Meredith.
I groaned lightly as I dropped onto the bench by the edge of the training grounds, sweat trickling down my back and soaking through my shirt.
My arms felt like lead, and my thighs were already beginning to protest with every movement.
Dennis offered a grin and a short bow, like we’d just wrapped up a polite fencing duel instead of an hour of him dancing around my attacks and flicking imaginary hits at me just to prove he could.
"Not bad," he said, tossing me a water flask. "You’re getting sharper."
I took the flask with a breathless thanks, gulping the cool water gratefully before swiping the back of my hand across my damp forehead. "I’ll get better," I murmured.
Dennis’s grin widened. "That’s the spirit. Now go get yourself cleaned up first. Breakfast is sacred."
I shot him a narrow-eyed glance. "You’re the one who dragged me onto the field before sunrise."
"Ah, and I regret nothing."
I didn’t have the strength to argue. My muscles were jelly.
As I headed back into the estate, the early morning light warmed the tiled halls.
Inside my bedroom, Deidra and Kira were already waiting. Their eyes widened slightly when they saw me dragging my legs across the marble.
"My lady," Kira gasped, rushing to take my hand and guide me toward the washroom. "You’re... You look all worked-up."
"He didn’t go easy on me," I muttered. Then paused. "Well, maybe he did. And that’s the terrifying part."
The girls chuckled but said nothing as they worked. Warm water, gentle cloths, lavender-scented oils—Deidra rubbed my shoulders briefly, kneading out the tightest knots before I dressed again in something soft and simple: pale ivory linen dress, loose braid, a touch of lip balm.
By the time I descended to the dining hall, I felt a little more like myself, even though my body was already plotting its revenge in the form of delayed soreness.
But I trusted that I would be all healed up before the next training session in the evening.
Breakfast was already laid out on the long table—steamed dumplings, roasted chicken strips, fried potatoes, and freshly cut fruit slices.
To my surprise, Wanda was already there, seated with perfect posture like she’d arrived before the sun.
I had half-expected her to slink in late and dramatic now that Draven wasn’t around. But no—she was here, demure and composed. Suspiciously so.
Xamira was seated beside me, happily munching on a honeyed bun, her short legs swinging under the chair.
Dennis left the head chair unoccupied and remained in his usual sitting position, a slice of fruit in one hand and a knowing smirk on his face.
Breakfast had barely begun when Wanda spoke, her voice sweetly laced with feigned innocence.
"I’m going into town today," she said casually, picking at a cherry with her fork. Then she turned to Dennis.
"Hope you don’t expect me to ask your permission before I go out—or tell you where in particular that I’m going to."
I nearly sighed. Here we go.
Dennis leaned back in his chair, his arm draping lazily across the back. "Of course not," he said, tone mockingly agreeable.
"You’re always free to get into trouble without asking. Just don’t drag my brother into your mess when you do."
Wanda’s smile tightened. "What do you take me for?"
He tapped a finger on his chin in mock thought. "Do you want the long list or the short one?"
She rolled her eyes, sharp enough to cut glass and returned her attention to her food.
Xamira glanced between them and frowned slightly, reaching for her spoon.
I watched the two of them bicker with the ease of enemies who’d long since learned how to poke each other’s nerves without even trying.
Normally, this kind of drama would’ve set my teeth on edge, especially during breakfast—but not today.
Because for once, someone was standing toe-to-toe with Wanda and matching her bite for bite.
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