I woke up the next morning, groaning thanks to intense pain rushing through my body. Not the clean, dramatic kind you read about, no fresh sword cuts or bruises. Just the slow ache that hadn't been asked to do anything harder than climb stairs in years. My lower back felt like someone had wedged a plank under it overnight.
My knees creaked when I shifted. Even my neck had decided it had opinions. I lay there on my back, staring up at the shadowed beams of the ceiling, listening to my own breathing. It sounded. Dawn was creeping in through the window, pale and thin, like it wasn't sure it wanted to be here either.
Somewhere far off, a rooster screamed its head off, probably the one the cooks kept threatening to turn into stew. I almost envied it. ''Right,'' I muttered to the empty room. ''Day one. Try not to die before breakfast.''
Rolling over took effort. Sitting up took more. The mattress sighed in relief as I finally hauled myself upright. My feet hit the cold stone floor, sending a complaint up through my ankles. I stood, slowly, carefully, gripping the bedpost like an old man until the room stopped pretending it was on a ship.
I didn't look in the mirror. Mirrors are for people who have something worth looking at. I'd earn that later. Maybe. The wardrobe was mercifully simple today, no embroidered velvet with fifty buttons that would've popped like crossbow bolts. I pulled on a loose linen tunic, wool trousers with a drawstring, and the softest boots I owned.
They still felt tight around the calves. Everything felt tight. But it was honest clothing. Good for moving, not posing. The great hall was already awake when I pushed through the doors. Legionnaires filled most of the long tables, half-armoured, eating like machines. The smell hit me hard.
Fresh bread, sizzling bacon, smoked fish, honeyed porridge, fried eggs, sausages, the works. I can't eat it, I need something healthier.
My stomach let out a noise that could've woken the dead. I ignored it. Instead of drifting toward the high table and its usual mountain of pastries and cream, I turned left, straight to the plain end of the serving tables. The one the common soldiers used. The one nobody ever expected a prince to notice.
Boiled eggs, I ate them back on Earth, I mused. Shouldn't be too bad.
Two. No salt. A small bowl of plain oats. No milk. No honey. No dried fruit. One thick slice of coarse brown bread. A fistful of steamed greens that looked like they'd been punished. A tin cup of black tea so bitter it could've stripped rust off armour. I felt the change in the room the second I started filling the tray.
Conversations died mid-sentence. A scarred centurion with a face like old leather actually lowered his tankard and stared at me like I'd grown a second head. I carried the tray to the nearest empty spot on the soldiers' benches, not the high table, not even the officers' row, and sat.
The bench groaned under me. I didn't care. I cracked the first egg. Peeled it. Ate it in two bites. No seasoning. No complaint. The silence was thick enough to cut. Then Lily appeared in the doorway, tray already balanced on one arm, the way she always did when she had to serve me directly.
She stopped dead. Her eyes went from my face to the tray, to the sad little pile of food, back to my face, and blinked. Once. Twice. ''My prince?''
''Morning, Lily,'' I said, not looking up from peeling the second egg.
''You're… eating here.''
''I am.''
''With the men?''
I tried some of the black tea. It tasted like regret and burnt leaves. I took another sip anyway. ''Seemed like the right place to start.''
A low ripple of murmurs spread through the nearest tables. Someone coughed into his fist, probably to hide a laugh. Another man muttered something I didn't quite catch, but it definitely sounded like never thought I'd live to see it. Lily set her tray down with careful slowness, like the world might crack if she moved too fast.
She leaned in just a little, voice low. ''You hate oats. You've thrown bowls at people, and I never expected you to like that type of food.''
''Old me did,'' I said quietly, finally meeting her gaze. ''New me is trying not to collapse in the training yard.''
I glanced at the high windows, judging the light. ''About fifteen minutes.''
She stared at me for a long moment. Something moved behind her expression, confusion, suspicion, maybe the tiniest flicker of something else I couldn't name. She straightened. ''You'll need more than that if you're facing Lady Selene at dawn and Lord Garrick at dusk.''
''I know,'' I scraped the last of the oats around the bowl. ''But it's a start.''
Across the hall, a young legionnaire finally cracked. He leaned toward his mate and stage-whispered, loud enough for half the room. ''Ahriman, be good. The fat prince is eating like a recruit on latrine duty.''
Rough laughter rolled through the tables. Not cruel. More like men watching a bear try to juggle. Astonished. Amused. Not quite friendly, but not hostile either. I didn't react. Just kept eating. Slow. Steady. When the bowl was empty, I stood, knees and back both complaining, and picked up the tray myself.
Walked it to the hall's hatch where the dirty dishes are cleaned. Set it down. Turned and left. Every eye followed me out. I heard Lily's voice behind me, soft, almost to herself, as I passed through the doorway. ''Well. This ought to be interesting and satisfying.''
Outside, the morning air was cold and clean. I stopped just beyond the threshold, took one deep breath, then another as my back was starting to hurt. The yard was already alive with the distant ring of practice blades and the crunch of boots on gravel. Selene would be waiting.
This was the beginning, day one, I expected no mercy and had no excuses because I needed to better myself if this was to be my new life. I stepped out into the corridor, the cold stone under my boots already making my legs feel heavier than they should. The breakfast sat like a lead weight in my stomach, but at least it wasn't fighting to come back up.
Lily trailed behind, expression somewhere between professional duty and barely concealed curiosity. She didn't say anything at first. Just fell into step beside me as I started down the long hallway toward the start of my journey. The silence stretched for maybe ten paces before she broke it.
''You really meant it,'' she commented, voice low.
I kept my eyes forward. ''I said I did.''
She let out a small huff, half laugh, half disbelief. ''Sorry, My Prince. But it was hard to believe, especially without demanding honey, cream, or someone else's share of their next meal.''
''Progress is slow,'' I muttered.
She glanced sideways at me. ''The men are already talking. By noon, half the Legionnaires and Lion Guards will think you've been possessed.''
''Let them,'' my breath came a little shorter now, and even that was enough to remind me how out of shape I was. ''Better they think I'm mad than the same spoiled bastard I was.''
Lily didn't reply right away. When she did, her tone was different, excitement hidden under her fake concern. ''You know the lady won't go easy. She's not like Garrick. He breaks bodies with discipline. She… enjoys it.''
I swallowed at the thought. ''I gathered.''
We turned the corner, and the air sharpened, carrying the tang of oiled steel and sweat. Through the wide stone archway ahead, the tavern's yard stretched, mist curling low across gravel and worn wooden dummies. Dawn light painted everything gold and grey. Wooden dummies stood in uneven, scarred from years of abuse.
Racks of practice weapons glinted dully. In the centre of it all stood Lady Selene. She looked exactly as dangerous as I remembered from yesterday. The crimson cape hung motionless from her shoulders despite the faint morning breeze, as if even the wind knew better than to disturb her.
Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight braid that reached her lower back. She held a slender training sword loosely in one hand, point resting on the gravel, and she was watching the archway. She was watching me. Her blue eyes locked on as soon as I appeared. A slow, predatory smile curved her lips.
Lily slowed her steps, stopping just inside the wide arch, about ten paces behind me. ''This is as far as I go.''
Her voice dropped. ''Try not to die in the first five minutes. It would be… inconvenient.''
I gave her a tired nod. ''Noted.''
She lingered for half a heartbeat longer, long enough that I thought she might say something else, then turned and disappeared back into the corridor like a shadow. I was alone now. Selene didn't move as I approached. She just watched, head tilted slightly, like a hawk deciding whether the mouse below was worth the dive.
When I stopped a respectful distance away, maybe ten feet, she finally spoke, voice smooth and rich. ''You're on time. That's new.''
Her gaze travelled over me slowly, appraising. ''And dressed for labour instead of a banquet. Also new.''
I squared my shoulders as best I could. ''I told you I'd be here.''
''You did,'' she lifted the training sword, twirled it once in a lazy circle that somehow looked both effortless and lethal. ''And I told you it wouldn't be easy.''
''I remember.''
The older woman stepped forward, closing the distance until she was close enough that I could smell the faint leather and metal polish on her armour. Up close, she was even more intimidating, lean muscle visible even under the plates, eyes sharp enough to cut. ''First rule,'' she said softly. ''No whining. No excuses. No 'my prince' privileges. Here, you're just another body that needs breaking and rebuilding.''
I met her gaze. ''Good. I don't want privileges.''
Her smile sharpened. ''We'll see how long that lasts.''
Selene turned abruptly and walked toward the centre, beckoning with two fingers without looking back. ''Come. We start with conditioning. No weapons yet. Just you, me, and the ground.''
The gravel crunched under my boots. My heart was already thudding too hard. She stopped beside a low wooden beam that had been dragged into place, probably just for this. It was maybe knee-high, rough, weathered. ''Burpees," she instructed. ''Until I tell you to stop. Then we move to sprints. Then bear crawls. Then we see if you can still stand.''
I stared at the beam, gulping at the thought of what was to come. Then at her. She raised one perfect eyebrow. ''Problem?''
''No,'' my voice came out steadier than I felt. ''Just… counting how many ways this is going to hurt.''
''All of them,'' she purred. ''Now drop and give me twenty to warm up.''
I dropped. The first push-up nearly buckled my arms. The first burpee felt like my soul left my body. Selene watched, arms folded, that dangerous little smile never fading. Day one had truly begun. And gods help me, I was going to crawl through every second of it. The yard didn't empty after I went down the first time.
It filled. I noticed it between gasps, boots lining the rail, silhouettes stacking two and three deep. Word had spread. The prince was on the ground, and not for show. I could feel their attention like a weight pressing me into the dirt.
''Up.''
Selene's voice didn't soften. It never did. I tried. My arms shook so badly I barely trusted them to be mine. I pushed, rolled, and dragged myself halfway upright before my own body betrayed me, my belly pulling me back down, heavy and useless. My tunic slid up, soaked through, exposing soft flesh that bounced obscenely with the effort.
I heard someone whistle. Not cruel. Interested. Selene was beside me instantly, already uncorking a vial. ''Drink.''
I shook my head. I couldn't swallow. My mouth felt like sand. She didn't care. She forced my jaw open and poured. The potion hit like fire and ice at once, burning through my veins, pushing my heart to work harder than it wanted to. I wasn't stronger. I was trying to become better.
''Come, you can keep going, My Prince.''
I got up. Wobbling. Humiliated. Watched. ''Twelve laps,'' she said, pointing. ''No stopping.''