He was tall, of course, and moved with the kind of practiced ease that made the crystal armor look less like protection and more like an extension of him. He looked to be in his mid-twenties. Young, but not untested. His skin was the color of sun-warmed bronze, his jaw square and clean-shaven, with dark eyes that glinted with quiet amusement the moment they met mine. His hair was cropped short on the sides, longer on top and pushed back. In another life, he might have been an actor cast to play a war hero. Here, I had the awful suspicion he was one.
"Your Highness," he said with a faint bow, the smile on his lips bordering on wicked. "It will be my absolute pleasure to break you."
There was laughter in his tone, though there was no mockery. Instead, it had a youthful playfulness.
"What arrogance!" I shot back, though even I heard the edge of surprise in my tone. No one else in this palace had been so blunt. Everyone spoke in riddles and veiled courtesies. His directness caught me off guard.
"It is not arrogance, Darian. It is reality," the king said flatly, cutting off the exchange before it could spark further. Still, I noticed he made no move to chastise Orien for the remark.
"Tomorrow, you will join Lord Orien at the training grounds." Orien shot me a sympathetic look that I didn't quite understand.
"I look forward to working with you, Your Highness." He crossed his left arm over his stomach and gave a nod that was formal and practiced. Not a gesture I recognized. It didn't feel like anything from courtly etiquette, and after all the session with Cerys, I was fairly certain I'd have known if it came from the nobility. I would guess it's military in nature, though I couldn't be sure.
I decided to simply bow to my father in acknowledgement, leaving without another word. It would probably come across as rude, but that's the privilege of this body!
Ella was waiting outside when I stepped from the study, worry briefly flickering across her face before she fell into step beside me. We returned to my chambers in silence. After dismissing her for the night, I stripped out of the formal wear and changed into a plain silk sleep set.
Curious, I took a quick sniff of the discarded clothes. I'd been sweating, which was no surprise, considering how massive this palace was, but there was no body odor smell, just the too powerful cologne they drenched onto them. Maybe people here didn't have body odor? That would be convenient. Still, I felt gross. I'd need a proper bath soon. Hopefully tomorrow, if time allowed.
Not that time seemed to be on my side anymore. I had training in the morning now. And lessons… whenever those were supposed to happen. I'd just kind of shown up today, so I had no idea what the real schedule was. Cerys had been there, so probably sometime in the morning. Unless that changed now that my life included combat drills.
The moment my head hit the pillow, the weight of the day pulled me under like a stone. For a brief, glorious moment, it was pure bliss.
Then I hit the cold, hard floor.
I jolted awake in a daze, heart racing as I scrambled to sit up. Orien stood above me, arms crossed, looking down with the calm satisfaction of someone who had absolutely meant to do that. He was no longer in armor, just a loose, laced shirt and fitted trousers, a finely crafted sword resting at his side. His expression carried the faintest trace of amusement.
"Time to get up and ready, Your Highness."
"Ready? You just—did you seriously throw me out of bed?"
"You have five minutes," he said, cutting me off without hesitation, "or we begin with endurance training."
He cut me off. I wanted to argue more, and so did Darian, but my better sense took hold. I swallowed my pride with a grimace.
Wordlessly, I got up and shuffled to the wardrobe, pulling out clothes that looked similar to what Orien was wearing. The fabric was simple but well-made: a sleeveless tunic and fitted trousers that clung a little too well for my taste. I dressed quickly, fumbling with the unfamiliar fastenings while trying to will my brain into alertness. My limbs still felt heavy, like they hadn't gotten the memo that sleep time was over.
This wasn't what I'd signed up for. I'd hoped that, if training was inevitable, it'd be the quiet, mystical kind. Maybe some light meditation under a tree, a few glowing runes, and the occasional floaty orb.
Once I finally got the clothes sitting right and laced up my boots, I barely had time to straighten up before Orien barked, "Over time, Your Highness. For that, we'll be starting with a brisk pace to the training grounds."
Then he turned and sprinted.
I stood there, stunned for half a second at the sheer absurdity of it, then scrambled after him as he rounded the nearest corner, nearly vanishing from view.
Despite the fact that he was clearly leagues faster than me, I managed to keep him just barely in sight. But the pace was brutal. Every turn, every hallway blurred past in a haze of effort and regret. I had wanted to start building a mental map of this absurdly massive palace, but at this speed, it was all a blur.
And stairs. So many damn stairs.
By the time we finally burst out into a wide courtyard teeming with knights in training, my lungs felt like they were ready to explode. I stumbled to a halt in the center of the field, collapsing to my knees the moment I caught up with Orien. Every breath burned, and sweat stung my eyes, blurring the world into a miserable, sunlit haze.
"You've been neglecting your training far too long, Your Highness."
"F–fuck you." I didn't have the strength to keep up the noble act anymore.
Then again, had I managed it with this guy at all? a small voice in my head offered helpfully.
Orien let out a low laugh, then grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet like I weighed nothing.
"It's a bit early in the morning to start cursing me," he said, clearly amused. "I can only imagine what you'll be calling me by the end of today."
He made a quick hand gesture to someone behind me, and I finally took stock of the courtyard around us.
The courtyard was massive, a sun-drenched expanse of packed earth ringed by tall stone walls and reinforced wooden fencing. Sweat hung thick in the air, mingling with the sharp scent of oiled leather and steel. Knights and guards moved with purpose across the grounds, their drills forming a rhythm of clashing blades, barked commands, and the steady thud of boots on dirt.
To the left, an open sparring ring was bordered by wooden posts and rope, where pairs of trainees clashed with blunted swords under the watchful eyes of instructors. Nearby, a rack of practice weapons stood at attention: wooden swords, steel replicas, weighted staffs, all worn smooth from constant use.
To the right, a running track circled the yard, its perimeter lined with barrels, hurdles, and uneven terrain designed to trip up the careless or slow. A group of younger recruits were mid-sprint, faces red and drenched in sweat as they pushed through yet another lap.
At the far end, a raised platform shaded by a slanted awning housed training dummies. Some were stuffed with straw, others made of segmented wood and metal, designed to rotate and strike back if hit incorrectly. Beyond them stood reinforced scaffolds with ropes for climbing, weighted pulleys for strength training, and a narrow balance beam laid over a shallow pit filled with sand.
The recruit Orien had signaled brought over two wooden swords, though up close, they didn't look entirely wooden. Thin blue lines ran along the length of each blade like veins, and the pommel was capped with a crystal of the same color. When the young woman handed one to me, her expression barely masking her disdain, I grasped it and immediately felt something strange.
There was a pull. A subtle connection, like a thread running from the crystal pommel straight to the center of my being.
Cerys had explained this yesterday. All mages possessed something called a mana core, the place where magical energy was stored and shaped. It was located in the stomach, more or less, but it wasn't a physical organ. You couldn't cut someone open and find a glowing crystal inside. It was more conceptual. An internal presence. During training, she said, everyone eventually formed the same mental image: a perfectly circular crystal of mana, suspended just behind the navel.
"I take it from that expression you've never held one of these before, Your Highness." Orien's tone was light, almost teasing, but the scrunched up look on the departing recruit's face told me this was shameful.
"No worries," he continued, casually. "They're simple enough to grasp."
Before I could ask what he meant, his body moved faster than my eyes could follow. In the blink of an eye, I was flat on my back, staring up at the pale morning sky. My chest ached from the sudden impact, the breath knocked clean from my lungs.
"These lovely tools allow us to spar properly without risking real injury," Orien said, somewhere out of my field of view.
"Then why," I wheezed, "does it feel like you just cracked a rib?"
"Because what use is training if you can't feel the blow?" he replied, far too cheerfully. "Without that sword, Your Highness, your chest would be over there somewhere."
With a heavy breath and a muttered curse, I dragged myself back to my feet.
Orien didn't offer a hand or a word of encouragement. He simply stepped back and began calling out drills. I followed, sword in hand, too tired to argue.
We started with basic swings. High. Low. Side to side. Over and over. Sometimes he had me repeat the same motion twenty times in a row, correcting my grip or stance with sharp words and sharper looks. Other times, he barked a command and then changed it halfway through, forcing me to adjust mid-motion.
The sun crept higher as the drills dragged on. Sweat soaked through my shirt, stung my eyes, and left my hands slick on the hilt. My arms trembled with every swing.
By the time he finally said, "You may put the sword down," I could barely lift it. My arms felt like dead weight, and I was fairly certain I'd never lift them above my waist again.
"Hm. I'd say your tendencies lend themselves to the Azure Vein Style," Orien said, circling me like he was assessing a half-built statue. "Your build and disposition don't suit the more aggressive Skaarnbreaker Form Princess Thalia favors, and your mana control's too poor to follow the magery paths Prince Alric and Princess Mirelle follow."
I wanted to say I had absolutely no idea what any of those words meant, but I lacked the strength to speak. Instead, I just glared at him, hoping the force of my confusion would somehow burrow into his skull.
"Yeah, yeah, I get it." He waved a hand. "Azure Vein's a finesse style. It relies on mana control. You shape patterns through the blade, infusing it with temporary properties. Harder to predict. Trickier to read. With your birthright in the mix, you might actually look passable by next season."
Next season?
He gave me a look. "Did you already forget the academy? Or were you hoping to weasel out of it because of the engagement?"
...Right. The academy. That had been mentioned, hadn't it? Felt like weeks ago.
"You really ought to pay more attention to the world around you, Your Highness," Orien said, clearly enjoying himself. "Part of this agreement involves admitting an Auremath national—your fiancée—into Thalvane Academy. Even if her age makes the whole thing a bit of a joke."
Her age? That caught me off guard. I hadn't connected the dots between the engagement and school. That was its own kind of nightmare. But why did he say her age made it humorous?
"You know, those long-eared fair folk of Auremath live long lives," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "They say developmentally, she's about your age. But I find it hard to believe anyone who's lived forty-seven years still acts like a teenager."
Forty-seven?! For once, I actually agreed with Orien. How do you set up a forty-seven-year-old with a fifteen-year-old? That was older than I was before I ended up here.
"Hey, don't worry too much," he said, grinning. "I hear she's a real beauty, at least."
Before I could recover, a hesitant voice interrupted from behind us.
"Uhm, excuse me, Your Highness. Lord Orien. It's time for your patrol."
A young male recruit stood at attention, throwing occasional glances my way. Not the respectful kind, either. The kind that said what is wrong with this guy?
How dare he stare at me like that? What could possibly give a recruit like him the audacity—
"Thanks, Jory," Orien said with a nod. "We'll wrap it up here."
We most certainly will not. I demand an answer from this insolent whelp.
"If you wish to reprimand him, Your Highness, you'll have to use your words," Orien said without missing a beat. "Though I personally hope you'll be merciful. He's a good kid."
Wait—what? I wasn't saying that out loud. How could he know?
My eyes snapped to him.
Do you read minds?
Orien just smirked.