I swung my sword with more force than necessary, each strike landing harder than the last. My thoughts refused to settle, swirling around the cryptic conversation with Uncle Alexander. Marrying Irina keeps me safe? From what? I wasn't some weakling in need of protection. I could handle myself just fine. The thought of needing someone like Irina to ensure my safety made me sick.
Each frustrated thought made my movements sharper, stronger. The men training with me were starting to hesitate, their stances uneasy. They knew better than to challenge me when I was like this—lost in my mind and swinging harder than necessary. One wrong move and I could easily hurt someone. Maybe worse. But it wasn't like I could stop. The frustration kept building, and I had no way to release it except through the blade.
Thinking back on what Uncle Alexander said only fueled my anger more. My father and Irina's father were best friends? That part, at least, I knew. They had been inseparable when I was a child. But the business? The secrets? My father never once spoke to me about any of it.
My mind drifted back to when I was a kid.
---
I was about seven years old when I first noticed the fighting. My father and mother used to be so close, but something changed. I don't know when it started, but it got worse every day. One night, I walked into the room, catching them in the middle of another argument. My mother was yelling, her face red, while my father looked as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
When they saw me, they both froze, panic filling their eyes. "Ezra, leave," my father ordered. His voice was gentle, but firm. But I didn't leave. I just stood there, staring at them.
They didn't know what to do, clearly unsettled by my silence. I wasn't crying. I wasn't scared. I felt nothing. It was strange. Kids my age were supposed to be emotional, but me? I was just… empty. I stayed there, no emotion on my face, staring at the people who were supposed to love me. Part of me wondered if something was wrong with me. Shouldn't I feel something? But all I felt was emptiness. And a slow-growing hate.
The fighting only got worse after that night. My father started meeting with Irina's father regularly. Sometimes they'd disappear for days, leaving without a word. Whenever they came back, my father would be on edge, as though something terrible had happened.
Then one night, my father came home in a panic. He grabbed my mother and me and said we had to leave, immediately. We didn't even have time to pack anything. Just like that, we were fleeing our own house. We ended up at Uncle Alexander's mansion. I'll never forget the way Uncle Alexander slapped my father across the face as soon as we arrived. He was angry—furious, even.
"What were you thinking?" Alexander had roared at him. "Do you want to get us all killed?"
I had no idea what they were talking about. I didn't understand why we had to run. All I knew was that my father was terrified, and my mother was angry. I was supposed to be scared too, I think. But I wasn't. I felt nothing. Not sadness. Not fear. Just… nothing.
My parents leave me and I stayed with Uncle Alexander for a while after that. Then, not long after, my father died. My mother, too. They said it was because of the war, but I never really believed that. It all felt too convenient. Too sudden.
I didn't cry when they died. I didn't feel sad. I couldn't feel anything, no matter how much I tried. Everyone around me cried, but I just stood there, empty. I was supposed to grieve, right? But I couldn't. I didn't understand why people cried for the dead.
Noah tried to comfort me after the funeral, but even then, I felt nothing. He was a year older than me, always trying to be the caring older cousin, but his efforts were wasted on me. It was all meaningless.
The only person who ever stirred something in me—something other than emptiness—was Celine. She was different. Kind, soft-spoken, and always so full of life. She didn't belong in a place like this, surrounded by cold walls and even colder people. She was warmth, and maybe that's why I was drawn to her. She made me feel… something. Even if I didn't fully understand what it was.
---
I shook the thoughts away, bringing myself back to the present, just as my sword nearly grazed one of the men I was sparring with. He jumped back, wide-eyed with fear. I sighed and dropped the blade, stepping back. My mind was too clouded to focus. I didn't need to accidentally kill someone because of my frustration.
I walked away from the training grounds, my head still buzzing with unanswered questions. My father had died to protect me, but from what? What was so dangerous that he had to go to such lengths?
Before I could lose myself in thought again, someone appeared in front of me. Irina. Of course.
She grinned as she stepped into my path, trying to scare me by jumping out of nowhere. "Boo!" she said, laughing like she had just played the funniest prank in the world.
I glared at her, my patience wearing thin. What did she want now? I ignored her, moving to walk past her, but she stepped in front of me again, pouting.
"Stop ignoring me," she huffed, folding her arms across her chest. "I'm your wife, you know."
I shot her a cold look. "I don't care about you," I said flatly. "I don't care about any woman. Unless she's Celine."
Her face twisted into mock offense, but I could tell she wasn't actually hurt. Instead, she grinned, her eyes glinting with mischief. "I could always be your maid, if that's what it takes to get your attention," she joked.
Excuse me? I stared at her, half in disbelief. Did she really think this was funny? Before I could respond, she kept talking, her voice light and carefree.
"I saw you training earlier," she said, leaning in closer. "You almost killed someone."
I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore her, but she kept going, her voice grating on my nerves. She was talking too much, saying too many things that I had no interest in hearing.
Finally, I snapped. "Why do you want Celine as your personal maid?" I asked sharply. "Is it because you want to torture her more?"
Irina laughed, but it wasn't a joke. Not to me. I wasn't in the mood for her games.
But then, for the first time, she seemed serious, her voice quieter. "Because she's the only one who could ever be my personal maid."
Her words hung in the air between us, and for the first time, I felt a strange sense of unease.