Chapter 4: Interest

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CHAPTER 4

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : - ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ - : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

MORNING arrived with the heavy scent of rain. Storm clouds loomed over the castle, casting the stone corridors in a muted gray. The distant roll of thunder rattled through the walls as Rhiannon stood near the small window of the servants quarters, watching droplets bead against the glass.

A storm was coming.

Both outside these walls-and within them.

She hadn't seen Simon since last night. Not that she expected him to return. He was a prince, a soldier, a future king. His concerns should have been far from a servant girl accused of theft.

And yet, he had stood in that hall, defending her.

Why?

A sharp knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. Rhiannon turned as the door swung open, revealing a man dressed in the castle's royal guard uniform. Not Simon. Not someone she recognized.

"The Queen has summoned you," he announced.

Rhiannon's fingers clenched around the folds of her skirt. A summon. Again.

For a brief moment, she thought of running. Fleeing the castle, vanishing into the misty morning, leaving behind the weight of false accusations and nobility's cruel games.

But where would she go?

So instead, she forced her shoulders back, lifted her chin, and stepped forward.

She would not cower.

➽───────────────❥

The Queen's private hall was colder today. Perhaps it was the storm, or perhaps it was the calculating gazes of those who had gathered.

Lady Evelyne was already there, a perfect picture of noble innocence in her pale blue gown. Her hands were folded gracefully at her waist, her expression neutral-except for the slight upward tilt of her lips.

Simon stood to the side, near one of the pillars, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. But when his eyes flicked to hers, there was something sharp beneath them. She had no time to decipher it.

The Queen studied her with the same cold gaze she had worn the night before.

"Rhiannon."

"My Queen," she said, bowing her head just enough to show respect, but not submission.

There was a beat of silence. Then Lady Evelyne sighed, a delicate, measured thing.

"It's unfortunate," she murmured, "that the brooch has not yet been found."

Rhiannon stiffened. Of course it hasn't been found. Because it was never lost. And Rhiannon had become suspicious of it. In fact it was famous to the rich and powerful people to screw the one below them.

The Queen exhaled.

"A crime cannot go unpunished."

Rhiannon's stomach turned to ice.

Simon pushed off the pillar.

"We agreed-"

The Queen lifted a hand, silencing him.

"And yet, my son, justice must be seen. There must be consequences."

Panic clawed at Rhiannon's throat, but she refused to let it show.

Then, the Queen's gaze sharpened.

"You will no longer work in the noble chambers." Rhiannon blinked. "You will be assigned to the stables," the Queen continued. "Until the matter is resolved, you will serve there under Lord Carris. Perhaps a change of scenery will remind you of your station."

Lady Evelyne's smile widened.

The stables. The one place the nobles never set foot. Dirty, grueling work, a place where servants were all but invisible.

The Queen was sending her there to disappear.

Simon's jaw clenched.

"That's-"

"A fitting punishment," the Queen cut him off.

Rhiannon swallowed down her fury. She had no voice here. No say in the matter.

So she did the only thing she could.

She bowed her head.

"Yes, my Queen."

The Queen dismissed her with a wave.

Rhiannon turned on her heel and walked out, her heart hammering in her chest.

Simon's gaze burned into her back as she left.

And Lady Evelyne?

She was laughing.

➽───────────────❥

Later that night, deep within the stables, Rhiannon sank onto a bale of hay, her arms aching from the day's labor. The scent of damp wood and horses filled the air, a stark contrast to the perfumed halls she once cleaned.

She wiped sweat from her brow, frustration burning beneath her skin. This wasn't justice. This was exile, just without the gates being thrown open.

A rustle of movement behind her made her stiffen. Then-

"I don't recall you looking this miserable in the training yard."

Her heart lurched.

She turned.

Simon stood there, leaning against the wooden beams, arms folded. His mask was back on.

She let out a breath, more annoyed than relieved.

"What are you doing? You shouldn't be here"

His head tilted slightly.

"Checking on you."

She scoffed.

"To see if I've learned my lesson?"

His voice was quiet, but firm.

"To see if you're still fighting."

Her breath caught.

She hated the way he could read her.

Hated that he saw the part of her that wasn't ready to accept this fate.

She turned away.

"I don't need your pity."

Simon stepped closer. Not enough to touch, but enough that she felt the heat of his presence.

"It's not pity, Rhiannon."

She clenched her jaw.

"Then what is it?"

A pause.

Then-

"Interest."

Her pulse stuttered.

Simon sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"You owe me, remember?"

She narrowed her eyes.

"And I'm still waiting to hear what you want."

His gaze held hers, something dangerous and unreadable flickering beneath the surface.

"Train with me," he said.

She blinked.

"What? Is that it?"

His voice was lower now, edged with something she couldn't quite place.

"Train with me. Keep your strength. You'll need it."

A cold shiver danced along her spine.

"For what?"

Simon hesitated, just for a breath.

Then he said, softly-

"For when the real fight begins."

Rhiannon's fingers curled into fists. And she realized, with a mix of fear and exhilaration- He wasn't just talking about the training yard.

➽───────────────❥

The night air was thick with the scent of damp earth and hay as Rhiannon stood in the dim glow of the lanterns. The stables were quieter now, save for the occasional huff of a restless horse. The day's labor still weighed heavy on her bones, but she had little time to dwell on exhaustion.

Because Simon Riley was standing before her, arms crossed, waiting.

She narrowed her eyes.

"You're serious about this?"

"Would I be here if I wasn't?" His voice was calm, but there was something behind it-something sharp, unwavering.

Rhiannon exhaled slowly, crossing her arms.

"I still don't understand. Why are you doing this?"

Simon studied her for a moment before tilting his head.

"You're not a fool, Rhia. You know why."

Her heart kicked against her ribs. She did know why. This wasn't just about training. It wasn't just about clearing her name. This was about something much bigger. But she wasn't ready to give voice to that thought. Not yet. So instead, she forced a smirk, feigning nonchalance.

"Fine. But don't expect me to go easy on you, Your Highness."

A low chuckle.

"I wouldn't dare."

Simon reached into his coat and pulled out two wooden daggers. He tossed one to her. She caught it easily, testing the weight in her palm. It wasn't a real weapon, but it would do.

"Let's see what you remember," he said.

She didn't need further instruction. She lunged.

Their wooden daggers clashed in the stillness of the stable, the sharp crack echoing through the rafters. Simon deflected her strike with ease, his stance solid. He was testing her-not overpowering, not holding back, just watching.

Rhiannon adjusted her grip, shifting her weight. Then she struck again.

This time, she caught him off guard. Her dagger nicked his side-not enough to wound, but enough to make a point.

Simon's eyes flickered with something dark, something pleased.

"Better" he murmured.

A rush of something dangerous curled through her. She had no right to feel pride in his approval, but damn it, she did.

Simon moved faster this time, forcing her to stay on the defensive. Each strike, each block, sent a shock up her arms. She gritted her teeth, pushing back, refusing to yield.

Then, in a swift, merciless move, Simon hooked his foot behind her ankle and swept her legs out from under her.

Rhiannon hit the ground with a sharp gasp, her dagger flying from her grip. Again.

Before she could react, Simon was above her, pressing his wooden blade to her throat.

A beat of silence.

Her pulse pounded.

His mask hid most of his face, but his eyes-those damn eyes-pinned her in place.

"You hesitate" he said quietly.

Rhiannon clenched her jaw.

"I don't."

Simon didn't move. The pressure of the blade wasn't enough to hurt, but it was enough to remind her just how close she had come to losing.

"You do," he murmured. "And hesitation gets you killed."

A slow breath passed between them.

Then, in a move that shocked even herself, Rhiannon reached up, gripping his wrist. With a sharp twist, she shoved him off balance. Simon grunted as she rolled them over, reversing their positions. Now she was the one straddling him, her hand pressing against his chest, pinning him down.

The shift in power was immediate.

Simon went completely still beneath her.

Their breaths mingled in the cold night air, neither of them speaking. She could see the faintest flicker of something in his gaze.

Amusement?

Approval?

Something else entirely?

The moment stretched, charged and fragile. Then Simon smirked.

"Not bad, princess."

Rhiannon scowled and pushed off of him, standing quickly.

"Stop calling me that," she muttered, brushing dirt from her skirt.

Simon rose to his feet, exhaling through his nose.

"Then stop acting like one."

Her eyes snapped to his.

"Excuse me?"

He tilted his head, studying her as if she were a puzzle he was slowly piecing together.

"You want to fight, but you're afraid to win."

Her fingers curled into fists.

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?"

She hated him in that moment. Hated that he saw through her defenses so easily. Hated that he was right. But more than that... She hated that she didn't hate him at all.

Simon watched her for a moment longer before nodding toward the wooden daggers.

"Again."

Rhiannon exhaled sharply but bent down to retrieve her weapon.

The storm inside her raged.

But she was ready to fight.

And this time...

She wouldn't hesitate.

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