3: The Captain's Test

~ Kaia ~

I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw golden eyes staring at me across the rink.

*Mine.*

The word still echoed somewhere deep inside my chest. I told myself I hadn't actually heard it — there was no way I could have. Van Pierce had been halfway across the arena. Maybe I'd imagined it. Maybe the warmth in my chest was getting worse. Maybe Dad was right. Maybe I should've taken another pill.

I reached for my emergency bottle before I even climbed out of bed.

Three pills left.

I counted them twice before sliding the bottle back into my pocket. Somehow, that didn't make me feel any safer.

I sighed and sat up in bed. Today was my first session with the Royal Elite Unit. Somehow, that thought was even more terrifying than the strange prince who couldn't stop staring at me.

The private rink sat behind the main arena, hidden beneath a glass dome that overlooked the frozen mountains surrounding Crescent Moon Academy. It was beautiful. And completely empty.

Well — almost. Four figures stood on the ice.

The Pierce brothers. No other freshmen. No upperclassmen. Just them. And me.

A coach blew his whistle from the boards. "Blackwood."

I skated forward. Coach Dalton folded his arms. "The Royal Elite Unit trains separately from the rest of the academy."

I nodded. "I figured."

He looked almost amused. "Good." Then he turned toward Ryker. "Captain."

That was all he said. Apparently, that was enough.

Ryker pushed away from the boards and glided toward me with effortless precision. No wasted movement. No unnecessary expression. Everything about him felt controlled.

He stopped a few feet away and tossed me a puck. It landed perfectly on my stick.

"Show me."

*Not again.* Hadn't he already interrogated my pills once? Apparently that wasn't enough for him.

I blinked. "Show you what?"

His grey eyes remained unreadable. "Why Coach Dalton embarrassed himself by assigning you here."

My grip tightened around my stick. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

Behind him, Luca rubbed the back of his neck. Van crossed his arms. The fourth brother — the quiet one — simply watched.

I inhaled slowly. Fine. If he wanted to test me, I'd give him a test.

I pushed off. The puck danced across my stick as I accelerated — one crossover, sharp turn, fake shot, spin, backhand. Goal.

The puck snapped into the corner of the net. I looked back. Ryker hadn't even blinked.

"Again."

Luca muttered, just loud enough to carry, "He skipped breakfast."

Van's jaw flexed. "He's always like this before tournaments."

Neither of them looked away from me while they said it.

My eye twitched. Seriously?

I reset. Another shot. Another goal.

"Again."

Third attempt. Fourth. Fifth. By the seventh shot, sweat trickled down my back despite the freezing air. Every time, one word.

"Again."

The quiet brother crouched beside one of the faceoff circles, studying the marks my skates left behind in the ice.

"Interesting."

I frowned. "What?"

He looked up.

"Nothing."

Somehow, that answer bothered me more than anything Ryker had said all morning.

Finally, I lowered my stick. "What exactly are you looking for?"

"The truth."

I frowned. "It's hockey."

"No." His gaze never left mine. "It's discipline."

Something about the way he said it irritated me. Maybe because I'd spent years sacrificing everything just to stand on this ice. Maybe because he hadn't bothered learning my name before deciding I wasn't good enough. Or maybe because he looked at me like he could already see every secret I was hiding.

Two hours later, my legs burned. Coach Dalton had disappeared somewhere during drills, leaving everything in Ryker's hands. Worst decision ever.

"Twenty sprint laps."

I stared at him. "We just finished fifteen."

"Now you'll do twenty."

"Are you trying to kill me?"

"No." His answer came instantly. "If I were trying, you'd know."

Luca coughed into his glove, clearly hiding a laugh. I shot him a look. He mouthed, *Sorry.* Not helpful.

I pushed off again. One lap. Five. Eight. Ten. The cold air scraped my lungs raw. By lap fifteen, the familiar warmth returned — low at first, then stronger, spreading beneath my ribs like someone had lit a match inside my chest.

No. Not now. Please, not now.

I slowed near the bench, pretending to retie my skate. Instead, I slipped my hand into my pocket. The emergency bottle. My fingers closed around it. Relief flooded me.

"What are you doing?"

My head snapped up. Ryker stood directly in front of me. Too close. His eyes dropped to my closed fist.

"Nothing."

"What are you holding?"

I hesitated. "...Painkillers."

"Show me."

The rink fell strangely quiet. Even Luca stopped smiling. I looked from Ryker to my hand.

No. If he saw the pills, questions would follow. Questions I couldn't answer.

I straightened slowly. "With all due respect, Captain—" I met his eyes. "No."

Nobody spoke. Even the scrape of skates against ice seemed to disappear.

Ryker stepped closer. "You don't refuse my orders."

His voice never rose. It didn't have to.

"I do when they're unreasonable."

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "I asked to see medication."

"I said no."

"Why?"

*Because if I stop taking them, I don't know what I'll become.*

Instead I shrugged. "I don't like sharing."

For one long second, neither of us moved. Then, unexpectedly, Ryker stepped back.

"Finish your laps."

That was it. No argument. No punishment. Just another order. I frowned. That wasn't the reaction I'd expected.

The final drill was announced ten minutes later. Coach Dalton had returned just in time.

"One-on-one."

My stomach dropped. Ryker tossed another puck toward me. "You and me."

Luca actually winced. "Good luck," he muttered. I wasn't sure whether he meant it sincerely or as a condolence.

The whistle blew. I attacked first. Ryker didn't — he simply waited. I feinted left. Nothing. Right. Nothing. He moved so smoothly it felt like skating against a mirror. Every opening I thought I'd found disappeared before I reached it.

I accelerated. He matched me. I cut across the slot. He stole the puck so cleanly I barely felt it leave my stick.

Then a gentle tap against my skate. My balance disappeared. I landed flat on the ice, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs.

Out of the corner of my eye, Van took one step toward me. He stopped himself almost immediately, his hands curling into fists. Whatever had made him move, he clearly hadn't meant to.

For a heartbeat, nobody moved.

I wanted to stay on the ice. Just for another second. Not because I was hurt. Because standing up felt too much like admitting he'd been right.

Then a gloved hand appeared in front of me. Ryker, offering to help me up.

I stared at it. Then planted my stick against the ice and climbed to my feet on my own. "I'm fine."

His hand lowered. Something shifted in his expression. Not satisfaction. Recognition. Like I'd finally given him the answer he'd been looking for.

It vanished before I could be sure I'd seen it.

Coach Dalton blew the whistle. "Training dismissed."

I was halfway to the locker room when voices drifted from the rink behind me. I shouldn't have listened. I did anyway.

Luca spoke first. "You were too hard on him."

A pause. Then Ryker's calm voice. "No." Another silence. "I wasn't hard enough."

I rolled my eyes. Unbelievable. I tightened my grip on my hockey bag and started walking again. Arrogant jerk.

As I reached the exit, another voice floated after me. Quiet. Thoughtful. The brother who rarely spoke.

"You're testing him."

Silence. No denial. No explanation. Just silence.

I stepped into the hallway before they could say anything else. My heartbeat hadn't slowed since practice. My shoulder ached. My chest still felt strangely warm. And for reasons I couldn't explain, Ryker's final words stayed with me far longer than they should have.

*"Talent gets people noticed."*

His voice had been calm. Matter-of-fact.

*"Discipline keeps them alive."*

I frowned. For a hockey captain, that sounded less like coaching, and more like a warning.

And somehow, I had the terrifying feeling he hadn't been talking about hockey at all.