The courtyard echoed with the sound of clashing blades. Thorne moved with effortless grace, his muscles shifting fluidly under his sweat-soaked shirt as he danced around the two guards. His twin daggers flashed in the early morning light, blocking and parrying the wild strikes of his opponents. They were strong, well-trained, but they were no match for him.

  “Come on, is that all you’ve got?” he taunted, sidestepping a heavy swing from the younger guard, Dalen. “If you’re going to take me down, you’ll need to do better than that!”

  Dalen growled, his face flushed with exertion and frustration. “Stay still for once, damn it!”

  Thorne laughed, a low, mocking sound that seemed to spur the guards on. The older guard, Eddrick, grunted as he swung his sword in a wide arc, aiming for Thorne’s midsection. Thorne didn’t even blink as he ducked, slipping under the blade and tapping Eddrick’s shoulder lightly with the flat of his dagger.

  “Too slow,” he quipped, spinning around to deflect Dalen’s follow-up strike. The younger guard’s eyes flashed with anger as he launched a flurry of blows, each one faster and more desperate than the last. Thorne blocked them all, his movements a blur of agility and precision.

  “Easy, Dalen,” Thorne said, chuckling. “You’re letting your anger get the better of you. Keep a cool head.”

  Eddrick, the older guard, took advantage of Thorne’s momentary distraction and lunged forward, his sword aimed straight for Thorne’s chest. But Thorne was ready. He pivoted on his heel, his dagger coming up to deflect the blade at the last second, then he twisted around and kicked Eddrick’s legs out from under him. The older guard crashed to the ground with a grunt, looking up at Thorne with a mixture of disbelief and grudging respect.

  “You’re getting slow, Eddrick,” Thorne teased, his eyes twinkling. “You’ve got to watch your footing.”

  Eddrick grunted, pushing himself up to a sitting position. “Not all of us have the energy of a young pup,” he muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow.

  For hours, they fought like this, the two guards attacking him with everything they had while Thorne deflected, parried, and dodged with infuriating ease. His breaths came steady and even, his body barely showing any signs of fatigue. The guards, on the other hand, were drenched in sweat, their faces twisted with exhaustion and defeat.

  “Come on, lads, don’t tell me you’re tired already,” Thorne teased, his grin wide and infuriatingly confident. He had dropped the mocking tone he had used earlier, now sounding almost encouraging. “You’ve got to keep up! Try coordinating your attacks better. You’re practically tripping over each other.”

  Eddrick wheezed, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he nodded slightly to Dalen. They adjusted their stance, moving more in sync now, but it still wasn’t enough. Thorne’s movements were too quick, too unpredictable.

  “Better,” Thorne admitted, his voice genuine this time. “But still not good enough.” With a sudden burst of speed, he twisted around Dalen, locking his arm around the guard’s throat in a mock hold, before releasing him gently and stepping back. “Don’t overcommit. You’re too eager, and that makes you predictable.”

  Dalen stumbled back, panting heavily, his eyes wide with something that almost looked like respect. Eddrick, too, was watching Thorne with a guarded expression, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion.

  “You’ve got to work together,” Thorne said, lowering his daggers. “Cover each other’s weaknesses. If you do that, you’ll be a much tougher challenge.”

  There was a long pause, the three of them standing in the courtyard, catching their breath. Then, Eddrick gave a reluctant nod, wiping the sweat from his brow.

  “We’ll remember that,” he said gruffly. “You’re not half bad, for a brat.”

  Thorne chuckled, sheathing his daggers. “And you’re not half bad, for a couple of glorified gatekeepers.” He turned to Dalen, who was staring at him with a strange, almost admiring look. “Work on your footwork, Dalen. You’ve got speed, but you’re too aggressive. Use that energy more strategically.”

  Dalen blinked, then nodded, his expression softening. “Thanks... Lord Silverbane.”

  Thorne smiled, clapping the young man on the shoulder before turning away. His muscles were pleasantly sore, his body thrumming with the afterglow of a good workout. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, feeling the warmth of satisfaction settle in his chest. After leaving the guild It wasn’t often he got to push himself like that, and he was pleased with the results.

  As he made his way toward the kitchen, he thought about the subtle shift in the guards’ attitudes. For the first time, there had been something other than disdain and hostility in their eyes. Respect, maybe. Or at least a begrudging acknowledgment of his skills.

  The kitchen was bustling with activity when he entered, the air thick with the mouthwatering scent of freshly baked bread and roasting meat. Matilda looked up from where she was directing the servants, her face breaking into a wide smile as she saw him.

  “There’s our young master,” she said warmly, wiping her hands on her apron. “You look like you’ve been through the wars.”

  Thorne shrugged, grinning. “Just a little morning exercise.” He glanced around the kitchen, his stomach growling. “Got anything for a starving warrior?”

  Matilda laughed, motioning for him to sit. “You sit yourself down, and I’ll get you something. I swear, if you keep training like this, I’ll have to double your portions.”

  Thorne made his way to the long wooden table, collapsing into a chair with a sigh of relief. He hadn’t realized just how tired he was until he sat down. The kitchen was bustling with activity, the clatter of pots and pans and the murmur of voices filling the air. Several of the serving girls were sneaking glances at him, whispering and giggling behind their hands. He raised an eyebrow, feeling a flush of confusion.

  “Why are they staring at me?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.

  Matilda smirked, setting a plate piled high with food in front of him. “Maybe because you’re strutting around like a peacock in your fancy clothes, looking like you’ve just stepped out of a fairy tale.”

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  Thorne blinked, looking down at his sweat-soaked shirt and breeches. “I’m not even dressed up.”

  Matilda rolled her eyes. “It’s not about the clothes, boy. You’re a handsome young man, and you’re showing off those muscles of yours like you’re on display.”

  Thorne felt his face heat up, suddenly self-conscious. “I didn’t... I mean, I wasn’t trying to...”

  Matilda laughed, patting his shoulder. “Oh, don’t worry, lad. It’s not a bad thing. Just try not to break too many hearts, alright?”

  Thorne shook his head, grumbling under his breath as he dug into his food. The serving girls continued to watch him, but he did his best to ignore them, focusing instead on the delicious meal in front of him. Matilda had outdone herself, as always, and the food was a welcome distraction from his restless thoughts.

  He was just finishing his second helping when the kitchen door swung open, and Arletta stormed in, looking as if she were in a hurry. She scanned the room, her eyes narrowing as they landed on Thorne.

  “There you are,” she said sharply, marching over to him. “Master wants to see you.”

  Thorne sighed, setting down his fork. “Of course he does.” He pushed back his chair and stood, brushing the crumbs from his hands. He could feel the shift inside him, his Mask of Deceit slipping into place, smoothing out his features into an inscrutable mask. One of the maids flinched, her eyes widening as she took an unconscious step back.

  “Don’t keep him waiting,” Arletta said, her tone curt. “You know how he gets.”

  Thorne nodded, giving Matilda a grateful smile before turning to leave. As he passed by the flustered maid, he gave her a reassuring wink, his expression softening. She blushed, looking away quickly.

  “I’ll see you later, Matilda,” he called over his shoulder as he followed Arletta out of the kitchen. “Save some of that pie for me, will you?”

  Matilda laughed, waving him off. “Just get going, you rascal. And try not to get into too much trouble.”

  Thorne grinned, falling into step behind Arletta as they made their way through the mansion. He could feel the tension coiling in his gut, the anticipation of whatever new scheme Uncle had in mind. Whatever it was, he knew he would have to play his part perfectly.

  Thorne stepped into Uncle study, the familiar smell of ink and aged leather filling his nostrils. The room was lined with bookshelves, each one crammed with tomes and scrolls, the accumulated knowledge of decades of scheming. Uncle was seated behind his massive oak desk, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips as he held a piece of parchment in his hand.

  “Ah, Thorne, just the person I wanted to see,” Uncle said, his eyes sparkling with a rare enthusiasm. He waved the paper in the air before setting it down. “It seems your efforts at Lady Langston’s brunch didn’t go to waste after all. We’ve received an invitation to a most prestigious event.”

  Thorne’s brow furrowed in confusion. He had left that brunch feeling like a failure, the nobles’ indifference still a sting in his pride. He hadn’t thought anyone there would bother to remember him, let alone send an invitation. “An invitation?” he repeated, his mind racing. “To what?”

  “To Bastian Lockridge’s birthday party, no less!” Uncle declared, his voice brimming with excitement. “It’s going to be a grand affair, the kind of gathering that could determine the fate of our little endeavor.”

  Thorne blinked, surprise flashing across his face. He remembered the Lockridge heir well—a towering, imposing figure with a sneer permanently etched on his lips. Bastian hadn’t seemed particularly fond of him during their brief encounter. In fact, Thorne was almost certain the older boy had gone out of his way to make his disdain clear.

  “Bastian Lockridge?” Thorne asked, still trying to make sense of it. “He didn’t seem like the type to want me at his party. I’m pretty sure he would have preferred throwing me out.”

  Uncle chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “True, young Bastian does have a bit of a temper, but I doubt he had much say in this matter.” He tapped his finger on the invitation, his smile widening. “This reek of Lady Langston’s handiwork. She must have convinced them to invite you.”

  Thorne wasn’t so sure. His thoughts immediately flew back to his encounter with Selene. The girl’s bright eyes and infectious enthusiasm had left a mark on him, and he could easily imagine her convincing the Lockridge family to extend an invitation. But still, why would she go to such lengths?

  His musings were interrupted by Uncle’s excited voice. “This is an opportunity you can’t afford to squander, Thorne. You don’t need me to tell you how crucial the Lockridge family is to our plans. Their private army is the most disciplined in Alvar, and their allegiance could tip the balance in our favor.”

  Thorne hesitated, his mind whirling with possibilities. “I didn’t get the impression that Bastian liked me, though,” he admitted cautiously. “In fact, he seemed ready to rip my head off.”

  Uncle waved his hand dismissively. “Bastian’s opinion doesn’t matter. It’s his mother, Lady Elena, who holds the real power. She’s a fierce warrior, but not the most cunning strategist. She can be influenced, especially if she sees us as the better option over the Ravencourts.”

  Thorne nodded slowly, understanding dawning. Lady Elena Lockridge was known throughout Alvar for her valor on the battlefield, but if Uncle’s assessment was correct, her straightforward nature could be turned to their advantage. If they could sway her, convince her that aligning with the Thornfields was the best course of action, it could change everything.

  “This party is more than just a social gathering,” Uncle continued, his voice dropping into a serious tone. “It’s a chance for us to see the lay of the land, to understand where the allegiances of the various houses lie. The Thornfields and Ravencourts will both be there. You need to observe, to listen, and to gather anything that might give us an edge.”

  Thorne raised an eyebrow, feeling a pang of uncertainty. “Do you have any specific instructions for me? Anything in particular I should be looking for?”

  Uncle shrugged, a gesture that seemed almost careless, though Thorne knew better than to be deceived by his uncle’s casual demeanor. “I trust your instincts, Thorne. You’ve proven more than capable. Just remember, anything that can strengthen the Thornfields’ position is valuable. Information, alliances, even the slightest hint of a rift between our enemies.”

  Thorne’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied his uncle’s face. There was something different about the way Uncle was speaking to him, a shift in the dynamic that he couldn’t quite place. Since when did Uncle have this much faith in him, entrusting him with a mission of such importance without a detailed plan? Was this another test? Another way to gauge his loyalty and competence?

  “Is there something else I should know?” Thorne asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

  Uncle leaned forward, his gaze sharp. “Yes, there is. Later tonight, we’ll be having some very important guests. Lord Thornfield and his son will be joining us for a private meeting. I want you there.”

  Thorne felt his heart skip a beat. Lord Thornfield himself? And his son? Thorne had only seen the head of the Thornfield family from a distance, a commanding figure shrouded in rumors and whispers. His son, Kellan, was said to be quiet and reserved, the complete opposite of the Ravencourt heir.

  “You want me at the meeting?” Thorne repeated, his mind spinning. “Why?”

  Uncle’s smile was unreadable. “You’re my heir, Thorne. You need to start understanding the intricacies of our plans, the true stakes at play. Besides, you’ve proven yourself more than capable of handling delicate situations.”

  Thorne swallowed, a strange mix of emotions swirling in his chest. Was this trust? Genuine trust from the man who had taken him in, who had trained him, molded him into what he was today? Or was it just another layer of the endless web of manipulation that Uncle wove around everyone?

  “I see,” Thorne said finally, his voice measured. “I’ll be there.”

  Uncle nodded, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “Good. I have high expectations for you, Thorne. You’ve already come so far. Don’t disappoint me now.”

  Thorne forced a smile, his mind racing with possibilities. If this was a test, he would pass it. If it was a genuine show of faith, then perhaps there was an opening, a way to gain more power, more freedom.

  “Thank you, Uncle,” he said, his voice smooth and steady. “I won’t let you down.”

  As he left the study, his thoughts were a chaotic storm. Uncle’s words echoed in his mind, the implications of this newfound trust, or whatever it was, weighing heavily on him. This meeting could change everything. But more importantly, it could be the key to unlocking more of the power and influence he so desperately craved.

  A small, calculating smile crept onto his lips as he walked down the corridor. It was time to show them all just how capable he truly was.

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