William arrived before dawn.
Grog saw him from the window—a figure in dark clothes, moving uncertainly through the gray light, stopping at the edge of the yard like he wasn't sure he was allowed. No servants. No guards. Just him.
Grog went down.
William was standing at the rack of practice swords, looking at them like they might bite. He jumped when Grog appeared.
"I didn't—I was just—" He stopped. Took a breath. "I wanted to be early."
Grog studied him. The prince's clothes were plain, chosen for movement, not for show. His hands were soft, unmarked. His face was eager in a way that was almost painful to look at.
"Why?"
William blinked. "Why what?"
"Why do you want to learn?"
William opened his mouth. Closed it. For a moment, he looked young—younger than his years, younger than Aldric, younger than anyone who'd seen what was coming.
"My father—the King—he's old. He's sick." William's voice was quiet. "Everyone pretends he's not. But I see it. When he walks, when he talks, when he forgets things." He looked at Grog. "Edward will be King someday. Not me. I'll be... whatever he needs me to be."
Grog waited.
"But I want to be something. Not just a prince who sits in palaces and watches. I want to be someone who can fight. Who can protect people. Who can—" He stopped. "I want to be like you."
Grog was quiet for a long moment.
Then he picked up a practice sword. Held it out.
"You want to learn. You start at the beginning."
---
The beginning was footwork.
William's feet were wrong. He stood like a noble, weight back, chest forward, the way people stood when they'd never had to move fast. Grog corrected him. William adjusted. Grog corrected him again.
"No. You're still leaning. Your weight should be forward, on the balls of your feet. You need to be able to move, not pose."
William tried again. His weight shifted forward. His balance wavered. He almost fell.
"That's better," Grog said. "Now hold it."
"How long?"
"Until it's natural."
William held it.
---
Aldric arrived as the sun cleared the walls.
He stopped at the edge of the yard, watching. William saw him, flushed, nearly lost his balance. Grog put a hand on his shoulder, steadied him.
"Don't look at him. Look at your feet."
William looked at his feet. "He's going to think I'm—"
"He's going to think you're learning. That's what you're here for."
Aldric walked over. He was carrying two practice swords, one of which he held out to William.
"You need a partner."
William took the sword. His hands were shaking.
"I don't know—"
"You'll learn."
---
They drilled.
William was terrible. Worse than terrible. He couldn't keep his feet, couldn't control his sword, couldn't stop trying to show off. Every time Aldric corrected him, he tried harder, got worse, got frustrated.
Aldric was patient. Steady. The way Grog had been with him, years ago, when he'd been the one who couldn't stand, couldn't swing, couldn't stop falling.
"Slow down," Aldric said. "You're rushing."
William swung anyway. Aldric blocked. William swung again. Aldric blocked again. William swung again, harder, faster, more desperate.
Aldric's sword moved. William's flew from his hand, clattering on the stones.
William stared at his empty hands.
"You're strong," Aldric said. "Stronger than you think. But you're fighting yourself, not me."
William looked at his hands. "I don't know how to stop."
Aldric picked up the fallen sword. Held it out.
"Then we start again."
---
Lira found them an hour later.
She leaned against the wall, watching. William was covered in sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead, his arms shaking. He'd lost his sword four more times. He'd gotten up five.
"You're still here," she said.
William looked up. "I'm still here."
She nodded slowly. "Good."
She walked to the rack, picked up a bow. Not her bow—a practice bow, light, the kind they gave beginners.
"Can you shoot?" she asked.
William shook his head.
She handed him the bow. "Then you'll learn."
---
William's first arrow went wild.
It flew over the wall, into the gardens, somewhere no one would ever find it. The second hit the ground three feet in front of him. The third went sideways. He was trying too hard, pulling too fast, his hands shaking, his breath uneven.
"Stop," Lira said.
He stopped. His arms were trembling.
"You're trying to force it," she said. "The bow doesn't work that way. You have to let it work with you."
William looked at the bow. "I don't know how."
Lira took it from him. Drew. Released. The arrow flew straight, true, hit the target.
"That's how." She held the bow out. "Now you try."
He tried.
---
The morning passed.
Servants came and went. Soldiers stopped to watch. The Duke's children appeared at the edge of the yard, their nurse chasing them, the boy throwing sand, the girl picking flowers. William ignored them all. He lost his sword. He lost his arrows. He got up. He tried again.
Grog watched from the wall.
Edward appeared beside him.
"You're teaching my brother to be a soldier."
Grog didn't look at him. "I'm teaching him to hold a sword. There's a difference."
Edward was quiet for a moment.
"He's always wanted to be something. Something more than a second son." His voice was flat. "My father indulged him. My mother protected him. Now he wants to be a hero."
Grog watched William fall again. Watched Aldric help him up.
"Your brother doesn't want to be a hero. He wants to be useful."
Edward said nothing.
---
Lord Commander Vance found them at midday.
He walked through the yard like he owned it, which, Grog supposed, he did. The soldiers straightened. The servants disappeared. William stopped mid-swing, his face going pale.
Vance stopped in front of him.
"You're learning to fight."
William swallowed. "Yes, Commander."
"Why?"
William's hands tightened on his sword. "Because I want to be ready. For what's coming."
Vance studied him for a long moment. His face gave nothing.
"Good," he said. He walked on.
William stared after him.
"That was—"
"Terrifying?" Aldric offered.
William nodded slowly. "Yes."
Aldric almost smiled. "You get used to it."
---
The afternoon was hotter.
The sun was high, the yard was dusty, William's arms were shaking so badly he could barely lift his sword. But he kept trying. Kept falling. Kept getting up.
Grog called a halt.
"Rest. Eat. Come back tomorrow."
William collapsed on a bench, his face red, his clothes soaked. "I can keep going."
"You can't. That's why you need to stop."
William looked at him. Then, slowly, he laughed.
"You sound like my tutors. They used to say the same thing." He looked at his hands. "I never listened to them."
Grog sat beside him. "You should listen to us."
William was quiet for a moment.
"You really think I can learn? To fight? To be—" He stopped.
Grog looked at the yard. At the targets full of holes, the sand churned by feet, the places where William had fallen and gotten up.
"You're here. You're trying. That's the first step."
William nodded slowly.
"Then I'll be here tomorrow."
---
That evening, they ate in the small dining room.
The Duke was there, the princes, Vance. The Duke's children had been sent to bed, finally, after the boy had tried to ride one of the dogs and the girl had hidden in a closet for an hour.
William was quiet. His hands were raw, his arms stiff, his face sunburned. He ate with the concentration of someone who'd forgotten what food was.
His brother watched him.
"You're going to do it again tomorrow," Edward said. It wasn't a question.
William looked up. "Yes."
Edward was quiet for a moment.
"Then I'll watch."
---
Grog walked the walls that night.
The palace was quiet. The gardens were dark. The stars were coming out, one by one, cold and distant.
He thought about William. About the way he'd fallen, gotten up, fallen again. About the look on his face when he'd finally hit the target, once, just once, before losing it again.
He thought about the old timeline. About the second prince who'd died in a hunting accident, years ago, before any of this. About the first prince who'd become King too young, ruled too long, grown old and bitter in a palace that remembered better days.
This was different. Everything was different.
He stayed on the wall until the moon rose.