His Discarded Queen

Chapter 11

[Sebastian's POV]

I'm watching her footwork when I notice the rope.

It's subtle—a frayed section on the practice dummy's support line, weakened just enough that when Tessa puts her full weight into the next strike, it'll snap. Send the weighted bag swinging directly into her skull with enough force to crack bone.

My hand shoots out, catching the dummy mid-swing before physics can finish what someone started. The rope snaps exactly as I predicted, but the bag is already in my grip, harmless.

Tessa stumbles back, blade raised, confusion flashing across her face. "What—"

"Training accident." I set the bag down carefully, examining the rope's clean cut disguised within natural wear. Professional work. "You should be more careful."

The words come out flat, dismissive, and I watch her expression shift from confusion to fury.

"More careful?" She's in my space now, all coiled tension and barely restrained anger. "That rope was fine yesterday. I checked the equipment myself."

"Equipment fails." I keep my voice neutral even as something cold and vicious coils in my gut. Someone got into the training room. Someone skilled enough to sabotage without leaving obvious traces. "It happens."

"Don't." Her eyes flash. "Don't treat me like I'm stupid. Something just tried to kill me, and you're acting like I forgot to tie my boots properly."

She's right. She's absolutely right, and I can't tell her that.

Can't tell her that someone knows about the Challenge before it's even announced. Can't tell her that right now, while she's still unprepared, she's at her most vulnerable. Can't tell her that I've been scanning every shadow, checking every door, tasting the air for threats because I know they're coming.

"Enemies are always watching," I say instead, and the inadequacy of it tastes like ash. "You're the acknowledged heir to House Nyx. That makes you a target. You need to be vigilant."

"I am vigilant!" She's breathing hard now, anger and fear tangling together in her voice. "I check my equipment. I watch my back. I do everything you've taught me. So don't stand there and lecture me about being careful when someone just tried to put me in a coma and you won't even—"

She stops, studies my face. And I see the moment she pieces it together.

"You know something." Her voice drops, goes deadly quiet. "You know why someone would target me now. Specifically now."

My jaw tightens. I should have better control than this. Should be able to school my expression into perfect neutrality. But watching that rope snap, seeing how close she came to being hurt—

It's cracked something in my carefully maintained discipline.

"I know that you need to train harder," I say, each word measured. "I know that threats are escalating. I know that being complacent will get you killed."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only answer I can give you."

Wrong thing to say. I know it the moment the words leave my mouth.

"Can't?" She laughs, sharp and bitter. "Or won't?"

"Tessa—"

"No." She cuts me off, and there's something in her eyes I haven't seen before. Not hurt. Not fear. Something harder. More dangerous. "I'm done with this. Done with cryptic warnings and vague threats and being treated like I'm too fragile to handle the truth. Soren did that to me for years. Made decisions without me, kept me in the dark, acted like I was too stupid or too weak to be trusted with information about my own life."

The comparison to Soren hits like a physical blow.

"I'm not him," I say, and my voice comes out rougher than intended.

"Then prove it." She's close enough that I can feel the heat of her anger. "Tell me what's happening. Tell me why someone just tried to hurt me. Tell me what you're not saying every time you push me harder in training and look at me like—"

She stops. Swallows hard.

"Like what?"

"Like you're running out of time."

The observation is too accurate. Too close to the truth I'm desperately trying to hide.

I want to tell her. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to warn her, to give her time to prepare, to stop treating her like she can't handle what's coming. But Silas's orders echo in my head—She needs to believe in herself first. Tell her about the Challenge, she'll spiral. She'll convince herself she'll fail before she even tries.

And he's right. I've seen the doubt that still lingers in her eyes when she thinks no one's watching. The way she second-guesses herself, questions her own worth. Years of Soren's psychological warfare don't disappear in a week.

But she's also stronger than Silas gives her credit for. Stronger than she knows.

"I can't tell you," I force out. "Not yet. But I need you to trust me. Trust that I'm trying to keep you safe."

"How can I trust you when you won't trust me with the truth?"

The question hangs between us, unanswerable.

Because she's right. Trust goes both ways. And I'm asking her to follow blindly while I keep secrets that directly affect her survival.

"The training equipment needs to be replaced," I say finally, stepping back because being this close to her anger is making it impossible to think clearly. "All of it. I'll have it done today."

"Sebastian—"

"And we're doubling security on the training rooms. No one enters without clearance."

"Stop changing the subject!"

"I'm not." I meet her eyes, let her see some of what I'm feeling. Not all of it—that would be dangerous for both of us—but enough. "Someone wants to hurt you. That's not speculation, it's fact. And until I know who and why and how far they're willing to go, you need to be prepared for anything."

"But you do know why." It's not a question. "You know exactly why someone would target me right now, at this specific moment. And you're choosing not to tell me."

I don't answer. Can't answer without lying, and I won't lie to her.

The silence stretches between us, heavy with everything I can't say.

"I thought you were different," she says finally, and the quiet disappointment in her voice cuts deeper than her anger did. "I thought you saw me as more than just a responsibility. Someone worth being honest with."

"Tessa—"

The training room door opens before I can finish. A servant stands in the doorway, carefully not looking at either of us.

"Apologies for the interruption. High Elder Silas requests both your presence in the throne room immediately." The servant's voice is neutral, professional. "He says it's urgent. All nobility currently in residence are being summoned."

Tessa's eyes find mine, questions written across her face.

But I can't answer those either.

"We're coming," I say.

The servant bows and retreats. Tessa starts toward the door, but I catch her arm.

"Whatever happens in that throne room," I say quietly, "remember that you're stronger than you think. Remember what you've already survived."

She pulls free of my grip, and the loss of contact feels like a physical ache.

"Whatever this is," she says, "it's connected to that rope, isn't it? To why you've been pushing so hard. To why someone wants me hurt right now."

I don't confirm or deny. Just hold her gaze and watch understanding crystallize in her eyes.

"You're an asshole," she says conversationally.

"I know."

She nods once, sharp and decisive, then heads for the door. I follow, hyperaware of the space between us that feels too much like a chasm.

The throne room awaits. And with it, the Challenge that's going to change everything.

I just hope she's ready for what's coming.

Even if I'm not.