.
"Drink before it cools," she said.
I didn't argue. I didn't ask what kind it was. I just sipped.
It wasn't sweet. A little bitter, smoky. It hit the back of my throat with more warmth than flavor, like it belonged in a place colder than this.
My stomach grumbled again—louder this time. I reached for the food, not caring how it looked.
Nari didn't comment. She only shifted slightly and picked up her own utensils—two narrow sticks held with absurd precision. She selected a piece of meat, turned it once in her fingers, and brought it to her mouth in a single, fluid motion. No wasted effort. No sound.
I forced myself not to devour the plate. I tried to at least chew.
Nari set her cup down, the porcelain barely whispering against the tray.
"You favor speed with a direct approach," she said, her voice even, as if reading from a report. "Quicker than most your size. Especially when you're angry."
I stiffened. Just a little. But she caught it, of course she did.
"But you move like someone who expects the hit to land," she added.
I frowned. "And you can tell that by watching me eat?"
"You're not hard to read," she said simply. "You brace out of habit. Not strategy. Most do."
There was no judgment in her tone. Just fact.
She returned to her meal without another word, plucking a piece of fish with an elegant flick of her fingers and setting it to her lips in one motion. I tried to focus on my own plate, to keep from asking more questions—but she spoke again before I could.
"I've trained with warriors who feared death. And some who didn't. Only one kind ever asked the right questions."
That one hung in the air. I didn't ask which kind she meant.
She let the silence stretch.
"You're not the first to flinch before the breaking point," she continued. "But you're the first I've seen do it in front of her and still keep something intact."
"Vaelith?" I muttered.
Nari nodded once. "She doesn't teach. She probes. Pushes. And when you break, she takes the pieces with her."
"She called it sparring."
"She also once called diplomacy a form of fencing." A pause. "She was not wrong, but she was not right either."
I nearly laughed. I didn't.
Instead, I chewed.
Nari moved slowly, like the world answered to her pace. Like nothing needed to be rushed. The quiet between us settled into something closer to rhythm than awkwardness.
Eventually, she set her cup aside. "You held back."
"I didn't want to lose control."
"That wasn't the part I noticed."
I glanced up.
"You held back from reacting," she said. "You were baited, again and again, and chose the moment to strike. Then chose not to."
I didn't like how close she was getting.
"It takes strength to hold a blade. More to know when not to use it." She shrugged. "But rigidity will break just as easily as recklessness. Balance will come. Eventually."
I sipped the tea again to keep from replying. It helped.
Nari said nothing more for a time. She ate. I watched her. Everything about her movements—clean, measured, calm. Like she wasn't just eating a meal, but practicing stillness.
It made me uncomfortable in a way I couldn't explain.
And worse, I kept mimicking her without meaning to. Sitting straighter. Matching her pace. She didn't mention it.
"I won't ask you to copy me," she said, almost idly. "You don't learn that way."
I hesitated. "Then how?"
She set her utensils down with the same care she did everything else. "By watching. Asking. And learning which answers matter."
More tea. Another measured pour. I watched her hands—how steady they were. Not from lack of tension, but from discipline.
"You're reactive. Fast, yes. But your choices are always backward-looking. Like someone used to cleaning up after disaster rather than avoiding it."
She didn't say it unkindly.
My throat tightened.
"You're not wrong," I muttered.
She nodded. "Then we can begin."
I wasn't sure what that meant. Or when, exactly, we'd started.
"You've become something dangerous," she said softly. "But danger without purpose is just noise."
I didn't respond.
Then she tilted her head slightly. "Of course... combat is only a fraction of what you'll need to survive."
"Oh good," I muttered. "What else do I get to be terrible at?"
Nari smiled, faint but not unkind. "Politics. Etiquette. Cultural memory. High speech. How to sit. How to bow. How to walk without stepping on the wrong name."
I blinked. "Seriously?"
"Sashes," she added. "You'll learn to wear them."
"That's absurd."
"So is falling out of favor with four bloodlines because your shoulder was uncovered at the wrong festival."
I set my cup down. "You're not joking."
"I rarely do." She finished the last of her meal and folded her hands in her lap. "And I'll be teaching you most of it."
There was a pause.
Then, casually—as if it were just another item on the long list—she added, "It is fortunate, by the way, that you've already made acquaintance with the other heirs."
I blinked again. "The what?"
"The children of the ancients," she said, like it was obvious. "Kaelen and Teryn. Few are afforded such introductions before their titles become burdens." She didn't smile, but something flickered at the edge of her expression.
I stared. "I didn't even know who they were."
"No," Nari said. "But you will. And they now know you." A breath. "That alone places you on the board, whether you wanted to play or not."
I frowned. "Why does that matter?"
She glanced at me. Not long. Just enough. "Because you are being groomed for a role with weight, one far more intricate than swordplay or mere magic." She paused—not long, but enough. Something unreadable passed behind her eyes, gone before I could name it. "One that may shape more than just yourself."
Groomed? What role? If mother was looking for a tool she was going to be disappointed. I'd make sure of that.
"What role?"
She shook her head. "Another time, but not now."
Nari stood first. She did it slowly, without flourish. No dramatic sweeping motions or pointed remarks. Just a rise, a gentle brush of her hands down the folds of her robe, and a faint nod of her head toward the door.
I followed.
We didn't speak as we walked. The halls were quieter than I remembered. My steps echoed slightly, not from effort but from the limp I hadn't quite shaken yet. My shoulder throbbed in rhythm with each breath.
Nari didn't slow, but she didn't leave me behind either.
A few turns later, we came to a familiar hallway—my hallway. The doors all looked the same here, but I recognized one in particular. Grand runes etched across it.
We stopped just short of it.
Nari didn't turn to face me, not fully. Just enough that I could see the edge of her profile beneath the dim light.
"Tonight was for understanding, our first lesson" she said quietly. "Tomorrow, we begin in earnest."
I stared at the door. My body ached. My mind felt soft at the edges.
"And what was tonight's lesson?" I asked. The words came out slower than I meant.
"You were extended more grace than you realize," she added without turning. "Fight and Adapt or perish."
I stood there for a beat longer.
She bowed—measured and exact, just like before—then vanished down the hall, her steps light enough to vanish with her.
My sides ached.
Finally.
I pushed open the door and stepped inside. My chambers were as I had left them earlier. A pendant on my desk catching a bit of light.
I am exhausted, a few hours of sleep won't hurt, I think.
I approached the bed and lay down on it, face first. My body screaming at me. I began to breathe slowly in then out, attempting to slow my heartrate.
It didn't take long for it to slow.
And sleep… even quicker.