My eyes followed the slow shift of his shoulders, the ripple of muscle beneath his tunic. Each movement was measured, almost hypnotic, but I barely noticed the shape of the exercise itself—only the man performing it.
"Are you watching, or dreaming?" His voice cut through my thoughts without him even looking back at me.
Heat rushed to my cheeks. "I'm… watching," I muttered, hoping my tone didn't betray me.
"Then try it," he said simply, stepping aside and motioning for me to take his place on the grass.
I hesitated, the trimmed blades cool beneath my bare feet, and tried to mimic his stance—legs apart, knees bent, fists loosely curled. But when I moved, I felt clumsy, unsure.
"Slower," he said, moving behind me. I heard his steps in the grass, closer… closer… until his presence filled the space around me.
He didn't touch me, but I could feel the warmth radiating from him as he corrected my posture. "Straighten your back. Breathe from here," he instructed, his tone calm yet commanding.
My heart thudded too fast for this to be just training.
I tried to focus on the air filling my lungs, on keeping my back straight, but every nerve in my body was aware of him. His breath was steady, his shadow falling over me as his voice dipped lower.
"Good… now shift your weight."
I obeyed, feeling my hips turn, and his palm brushed—lightly, almost accidentally—against my side as he guided my movement. The touch sent a shiver up my spine.
"Better," he murmured.
My pulse raced, and I wasn't sure if it was from the effort or from the way his presence wrapped around me like the summer heat.
Then he moved closer, his chest almost brushing my back. "This is not only exercise," he said, his tone calm but layered with something I couldn't quite name. "It is control… of the body. Of the mind."
I swallowed hard, but before I could reply, he stepped away. The absence of his warmth was almost as startling as his closeness.
"Again," he commanded, watching me.
I moved as he instructed—step, shift, turn—again and again until my legs trembled and my hair clung to the back of my neck. The warm air wrapped around me, heavy and damp, and each breath came quicker than the last.
Just as my muscles began to protest with a sharp ache, he lifted a hand. "Enough."
I straightened, panting, wiping the sweat from my brow. When I looked up, something blurred through the air toward me. Instinct took over—my hand shot up, and I caught it.
A peach.
"We are done for today," he said, his voice steady but softened with a hint of approval. "Go freshen up. Feed yourself."
I stood there for a moment, the fruit cool and firm in my palm, feeling an odd twist in my chest at the way he dismissed me so easily… yet gave me something sweet to take with me.
I turned away, the peach still resting in my hand. Its skin was warm from the sun, a small contrast to the cool shade I stepped into as I followed the path back.
Inside, the air felt different—quieter, thicker somehow. I peeled off my sweat-damp clothes, letting them fall in a heap. Cool water from the basin kissed my skin, washing away the stickiness, yet not the image in my mind.
His eyes—unreadable.
The slow, deliberate way his muscles moved as he trained.
The strange mix of annoyance and… something else, when he called me "a sweeper."
I bit into the peach. The juice ran down my fingers, sweet and fragrant. Still, my thoughts clung stubbornly to him—how he could frustrate me and pull me in all at once.
After washing away the sweat and dust, I let my hair fall damp over my shoulders, the cool air brushing my skin. My stomach growled softly, reminding me I hadn't eaten since morning.
I wandered through the main house, slow steps on the polished floorboards, letting my eyes drift over every corner. The air smelled faintly of wood smoke and something sweet—maybe fruit? I opened one door, then another, peeking in. Mostly empty rooms.
Finally, I found a small side table with a wooden bowl on it, filled with pale yellow pears and a few wrinkled plums. I reached for one, my fingers brushing the smooth skin of the fruit, but paused, wondering if I should ask first.
I took a bite anyway. The pear's juice ran over my lips, sweet and crisp, and I closed my eyes for just a moment, savoring it.
I was halfway through the pear when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned, the fruit still in my hand, and found him standing in the doorway, watching me.
"I said you should find food," he said evenly, "but I didn't mean in the house."
I froze mid-bite, the sweetness turning heavy on my tongue.
"There's a patch of land not far from here," he went on, stepping inside. "Long ago, vegetables grew there. You can plant them. For anything else, you'll need to search… and hunt." His eyes narrowed just slightly. "Just leave the cat alone."
I swallowed, the pear suddenly less satisfying. My mind was already turning over what he meant—hunt? plant? And why did he think I'd even consider the cat?
I blinked at him, lowering the pear. "What do you mean, the cat? I wouldn't do it."
His brow didn't move, but I caught that flicker in his eyes.
I turned away with a huff, pear still in hand, its juice sticky against my fingers. "Unbelievable," I muttered, stepping past him toward the door.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it—the corner of his mouth pulling into that quick, almost hidden smile.
Did he just… tease me? How daring!
The sun hit my face as I stepped outside, warm and heavy, making the half-eaten pear taste sweeter. I bit into it again, still thinking about that smile.
Teasing me. Of all the nerve…
The grass was uneven under my feet as I wandered past the bushes and toward the back of the house. My mind kept drifting back to the way he said it—calm, straight-faced, and yet somehow smug.
I found the old patch of land he mentioned. The soil was dry, but not hopeless. Kneeling down, I pushed my fingers into it, testing its give. It smelled of dust and old rain.
I took another bite of the pear, chewing slowly. If he thought I was going to let that comment slide, he was wrong.