True to her word, Mia arrived at the training grounds while stars still dotted the sky. Kael was already there, two practice swords id out on a bench.

  "You came," he observed, a hint of approval in his tone.

  "You invited me," she replied, trying to hide her nervousness.

  "I offered a lesson, not an invitation." Despite his words, he handed her one of the practice swords. "Have you held a bde before?"

  "No."

  "Then we begin with the basics. Your stance is everything—it determines your bance, your reach, your ability to attack or defend."

  For the next hour, Kael corrected her posture, adjusted her grip, and demonstrated fundamental movements. He was a demanding teacher but patient, expining the reasoning behind each correction.

  As dawn broke, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, Mia's arms ached and her legs trembled, but she felt exhirated.

  "Same time tomorrow?" she asked hopefully.

  Kael studied her for a moment, then gave a slight nod. "If you're serious about learning, yes."

  Thus began their daily ritual. Each morning before the castle woke, Mia trained with Kael. He remained formal and distant, but she began to see glimpses of the man beneath the cold exterior—a dry sense of humor that emerged in rare moments, a perfectionist's frustration when she struggled with a technique, and occasionally, a fsh of something warmer in his eyes when she mastered a difficult move.