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While continuing the mindless task, she tried to glance around the training yard in search of anything her brother or sister would want to know. But she had no idea how to describe the fighting techniques that were being practiced, and soon enough it took all of her concentration just to keep her legs under her as she stepped up and down, over and over again.

Her thighs were on fire, the rest of her body equally inflamed, sweat dripping from places she didn’t knowcouldsweat, when Caldon finally told her to stop.

“How’s that feel?” he asked as she collapsed on top of the box.

“Like I want to murder you,” Kiva panted, massaging her legs.

“Perfect,” he said. “We’re making progress.”

She didn’t even have the energy to scowl at him.

A water canteen entered her line of sight, and she eagerly grabbed for it.

“Take it easy,” Caldon said, pulling it away before she could drain it all. “You’ll regret it if you drink too much. We haven’t finished yet.”

Kiva bit down on a whimper as Caldon tugged her back up to her feet.

“Balance and core strength are important,” he said. “But right now, you have no fighting skills, and that won’t change overnight. So if something were to happen to you, like, say, if someone tried to abduct you —again— then your best bet for staying alive is simple: run away.”

Dread began to well within Kiva.

“Your fitness levels are nonexistent thanks to your time in Zalindov, so we need to work on your endurance.” A grin stretched across Caldon’s face. “If you want to murder me now, just wait to see how you feel after what’s next.”

Half an hour later, Kiva wondered ifhatredwas too kind a word for how she felt toward Caldon, especially as she vomited for the third time into the bushes bordering the training yard.

“I told you not to drink all that water,” he said, not even winded.

“It wasn’t the water,” she half moaned, half panted. “It was the sadistic asshole of a prince —”

“Language,” Caldon tutted.

“— who wouldn’t let me stop even when I said I was about to die.”

“And yet, here you are, still alive,” he said. “How’s the head?”

Last night’s head wound was the least of Kiva’s troubles, the rest of her body screaming after being forced to run around the expansive training yard three times, pausing for only a minute between laps — just long enough for her to expel the contents of her stomach.

Rather than admit how miserable she felt, she turned the question around on Caldon. “How’s the shoulder?” she asked, having seen him press a hand to it during their second lap, grimacing as their rapid steps jolted his upper body.

“I’ve felt better,” he admitted.

Kiva moved closer. “Let me see.”

Caldon didn’t object, shifting his collar until his blood-splattered bandage was revealed.

Pulling back the dressing, Kiva was relieved to find that he hadn’t ripped his stitches. She was careful not to touch the raw skin with her unwashed hands, only prodding the swollen edges to check for infection.

“You’re fine,” she told him. “You’ll be tender for a while, but if you keep it clean, you should heal quickly enough.”

“It’s not my first stab wound, Sunshine, or my worst,” Caldon said, reminding her of the older scars she’d seen on his torso last night. “It likely won’t be my last, either. I know what I’m in for.”

Kiva quashed the alarm she felt and began to rewrap the dressing.

... Until her hands started glowing.

No.

Her nausea returned with a vengeance — this time prompted by terror — as Kiva urged the magic away, praying the bright sunshine was enough to keep anyone from noticing. Caldon, thankfully, was focused on a nearby sparring match, unaware of the golden healing light flowing from Kiva’s fingertips right under his nose.