The training yard echoed with the crack of wood against wood.

Ezekiel’s arms burned.

Sweat ran into his eyes, but he continued swinging because Lanastha was watching.

She stood at the edge of the yard in a deep crimson dress embroidered with threads that shimmered like fire. She carried no visible weapon.

She did not need one to frighten everyone nearby.

“Again,” she ordered.

Ezekiel raised the practice sword.

“You lower your elbow when you strike.”

“I am trying.”

“Try correctly.”

He swung again.

The blade cut clumsily through the air.

Lanastha crossed the yard, took the sword from his hands, and performed the movement herself.

One clean step.

One balanced turn.

One devastating strike.

She tossed the weapon back to him.

“Repeat it until your body remembers.”

“My arms are going to fall off.”

“Then learn before they do.”

Rue stood nearby with his arms crossed. Edric leaned against a wall, looking far too entertained.

Several minor nobles had arrived that morning under the excuse of paying their respects. Everyone knew they had come to inspect Lanastha’s mysterious son.

Lord Marius Ventrel entered the yard dressed in a crimson-trimmed doublet, his black hair slicked neatly away from his face.

He smiled like a man certain of his welcome.

“So this is the child everyone is discussing.”

Ezekiel stiffened.

Rue’s hand moved toward his dagger.

Marius examined him openly.

“How unusual. A Bonaventura child born outside marriage.”

His smile sharpened.

“Your father must have possessed remarkable charm to win Lady Lanastha’s affection without earning her hand. Or perhaps she simply decided he was not worth marrying.”

The courtyard went silent.

Ezekiel felt as though he had been slapped.

Edric straightened.

Lanastha moved before anyone else could speak.

She crossed the yard with slow, graceful steps. The silk of her dress whispered over the stones like a blade leaving its sheath.

“Say that again.”

Marius’ smile faltered.

“My lady, I only meant—”

“Repeat yourself.”

The guards on the walls looked away.

“I meant no disrespect.”

“You did.”

Lanastha reached forward, tore the gold pin from his collar, and dropped it into the dirt.

“Crawl.”

Marius stared at her.

“My lady?”

“Pick it up.”

Her eyes glowed like embers.

“On your knees.”

His face went pale.

Slowly, Marius lowered himself into the dust. He retrieved the pin with shaking fingers and bowed until his forehead nearly touched the ground.

Lanastha looked down at him.

“Question my family again, and I will have your tongue nailed above the gates.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Leave.”

Marius scrambled to his feet and fled.

Only when he disappeared did Lanastha turn back to Ezekiel.

“Pick up your sword.”

He stared at her.

“Why did you do that?”

“Because no one insults Bonaventura blood.”

Her gaze sharpened.

“Not even you.”

She adjusted his stance with cold, precise hands.

“People sense weakness. They search for it. They dig their fingers into it and tear until nothing remains.”

She stepped away.

“What do you want them to see when they look at you?”

Ezekiel swallowed.

“Strength.”

“Then swing until they believe it.”