I watched the gate open without a sound, swinging inward like the jaws of a monster. Torchlight spilt across the courtyard. The villa loomed above us. Ivy had claimed the lower courses, but someone had kept the lower portion clear. Garrick dismounted first, boots hitting stone with the dull thud. I tried to follow suit and nearly ate dirt.
My left leg buckled halfway down, thanks to my weight; the thigh muscle cramped up, sending pain rushing through my body. I caught the saddle horn with both hands, hung there gasping, then forced the rest of the descent. The horse snorted at me as I'd personally offended it.
Garrick didn't comment. He just took both sets of reins and jerked his head toward the main doors. Inside, it smelled of old stone, beeswax, and something faintly metallic, like old blood or old magic, I couldn't tell. The entry hall was big, with a vaulted ceiling lost in shadow, a wide staircase curling up into darkness.
A single lantern burned on a side table, throwing long fingers across black-and-white marble tiles. Someone, probably the staff who'd come ahead, had already lit fires in the hearths. The warmth felt good after the ride. ''Upstairs,'' Garrick said. ''Second door on the right. Drop your gear. You've got five minutes to piss, drink water, and change into something that won't rip when you sweat through it. Then meet me in the inner courtyard.''
I wanted to argue. My body was screaming for a bed and rest, for anything that wasn't moving. Instead, I nodded once, too tired to waste breath on words. The room was sparse, with a wide bed. I turned my gaze to the right and saw a chest, a washstand, and a narrow window overlooking the courtyard.
Following that, I stripped out of the ruined tunic, wincing at every pull against skin. My stomach hung soft and heavy, pale in the lantern light, marked with red pressure lines from the saddle. I stared at it for three heartbeats, the old hate rising like bile. Then I turned away, pulled on the linen shirt and loose trousers someone had left folded on the chest, and went downstairs.
The inner courtyard was smaller, walled on all four sides, open to the night sky. A ring of iron braziers had been lit. In the centre, someone had laid out a simple wooden frame: two uprights and a crossbar, maybe seven feet off the ground. Hanging from it by thick ropes were two leather medicine balls, each the size of a man's head, dark and cracked with age.
Garrick stood waiting, arms folded, axe still on his belt. He'd stripped down to a sleeveless tunic; the firelight showed the scars that mapped his forearms and shoulders like old rivers. ''First rule,'' he said as I stepped onto the gravel. ''We're not building muscle yet. That comes later. Right now we're carving off the excess. Every pound you carry that isn't useful is dead weight. So we start simple. You're going to carry those balls.''
I looked at them, wondering how much torture I'll endure this time. They looked heavy, making me gulp. ''Pick one up,'' he said.
The leather was cold and rough in my hands, heavier than it had any right to be, thirty pounds, maybe more. My arms were already spent from the afternoon's drills; they began to tremble almost at once, the weight biting deep, turning muscle to fire.
''Hold it against your chest. Walk the perimeter of the courtyard. Don't drop it,'' came the command. ''When you finish one full circuit, set it down. Rest for ten heartbeats. Then pick it up again. Do ten circuits. Then we switch to the other arm.''
When hearing his words, I stared at him. ''Both arms?''
''Eventually. Tonight, you get to use both at once. Consider it mercy.''
I started walking, and the first circuit was almost bearable. It was the second that made my shoulders burn. By the fourth, my lungs were on fire again, each breath scraping raw. The ball pressed into my sternum like a fist. Sweat ran into my eyes, stinging. The gravel crunched under my boots, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet.
Garrick walked beside me, not speaking, just watching. When I staggered on the sixth circuit, he said. ''Chest up. Core tight. If that belly sags forward, you're cheating yourself and wasting my time.''
I sucked in what passed for a stomach, felt the trembling protest of muscles I didn't know I had. On the eighth, I nearly dropped it. The leather slipped an inch; I clamped down harder, teeth gritted so tight I tasted blood. Garrick didn't help. Didn't even flinch as the pain was too much for me, but I kept going.
When I finished the tenth, I let the ball fall. It hit the gravel with a dull thud that echoed off the walls. I bent at the waist, hands on knees, trying not to vomit. ''Ten heartbeats,'' Garrick reminded me quietly.
I counted them in my head. One. Two. The world tilted as the exhaustion lingered. Seven. Eight. I straightened before he could call me on it. ''Now the other one,'' he said. ''Same rules. But this time you carry it overhead.''
I looked up at him, sure I'd misheard him. But he didn't blink or look bothered. I lifted the second ball. It felt heavier. Though I knew it wasn't, and pressed it overhead. My shoulders screamed, and my elbows locked, then tried to unlock them. I took one step. Then another. The courtyard lights blurred into streaks as I continued.
My arms shook so violently the ball wobbled like a drunk bird. Halfway around the first circuit, I felt something in my lower back give a warning twinge, sharp, bright, dangerous. I kept going anyway. Garrick spoke once, in a low, almost conversational voice. ''Every step you take with that weight overhead is one step closer to not dying when someone tries to stick a spear through your gut.''
I couldn't answer. Couldn't even nod. Just kept walking, one trembling foot in front of the other, the ball burning holes through my palms, the night air cold against sweat-soaked skin. By the time I finished the fifth overhead circuit, my arms were done, truly done. I lowered the ball slowly, and it slipped off the last foot, landing with a soft crunch.
Once that was done, I stood there swaying, chest heaving, staring at the gravel like it might permit me to collapse. Garrick stepped forward, close enough that I could smell the leather and smoke on him again. ''You didn't drop it once,'' he said. It wasn't praise. It was just a fact. ''That's something.''
Then he jerked his chin toward the main house. ''Water. Food. Bed. Dawn's in five hours. You'll be back out here with Selene, then I'll be back with the same balls, only this time we add a lap of the outer wall walk. Full circuit. Overhead both ways.''
I looked at him through the sweat and the blur. My voice came out cracked. ''You're trying to kill me.''
''No, princeling,'' he turned toward the doors, already dismissing me. ''I'm trying to keep you from killing yourself.''
He walked away, boots quiet on the gravel. I stayed there another minute, staring at the two leather balls lying like sleeping beasts in the firelight. My body hurt in places I hadn't known could hurt. My stomach still sagged, still soft, still hated. But for the first time since Selene had crouched beside me in the dirt, the hate didn't feel quite so useless.
I stood up and stretched as much as my body allowed. I limped toward my room, already dreading tomorrow, already counting the hours until I could pick those balls up again. I was exhausted, my body hurt all over as the pain was something else, but I knew it would be worth it when I finally lost this weight.
While walking, I spotted Lily coming out of the main hall. She froze the moment she saw me, then deliberately turned away to speak with three women who kept throwing glances my way. I couldn't blame her for hating me. Still, I wanted to make it right somehow, but that would have to wait.
I smiled at her before continuing my slow walk to my room. Once inside, I dropped onto the bed; the frame gave a long, protesting groan beneath my weight. I tuned it out, closed my eyes, and sank into my innerworld where the pain faded away. Then it suddenly hit, a cold, dark radiance surging through me, sharp and alive, invasive as black water flooding my veins.
The world tilted. Exhaustion crashed over me like a breaking wave, heavier than I'd ever felt. My connection to the inner world frayed, snapped, and I collapsed back into my body. The villa's distant sounds filtered in: soft footsteps on stone, the faint clink of dishes, a murmur of voices.
They wrapped around me, pushing me to fall asleep. My eyes drifted shut. Sleep claimed me before I could fight it.
***
(Garrick's POV)
''Who is this prince?'' I muttered to myself as I walked through the corridors, confused by the sudden change of my charge. ''Only the other day, he was berating me about missing a delivery of wine, but now?''
As I was lost in thought, a voice drifted to my ears, making me look up. I saw Lily Ashcroft, a dangerous woman to lower circle mages, standing there staring at me as if she was planning to kill me when the time was right. I never understood why the king assigned her to protect the fat prince.
She could kill him, but hasn't? I thought.
''Lord Garrick,'' she suddenly said, bowing her head. ''How was the prince's training? Didn't give up?''
''You already know the answer, girl,'' I growled. ''You were laughing with the other maids, you do realise he's still a prince of Verona?''
Lily flicked her hand, dismissing him like an annoying fly. A slow, predatory smirk curled across her lips. ''Well, your eyes are good. And yes, I know exactly who my tormentors are. I haven't forgotten a single thing he and the king did.''
The words hit like cold steel. I blinked, thrown. I knew the full, ugly story: the king had stripped Count Ashcroft of every title, banished him to the edge of the Duchy of Veyra to rot as a border guard. His daughter had been forced into service as a palace maid. And to twist the knife deeper, the third prince had made her life hell, tormenting her at every turn.
"I can see you trying to figure out my motives," the young woman finally said, a smirk still on her face. ''I do my job. That doesn't mean I have to make it pleasant for him.''
''I see, make sure you don't let people see it or even him,'' I suggested.
After that, I gave her one last look, the kind he reserved for soldiers who might still be useful, or might need watching. ''Keep your blade sheathed and your smiles sharper,'' I said, my voice low. ''He's still breathing. That's the only order that matters tonight.''
Lily's smirk didn't falter, but something colder moved behind her eyes. She inclined her head, not quite a bow, more an acknowledgement between two people who understood the rules of the game better than most. ''Goodnight, Lord Garrick,'' she replied, the title slipping out like a knife sheathed in silk. ''Sleep well. The dawn comes early for all of us.''
I narrowed my eyes at her words, then shook my head and turned toward my room. While walking, I was astonished by the transformation of the once-fat prince. The humiliation he had endured at the hands of servants, soldiers, even the Lion Guards was enough to break anyone, but it seems he wasn't giving up.
After that train of thought, I fell asleep planning many more ways to help the prince shed his weight so I can train him in combat.