He returned to his desk, each movement measured and deliberate. "If you endanger this House with foolish impulses, boy, there will be consequences."

The threat required no elaboration, Callen's reputation for ruthless efficiency was well-earned. "Kaelor will keep you under closer observation from now on. You will not leave the estate without his escort. You will not engage with anyone outside this household without permission."

Soren clenched his jaw, humiliation burning through his exhaustion. Reduced to a watched child after weeks of hard-won respect.

"The Cathedral Watch has a long memory," Callen continued, his tone suggesting he was discussing something as mundane as the weather. "And while House Velrane has certain... protections, they extend only so far. Do not test their limits again."

The dismissal was clear and absolute. Soren bowed stiffly, the movement sending fresh pain lancing through his shoulder, then turned to leave.

"One more thing," Callen said as Soren reached the door. "Naeria Veyl is more dangerous than you realize. Remember that, should your paths cross again."

---

The library doors were slightly ajar when Soren passed later that evening, lamplight spilling into the darkened corridor. He slowed, recognizing Veyr's silhouette among the towering bookshelves.

The heir stood with his back to the door, fingers tracing the spine of an ancient tome, his posture suggesting deep thought rather than casual browsing.

Soren hesitated, then continued toward his quarters. He had no desire for another confrontation, another reminder of his precarious position.

"You might as well enter," Veyr called without turning. "You've been summoned by my father and needled by my brother. It seems only fitting that I complete the family's attention."

Soren pushed the door open wider, stepping into the warm glow of the library. The familiar scent of old parchment and leather bindings wrapped around him, momentarily soothing the tension that had coiled in his chest since the previous evening.

Veyr finally turned, his pale eyes assessing Soren with that familiar calculating intelligence. Unlike his father's cold fury or Ayren's mocking amusement, Veyr's expression held something closer to academic curiosity.

"You look terrible," he observed, setting his book aside. "Though I suppose that's to be expected after outrunning the Cathedral Watch half the night."

Soren remained near the door, wary of whatever new reprimand awaited. "I've already been lectured by your father."

"I'm not here to lecture you." Veyr moved to a reading table where several large volumes lay open, their pages covered in diagrams similar to those Soren had glimpsed in Naeria's spilled books. "I'm here to inform you."

He gestured toward one of the volumes. "Naeria Veyl was not always a fugitive. She was Archivist of the Grand Library. Her fall was... unusual. Dangerous."

Soren approached the table cautiously. The open book showed intricate patterns that seemed to shift when viewed directly, runes spiraling in configurations that made his eyes water. "What did she do?"

"That's the interesting question." Veyr's fingers traced one of the diagrams. "Officially, she accessed forbidden texts. Transcribed heretical theories. Attempted unauthorized rites." His voice dropped slightly. "Unofficially? She discovered something the Church would rather remain buried."

The shard against Soren's chest pulsed once, a brief flare of cold that made him suppress a shiver.

"The books she carried," Soren said, remembering the strange volumes that had spilled across the cobblestones. "They had symbols like these."

Veyr's pale eyes narrowed, suddenly more focused. "Did you touch them?"

"No. Just saw them when she dropped her satchel."

Veyr seemed to relax marginally. "Good. Some knowledge is dangerous merely in proximity." He closed the volume before him with careful movements. "If she crossed your path, it was no accident, Soren. Naeria Veyl doesn't do anything without calculation."

"She didn't know me," Soren protested. "She only recognized me after, from the tournament."

"Did she?" Veyr's expression remained skeptical. "Or did she want you to believe that?" He straightened, wincing slightly at some hidden pain that his careful posture usually concealed. "Be cautious."

–

The sword struck the wooden post with a dull thwack, sending splinters flying in all directions. Before Soren could reset his stance, a booted foot swept his legs from beneath him.

He crashed to the hard-packed dirt, air exploding from his lungs as his injured shoulder slammed against the ground.

"Too slow," Kaelor growled, looming over him like a disapproving shadow. "Again."

Soren pushed himself up, ignoring the fresh wave of pain that radiated from his half-healed wound. Three days since Lord Callen's decree, and the training yard had transformed from sanctuary to prison. What had once been his escape now felt like just another chain.

"Your left guard drops every third exchange," Kaelor said, circling him with predatory focus. "An opponent who knows to wait for it will gut you like a festival pig."

Sweat stung Soren's eyes as he resumed his stance, sword raised despite the trembling in his arms.

Four hours they'd been at this already, the morning sun climbing higher in a sky that promised no relief. His muscles burned with fatigue, bandages beneath his shirt damp with sweat and fresh blood where Trescan's wound had reopened yet again.

"I need water," he managed between ragged breaths.

Kaelor's scarred face twisted in what might have been amusement. "And I need a Blade who follows orders instead of chasing fugitives through tannery districts." He tapped Soren's sword with his own. "Until then, we drill."

From the edge of the yard came muffled laughter. Three of House Velrane's knights watched the spectacle with poorly disguised satisfaction, their morning practice abandoned in favor of this more entertaining display.

"Look at the wolf now," one muttered, voice pitched to carry. "Collared and leashed like the mongrel he is."

"Callen should've had him flogged," another replied. "Cathedral doesn't forgive interference."

Soren kept his eyes on Kaelor, refusing to acknowledge the audience. The shard against his chest remained cold and silent, Valenna unusually withdrawn since his confrontation with Lord Callen.

"Focus," Kaelor snapped, blade flashing toward Soren's exposed side. "You think those vultures are your problem? The Cathedral Watch has your scent now. They're the ones you need to worry about."

Steel met steel with a screech that set Soren's teeth on edge. He parried Kaelor's strike, feet sliding in the dirt as he absorbed the impact. His counter came a heartbeat too slow, easily deflected by the Swordmaster's casual flick.

"You don't leave these walls without me," Kaelor continued, pressing forward with a series of rapid strikes that drove Soren back toward the watching knights. "You don't speak to anyone I haven't approved. You don't breathe without my say-so until Lord Callen decides you're worth the risk again."

Each word landed like a physical blow, hammering home the reality of his new circumstances.

The freedom he'd earned through blood in the tournament ring had evaporated like morning mist, replaced by a surveillance so constant it felt like another presence inside his skin.

"I understand," Soren gritted out, parrying another vicious strike.

"Do you?" Kaelor's voice dropped, meant only for Soren's ears as they locked blades. "Because the alternative isn't pretty. Nobles don't waste resources on liabilities, boy. Either you prove your worth under these conditions, or you become expendable."

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