The private training room beneath the eastern wing of the palace had witnessed more truth than the throne room ever had.
The walls were stone, scarred by years of blades striking too close to discipline. Wooden weapon racks lined one side, and the floor carried the faint marks of boots pivoting in relentless repetition.
Torches burned low in iron brackets, casting shifting shadows that made the room feel smaller than it truly was while Kaelvryn stood at its center.
He wore only loose training trousers and leather wraps around his knuckles, his chest was bare again, though this time not with vulnerability but with intent.
A faint bruise darkened his side where he had collided with a column the previous night. His jaw bore a shadow where tension had settled too long.
He did not look at the door when it opened, Lucas stepped inside carefully.
