"Okay, fine!" Riven relented, a mischievous grin stretching across his face. "One quick spar. Five minutes, tops. I need to prove that my brute strength is more effective than exercising your mental awareness."
Willow's eyes sparkled with competitive excitement. "You're on. Let's see if your energy this morning comes from your rest or your rebellion."
They settled into fighting stances. Riven, relying on his physical strength and swift movement, immediately charged. Willow, however, a master of spead herself used it as leverage. She moved like air around Riven's blows, using the length of her short staff to redirect his strength.
For nearly ten minutes—far longer than Riven had promised—they moved in a dizzying dance. Riven finally succeeded in landing a blow to her staff, the force making her hands sting, but she immediately spun, catching him off guard with a quick jab to his ribs. He laughed, adrenaline surging. This was the fire he missed in the training grounds.
Finally, Riven managed to use a feint to corner her, his wooden practice sword held fast against her neck. He was panting, sweat slicking his hair.
"Yield," he gasped, with a triumphant grin.
"I yield, you psycho!" Willow conceded, pushing his weapon away. She was barely winded. "You win the bout, but you lose the time. Go, now. You're already going to be late." She pointed uphill with her staff. "And try to look like you haven't just run a mile, you idiot."
"Worth it. Absolutely worth it. I feel alive again. But damn, now I really am fucking late. Eldrin's going to be giving the 'Duty and Discipline' speech for the third time this month," Riven thought with a grimace. At least Willow got the better of him a few times; Vaelorian would be happy to hear that, won't he? He would be happy to know that he was right. That strength isn't everything. Someone has probably told him about their spar already. There are no secrets in this camp.
Riven rushed up the hill, the thrill of the spar fading into the dull anxiety of impending chew-out. When he burst through the door of the analysis hall, Eldrin, a thin man with sharp eyes, didn't even stop his lecture on flanking maneuvers. He simply glanced at the clock on the wall.
"Ah, Lord Riven. So glad you could make it," Eldrin said, his voice flat and dry. "Only eighteen minutes late, this time. Please take a seat. Perhaps you can spend the remainder of the hour calculating the tactical value of your delay."
Riven flushed, sinking into a vacant seat at the back. The class was utterly dull, filled with diagrams and talk of mental strengths. He tried to focus, he really did, but his mind kept replaying the feeling of his sword meeting Willow's staff. He felt like a coiled spring forced to sit still.
When the analysis class finally ended, Riven practically bolted, heading straight for Vaelorian's private office. He scanned the room, easily finding Vaelorian seated behind his desk, his training gear making him appear very intimidating.
Riven approached, trying to appear nonchalant. "Hey, babe." he said, pulling up a chair. "Sorry I'm a little late. The class ran over."
Vaelorian looked up from a map he had been studying, his amber eyes settling on Riven. He didn't smile. He didn't even need to say anything; the look was enough. It was a familiar, look that saw right through Riven's little white lies, past the sweat that wasn't from him sitting still, and straight to the heart of his disobedience.
"He thinks he's so clever. He thinks I won't notice the smell of the sweat of a heated spar and the mild perspiration of the classroom," Vaelorian thought. He literally heard the sound of his voice sparing with someone in the training grounds from his office.
He can't believe Riven chose the immediate gratification of a fight over the hard work of building true control. He's wasting his talent on arrogance. He's risking everything for a moment of fun. It infuriates him, because he knows what Riven is capable of. And it worries him, because he knows the consequences of the younger boy's impulsiveness. He saw it during his last mission.
"The class," Vaelorian finally said, his voice quiet but loud enough for him to hear, "always dismisses on time, Riven. I was told you were late to Eldrin's class. And I distinctly heard the sound of wood on steel near the lower field just after breakfast." He set down his pen, folding his hands on the table. "Did you skip your mandatory analysis training this morning to have a quick fight with one of your friends?"
Riven's playful look crumbled. He shifted on the chair, his gaze falling to his hands as Elera served them lunch. He couldn't meet Vaelorian's eyes.
"Yes," he mumbled, his voice tight with embarrassment. "Just for a bit. It was with Willow. She was there, and—"
"I don't care who initiated it," Vaelorian interrupted, his tone chillingly devoid of emotion. "I gave you a direct order this morning. You disregarded it. You view these classes as optional. You think your strength grants you the luxury of choice. It doesn't. Not here. Not in a real war."
He leaned forward, his expression intense. "The point of Eldrin's class is to train the muscle between your ears, Riven. You have power that rivals men twice your age and size, but you are a wild, magnificent storm, and storms only last so long before they destroy themselves. You need a rudder."
Vaelorian sighed, the fire in his eyes banking down to a low simmer of disappointment. "I am not reducing your training hours, Riven. I am doubling your required time in the analysis hall this week, and you will report to Eryndor for extra hand-to-hand drills this evening without me. You need to learn the price of choosing your desires over your duty."
Riven felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Double the analysis and extra drills with Sir Eryndor, again? The man is notorious for running him till he drops. He knows he deserves it, but the disappointment in Vaelorian's eyes right now stings worse than any punishment.
"Alright, I get it. I messed up. I'll do what you said." Riven muttered, pushing his food around his plate.
Vaelorian's hand suddenly covered Riven's, squeezing gently. The Prince's gaze softened slightly, letting the caring and protective partner re-emerge.
"I love your fire, my love. Your gifts are amazing. I don't ever want you to change that side of you. But you must learn to command it, or it will consume you. Now, eat. We have a long afternoon ahead of us."
Riven picked up his fork, stabbing half-heartedly at the boiled root vegetables on his plate. He chewed slowly, the disappointment settling heavy and cold in his gut. The punishment was harsh, but fair. He hated that Vaelorian was always so right.
He glanced up. Vaelorian was already focused on his meal, his gaze distant, clearly planning the afternoon's rigorous schedule. The caring and protective lover was gone, replaced by the detached focus of the Prince. Riven couldn't stand the sudden distance. He needed to melt that ice, even if it meant risking another extra hour.
"He looks like he's about to draft a treaty, not eat lunch. He's going to spend the whole meal radiating disappointment. I can't stand it. I know he's mad, but I also know how easily I can make him forget everything but me," Riven thought with a smirk. Just a small distraction. Just enough to remind him that the guy he kissed this morning is still here, underneath the layers of rebellion.
Riven leaned forward conspiratorially, lowering his voice. "So, about those extra drills with Sir Eryndor..."
Vaelorian lifted an eyebrow, his attention snapped back to Riven. "Yes?"
Riven put on his most innocent, wide-eyed look. "Do you think Sir Eryndor will mind if I'm a little, tired too tired to attend? After all, someone kept me up quite late last night, demonstrating their superior stamina. Maybe I could be lightly disciplined this evening, given the circumstances of my current exhaustion?" He let a suggestive mote play on his lips, a direct reference to their busy night together.
Vaelorian paused, his fork half-raised. For a brief, moment, the corner of his mouth twitched upwards, a hint of playfulness breaking through the serious Princely façade. He knew exactly what Riven was doing—using their intimacy to try and gain an advantage.
He set the fork down, his expression hardening again, but with a slight exasperated warmth in his eyes.
"Riven, my love." he said, his voice a low. "Your lack of sleep is the consequence of your choices, not a mitigating factor for your duties. Eryndor will expect your full attention, and he will run you until you drop, despite your effort in trying to seduce me, I'm not going to reduce your training time."
He leaned closer across the table, his voice dropping to a seductive rumble that was just for Riven's ears. "You can try to charm your way out of the analysis hall, and you can try to charm your way out of the training field. But you will not succeed at either. When you are done with your drills this evening, you can, however, try to charm your way into my pants. But only if you survive Eryndor."
Riven's heart thumped. That was exactly the opportunity he needed. The punishment stands, but his connection with remains. Vaelorian then straightened up, his tone immediately reverting to business.
"Now. Since you were so desperate to skip your mental training this morning, let's make up for it. Tell me, Riven: if you were ambushed by three soldiers in the forest, one with a longsword, one with a bow, and one flanking you with a net—what is the immediate priority for eliminating the threats, and why?"
Riven slumped slightly. The moment of flirtation was over. It was time to pay for his rebellion. Fuck!