Chapter 9 REFLECTION

The slow, deliberate footsteps echoed down the corridor long before his shadow fell over me.

I didn't move. Didn't look. Just sat there on the cold stone, my knees pulled tight, face damp and stinging. My sleeve moved on instinct-one rough wipe, then another-though the skin protested. It had been rubbed raw already.

The shadow stilled.

I knew it was him.

I rose too quickly. My joints ache in protest. The breath that left me was uneven, a battle lost before it began.

"Good evening, Prince Bernard." My voice was clipped. Too clipped. I turned, already halfway gone.

"Wait."

One word. No sharpness, no bark of authority. Still-it landed like iron.

I froze.

A beat passed. Then another.

I turned back, but only partially. Not enough to give him the dignity of my full attention.

He stood with arms clasped behind him, as though he were observing something far removed from himself. His face-collected. Too calm. It grated.

"May I know the reason behind your tears?"

I swallowed hard. No tremble escaped me this time. "No."

His silence didn't press. It lingered. Gentle, infuriating.

"May I know why I can't know the reason, then?"

That did it. My head snapped up.

"Because you are the reason. That's why."

It came out fast, too fast. And too honest.

A flicker passed through his eyes, quick and unreadable.

"Could you please..." I faltered, my voice thinning, "send me back home?"

He didn't answer. Just watched.

"At least there I can be hated in peace," I continued. "Not here. Not in a place where I'm a mistake the moment I walk into a room."

Still no response.

"You brought me here," I said, each word striking like the footfalls that had preceded him. "You stood there while they paraded me like something bought and borrowed. You, with your rank and silence. You let it happen."

The air thickened between us, stretched too tightly to breathe.

"You could've said something. Anything. But you didn't."

His expression didn't falter. Not once.

"I was just a name on parchment. Now I'm a contestant in trials I don't understand, surrounded by people who already decided I don't belong. I don't even know the rules-and yet I'm supposed to win something I never asked to fight for."

I blinked against the heat in my eyes.

"And yes," I said, softer now, "I'm scared."

The word landed in the space between us like something forbidden.

My arms dropped to my sides. I didn't have the strength to clutch at them anymore.

"So if you're curious why I cried in your beautiful, gilded palace, that's why."

Silence.

No wind. No murmuring guards. Just us. Or rather-me, cracking open before someone who might as well have been carved from marble.

Then, after what felt like years, he said, "Okay."

I stared. "Okay?"

He nodded.

"That's all you have to say?"

His voice remained level. "Have you calmed down?"

My mouth opened, then closed. I searched myself for the fire that had flared moments ago.

It was quieter now.

"I... think I have," I murmured.

His nod was slow this time, thoughtful. Measured.

No apology. No denial. Just... space.

And oddly, that was worse.

"You're not going to explain yourself?" I asked.

"No."

"You won't defend what they did?"

"No."

"Then why are you even here?"

His gaze held mine. "Because you needed someone to hear it."

I blinked, uncertain now. The room hadn't changed, and yet something felt different.

"I didn't cry for your attention," I muttered.

"I know."

"I don't need your comfort."

"I wasn't offering it."

I scoffed. "Then what do you want?"

He considered me. "To know if you still want to leave."

That caught me.

I hesitated. The answer should've been simple. Obvious. But the question didn't sound like a test. It sounded real.

"I don't belong here," I said at last.

"That wasn't the question."

I folded my arms, then let them drop again. "Do you think I'd stay?"

He didn't answer. But he didn't look away either.

"You think I'm some kind of project? A cause?" I challenged myself.

"No. I think you're someone who's had her choices stripped, and I regret being part of that. Even silently."

That shook something loose in me. Not a tear, not another outburst-just a crack. A small fracture.

"Then why not fix it?" I whispered.

He stepped forward, only once. Enough that the torchlight fell over both of us equally.

"Because I can't undo what's done. But I can change what comes next."

He waited.

Not for forgiveness.

Just for an answer I hadn't yet decided to give.

Bernard gave a slight nod. Measured. Final. As if that was all he needed to say before he began.

"The Trials," he said, his voice low and even, "are not games. They are not meant to entertain or inflate egos. They exist to strip contenders bare. To test judgment, not just strength. Patience. Endurance. Restraint."

His gaze held mine.

I didn't answer. Couldn't. My mouth had gone dry, and the cold air wasn't helping.

"You think this is about victory," he went on. "But it's about exposure. The trials show us who you are when nothing is left but grit."

He stepped forward, one slow pace that somehow made the space between us thrum.

"Whispering Pines will soon open positions of governance. You're not just competing. You're being measured. Prepared. You're not here to impress me, Helena. You're here to discover yourself."

The silence between us stretched. His words echoed like iron dropped into water-sinking slowly.

I thought of the hours spent training, the bruises I hadn't shown anyone. I thought of how I'd gritted my teeth through the pack's sneers, how I'd lied to myself, saying that if I just won... maybe I'd matter.

But governance? Leadership?

I looked down at my palms. Calloused. Blistered. Good for gripping swords, not guiding people.

He must've seen something shift in my expression, because he came even closer, boots brushing the hem of my cloak.

I swallowed. "Why are you being kind to me?"

The words escaped before I could soften them.

His brows didn't twitch, but his jaw did. A small flicker there.

"I help those who haven't yet realized they have strength."

He paused.

"You do. You're Helena Fangborn. Daughter of Bruno. He was known across three territories not for his blade, but for his mind. His restraint. His quiet will. And in you..."

He studied me, not like one measuring a threat, but like someone trying to decide if a bud might bloom.

"I see glimpses."

My breath caught. I stared at a point just past his shoulder. My vision blurred slightly at the edges.

"I'm not him."

"No," he said. "You're not. But the trials weren't designed for your father."

His tone hadn't lifted, hadn't fallen. It was steady. A tether.

"They were designed for wolves like you. One's still deciding who they want to be."

Something inside me loosened. Just slightly.

He wasn't mocking me. He wasn't speaking to flatter or persuade. He hadn't promised I'd win. Or survive. He only offered... a mirror. One I hadn't looked into before.

"You feel deeply," he added. "Most see that as a weakness. I don't."

My chest pulled tight. My fingers curled at my sides.

"You have tools others dream of. The freedom to feel. To speak your mind. To fall and get up again."

He leaned closer. Not enough to intimidate, but enough to anchor.

"Use that, Helena."

I blinked fast. Once. Twice. The lump in my throat burned like salt.

My lips parted, but I didn't know what I was trying to say.

He didn't wait.

"The trials won't spare you," he said. "But they won't destroy you unless you let them."

A long pause stretched between us.

"You will fall," he added. "Maybe more than once. The question is-what do you become after?"

Something flickered. Not pride. Not quite hope. But a pull. A wondering.

Could I?

I straightened-barely an inch-but it felt like a mountain.

"Thank you," I said, voice small but steady. "I'll reflect on your words, Prince Bernard."

He inclined his head. "Goodnight, Lady Helena."

He turned before I could say anything else, cloak sweeping behind him. But just before he disappeared around the corridor's curve, I saw it.

A twitch of his right hand behind his back. A slight flush at the tips of his ears.

Gone, just as quickly.

I stood there for a long moment, the corridor suddenly too quiet.

What... just happened?

The question hovered, unanswered.

And yet, beneath my ribs, something beat differently.

Not stronger.

Just... more awake.