‘Every step needs to become instinctual,’ Zelle continues. ‘We’re aiming for muscle memory so that your body, not your mind, is what controls how you move.’ He shifts into a low stance, knees bent, feet apart. His movements are precise and elegant, like a blade being drawn from its sheath.
‘Focus on balance first,’ he instructs. ‘Without balance, you fall.’
Kyor grins like a wolf scenting prey. ‘And falling means you die.’
I shoot him a glare, then mirror Zelle’s stance. My thighs, already tired from the last few days, start to burn almost instantly, and my back foot wobbles. Kyor doesn’t miss it. He steps in close, and I immediately prepare to back away, but he grasps my hip with one strong hand, the other reaching down to nudge my ankle wider. I tense until I realise he’s helping me get my stance right. What the fuck?
‘Too narrow,’ he says. His breath brushes my ear, his voice irritatingly smug. ‘You’d topple like a drunk with one push.’
The comment hits close to home, bringing up memories of finding my father sprawled on the floor too many times to count. I shake them off and focus on the present.
Because out of the two of us, there’s only one who arrived at the first ball barely able to stand and drinking from the bottle. ‘You’d know,’ I mutter.
‘Your stubbornness is going to be the death of you.’ He taps my shin with the flat of his boot. ‘Weight forward.’
Zelle clears his throat, the sound sharp as a whipcrack. ‘Less commentary, more correction.’
Kyor sighs but presses down lightly on my shoulder, forcing me lower. My legs tremble. ‘Better. Now move. Right foot first. Small steps. Keep your stance. Don’t cross your legs.’
I obey, shuffling forward. It feels clumsy and awkward, like learning to walk again. My arms flail, searching for balance, and Kyor chuckles drily.
‘Graceful as a baby deer.’
‘Shut up,’ I snap, then instantly lose my balance, lurching sideways. His hand clamps around my elbow before I can hit the ground, and heat flares in my cheeks at the contact, even more so when his smirk returns.
‘You’re welcome.’ He winks.
Zelle strides over, his expression flat as stone. He adjusts my foot himself, his grip firm but not rough, then gives Kyor a look that promises pain if he speaks again. It’s a moment I’ll cherish.
‘Muscle memory takes repetition,’ Zelle repeats. ‘Again. Left foot. Back. Hold your weight evenly.’
I grit my teeth and try again. Step. Step. Balance. Burn. Every correction feels like humiliation, yet beneath it all something steadier is forming. The muscle memory is slowly returning after years with no proper training. My body still aches, but my stance doesn’t falter as easily by the end of the session.
The whole time, Kyor circles me like a hawk, pointing out my mistakes with unbridled joy.
‘Why are you helping me?’ I mutter when Zelle is far enough away not to overhear.
‘You think I’d miss the opportunity to watch you humiliate yourself over and over?’ He grins. ‘Besides, I told Duarte I’d train you, and I’m a man of my word.’
‘You said you’drathertrain me than her, not that you would.’
He shrugs. ‘Zelle also bet me that I couldn’t make a decent fighter out of you. I like a challenge, and I was bored.’
I want to be furious that Zelle bet against me, but I have to admire the cunning. The challenge appeals to Kyor’s gargantuan ego, and if he’s busy trying to prove himself as a teacher, then he might be less inclined to kill me.
For the first time since I saw the other Rettlings fight, I actually feel optimistic.
The next weekis a blur of sleep, fighting, reading until my eyes get too heavy to stay awake, then waking up and doing the same again. Zelle keeps Kyor in check, but I continue to struggle with the training sessions. Having the prince’s hands on me is distracting, but little by little, I’m improving.
Every part of my body aches. Muscles in places I didn’t even know I had muscles have been stretched and strained to their limits. Baths are no longer the luxury they were when I first arrived, but a necessity.
‘Holden was pretty harsh on you this afternoon.’ Benny speaks between mouthfuls at our table that evening. ‘What was his problem today?’
‘Oh, just the usual. Me.’
Since our first conversation in the cave, Holden has varied his interactions with me, from completely ignoring me to criticising and belittling me at every possible opportunity.
‘That’s a great example of how to get killed easily’is one of his favourite lines, and it’s usually paired with a taunt about my father.‘He had sloppy footwork for a noble, but then again, that should hardly be a surprise, considering he wasn’t actually a noble, was he?’
