I stood on the dusty training ground, wincing with each limping step as Rael gave me a blank, knowing look, his eyes scanning my stiff posture and the way I favoured my sore lower body.

"Your Highness, did you overdo it last night? I told you to keep it optimal—just enough sex to prime the mark’s strength without hurting yourself this badly. Look at you now, barely walking straight."

My cheeks burned hot with embarrassment, and I shot him a glare, crossing my arms over my leather doublet. "Shut up, Rael! Can’t an omega indulge a little without you prying into my private life? It’s my body, and I made my choice—drop it."

He raised a scarred brow under his helm, not buying the deflection for a second. "Fair enough, but tell me straight—do you actually have a good relationship with your husband? Be honest with me; it matters for your focus today."

I lowered my head, silver hair falling forward to hide my face, a bitter taste rising in my throat as Elaine’s morning venom replayed. Relationship? She saw me as a breeding machine; I saw her as a chain. "We’re... ’okay.’ Nothing special or real about it."

Rael snorted softly, adjusting his gauntlet with a creak. "’Okay’ means you have a bad relationship with her, plain and simple. You know she’s a great knight—one of the empire’s finest. Only your father, the Emperor herself, could take her down in fair combat without breaking a sweat."

"You’re exaggerating a bit," I muttered, kicking at a clump of dirt, frustration simmering. "My papa... she’s the strongest, sure, but Elaine’s not some unbeatable legend."

"Your Highness, your husband wields far too much power for what she shows," he said, voice lowering thoughtfully. "She’s already considered one of the strongest knights around, but I suspect she hides even more of it for reasons I can’t quite pin down. Call it a commander’s instinct from years of watching her in the yard."

I rolled my eyes, arms still crossed tight. "You’re just speculating wildly, aren’t you? Got no real proof."

"Yes, I am speculating," he admitted plainly, his plume swaying in the breeze. "No solid evidence—just patterns in how she pulls punches during spars. But if I’m right, it puts her leagues ahead."

"Tch! I don’t know if that’s true, but if she does hide that kind of power, it’s completely unfair to you and every other fighter she faces," I grumbled, jaw tightening.

Rael fixed me with a steady gaze, his tone turning serious. "Your Highness, level with me—do you hate her that much? Is that fire in your eyes from more than just the duel?"

"Yes," I said flatly, meeting his stare without flinching, olive eyes hardening like forged steel. "I hate her enough to end this talk. Now let’s practice—no more chit-chat. Start with swords."

We moved into sword drills right away, circling the marked dirt ring under the blazing midday sun. Rael drew his heavy arming sword, blunt-edged and etched with old battle runes, dropping into a low, predatory stance like a wolf ready to pounce.

I gripped my twin short swords, their lighter weight feeling natural and quick in my palms, the hilts worn smooth from endless practice.

"Press me hard, Rael—simulate Jennife’s long reach and brute force. Don’t hold back," I demanded, veil fluttering as I shifted my feet.

He lunged without warning, unleashing a sweeping overhead chop that whistled through the air like falling timber. "Like this—her Greatsword comes heavy every time!" I parried crosswise with both blades—clang! —the impact vibrating up my arms to my elbows, teeth rattling. Too slow on the recovery; he flowed straight into a tight bind, his hilt grinding mine down with relentless pressure.

"Breathe through it, Your Highness—don’t rush the riposte, or she’ll crush your guard!"

I twisted low for a thigh cut, feinting right, but he sidestepped smoothly and drove his pommel into my sword guard—crack! —sending my left blade spinning into the dirt. "Predictable pattern—mix high and low more!" he barked mid-motion.

I dove into a roll, scooped the sword mid-tumble with silver hair lashing wild, then sprang up unleashing alley fury: whirlwind slashes high-low-high, boots carving divots in the sand.

One blade grazed his pauldron with a sharp scrape! —drawing a grunt, but he countered brutally with a horizontal sweep I barely ducked, the wind hissing scalp-close.

We traded for a solid twenty minutes straight, sweat soaking through my doublet and veil until it clung like a second skin.

Finally, I locked his blade in a twisting bind and disarmed him clean, pressing a short sword to his throat. "Getting there—your endurance is building, but feint longer next time to wear her down," he rasped approvingly as he rose, rubbing his neck guard.

Without pause, we switched to spears—long ash shafts tipped with blunt bronze heads, mimicking Jennife’s extended Greatsword range. Rael twirled his like a seasoned staff master, probing with quick jabs that forced me back step by step.

"She’s taller by a head—use the shaft for leverage, not power!" he coached as I blocked high and swept low to hook his ankle. Thud-thud! —shafts cracking together echoed across the empty field, my arms burning from the unwieldy weight.

He pressed relentlessly, a thrust grazing my shoulder guard.

"Too stiff—flow like water!"

I hooked his spear on the next exchange, yanked hard to pull him off-balance, and drove my tip square to his chest plate.

"Solid yank—that’s how you close distance," he approved, sweat beading on his scarred brow despite his helm.

"But never pause after—flow straight into your dagger finish, or she’ll recover and flatten you." We drilled another full round, bruises blooming fresh on my forearms, but my footwork turned fluid, pivots snapping precise despite the limp.

For the final bout, we went back to swords—him with the arming blade, me dual-wielding shorts for speed. Dust churned thick as we exploded into motion, his heavy swings forcing me to retreat in calculated bursts while I slipped inside for gut-stabs he barely deflected.

Clang-spark-thud!

His overhead crashed down; I rolled under, popping up with a feinted pommel strike to his jaw before dropping low and imagining the chain-whip snap to his ankle mid-swing. He yielded with sword tip grounded, breathing heavy.

"Now that’s reflex, Your Highness—veil-drop to rut-strike into dagger end. You’re duel-ready if you keep this edge sharp."