But of course, life in Lurchester Castle is nothing *if not* dramatic.

The gust of air came first, sending Ivy’s curls fluttering like she was in a shampoo commercial. Then—

Boots. Black as sin.

Cloak. Tattered at the edges, streaked with dirt, like he’d wrestled a demon or two on the way in.

And standing in the doorway, jaw set, shoulders broad enough to block a full moon, was **Sir Demetrius**—my brooding, battle-hardened knight who could make a suit of armor look like sin incarnate.

Abigail choked on her water.

Ivy literally gasped.

Kail muttered, “Oh, *hell*,” under his breath.

And I? Rolled my eyes.

Demetrius stalked forward, his blade still strapped to his hip, gaze sweeping the room like he was cataloguing every poor bastard who might deserve a punch.

“Forgive the interruption, Your Majesty,” he said, voice low and gravelly, like he’d swallowed the night sky. “But I was summoned.”

My father stood, half-startled. “Ah, yes—thank the gods. I’d forgotten you were en route.”

“En route from *where,* exactly?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

Demetrius looked at me then—and holy *shit*, I forgot how intense his eyes were up close. Stormy, dark gray. Like thunderclouds with secrets.

“There was an attack on the southern watchtower. Ogres. Five of them. I handled it.”

Handled it? 

This man made *killing ogres* sound like he just took out the trash.

Ivy stood abruptly, pushing out her chest like she’d just remembered she had one. “You must be exhausted, Sir Demetrius. Would you like something to drink? A bath? Me in a bath?”

Abigail snorted so hard her wine almost came out her nose.

Demetrius blinked slowly, ignoring Ivy completely as he turned to the King. “You summoned me to speak of Destiny’s training.”

Ivy blinked. “*Destiny’s* training? Not mine? I’ve done cardio.”

“You'd probably faint after one flight of stairs,” Abigail mumbled.

Demetrius walked to stand behind my chair, the heat of him radiating like a damn furnace. I tensed slightly—he *always* did this. Loomed. Like I was some precious artifact and he was the deadly-ass curse guarding me.

“I came because I was told she was falling behind,” he said evenly.

“Excuse you?” I snapped, twisting in my chair to face him. “I’ve been training. You *threw* me to the dirt, remember?”

Abigail leaned forward, grinning. “You know, some women pay for that kind of thing.”

“Abigail—” I warned.

“What?” she said, hands up. “I’m just saying. The man walks like sin and broods like a god. And he’s got those hands. You *know* he could—”

“ENOUGH,” I hissed, slapping my hand over her mouth.

Demetrius, naturally, looked utterly unfazed. Of *course* he did. Because knights like him don’t get flustered—they get *wars* declared in their name.

Kail, still sulking and likely bored out of his royal skull, leaned back in his chair. “And here I thought I was the only one with a fan club.”

“You’re the only one who printed your own posters,” I snapped.

Demetrius let out the *tiniest* huff of air.

Was that a laugh? A chuckle? The equivalent of a demigod smiling?

Abigail, however, was busy *staring at Demetrius’s ass* now. I kicked her under the table.

“Worth it,” she whispered.

The King finally cleared his throat, standing. “Enough, all of you. I summoned Sir Demetrius because he is the only one I trust to push Destiny to her limit. She has dreams of becoming an adventurer. I will not allow her to die in some damn forest because she couldn’t block a sword.”

Everyone sobered.

And then—

“Well,” Ivy said sweetly, “if Destiny doesn’t want the knight, I wouldn’t *mind* a training session. With full contact, of course.”

“I would rather spar a drunken ogre in a barrel of piss,” Demetrius replied flatly.

I spat wine across the table. Abigail *howled*.

Ivy looked like she’d just been slapped with a fish.

Demetrius didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just returned to his shadow-post behind me.

Kail groaned. “Oh *fuck this*. If I’d known dinner would turn into a pissing contest, I would’ve stayed in bed.”

“Alone?” Abigail asked sweetly.

He glared.

The King sighed again, looking about two seconds from exiling everyone.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “Training begins at dawn. Destiny—you’ll train under Demetrius’s command. And the rest of you... try not to kill each other. *Please.*”

Dinner was over. But the chaos?

Oh, that was just getting started.