The Royal Training Grounds smelled like testosterone, leather, and impending doom.
It was a vast, open-air arena filled with the sound of clashing steel and grunting men. Everywhere Elian looked, knights were sparring, wrestling, or doing things with heavy logs that made Elian's own back hurt just watching.
'It's a meat market,' Elian thought, trying not to stare at a particularly sweaty knight doing pull-ups. 'A literal buffet of beefcake. If I wasn't currently fighting for my life, I'd set up a lawn chair and sell tickets.'
"Valet," Cassian's voice cut through his thoughts. "Stop ogling the infantry. Focus."
Elian snapped his head back to the Prince. "I wasn't ogling, Your Highness. I was assessing the troop morale. It looks... firm."
Cassian stood in the center of the sparring ring. He had removed his immaculate military jacket, leaving him in a thin white undershirt that clung to him like a second skin. As Elian watched, Cassian began to unbutton his cuffs, rolling the sleeves up to his elbows to reveal thick, corded forearms.
'Oh no,' Elian thought, swallowing hard. 'Forearms. My one weakness. Well, one of many weaknesses. The list is getting longer by the minute.'
Cassian walked over to a weapon rack and picked up two wooden practice swords. He tossed one to Elian.
Elian fumbled, nearly dropping it. He caught it by the blade, which was fortunately dull wood, or he would have lost fingers.
"The rules are simple," Cassian said, testing the weight of his own weapon with a casual swish. "I am going to attack you. You are going to try not to get hit."
"And if I get hit?" Elian asked, gripping the handle like a baseball bat.
"Then it will hurt," Cassian said flatly. "Consider it motivation. You have no survival instincts, Elian. Today, you learn to react."
[System Quest Updated: Survive 10 Minutes in the Ring. Reward: 50 LP.]
'Ten minutes?' Elian checked his physique. 'I get winded walking up stairs. This is an execution.'
"Begin," Cassian said.
He didn't wait. He lunged.
Elian didn't fight back. He shrieked—a very manly, tactical battle cry—and dove to the left. The wooden sword whooshed through the space where his head had been a second ago.
"Good," Cassian noted, pivoting on his heel. "Again."
He swung low. Elian jumped, tucking his knees to his chest like a startled cat.
'It's just Dark Souls,' Elian told himself frantically, scrambling backward into the dirt. 'It's just a rhythm game. Dodge, roll, panic. Dodge, roll, panic.'
Cassian was fast. He was terrifyingly fast. But he was also holding back. He wasn't trying to break bones; he was herding Elian, forcing him to move, to sweat, to wake up.
Elian ducked under a horizontal slash, losing his footing. He scrambled on all fours, dirt staining his pristine valet uniform.
"Stand up!" Cassian barked. "Don't grovel in the dirt!"
"I'm strategizing from a lower vantage point!" Elian yelled back, scrambling up and putting a weapon rack between them.
Cassian laughed. It was a breathless, genuine sound. "You fight like a squirrel."
"Squirrels survive!" Elian retorted.
For eight minutes, they danced. Elian was dripping with sweat. His lungs were burning. His chest heaved with every breath. But strangely, he felt... alive. The adrenaline was pumping through his system, momentarily drowning out the anxiety of the Death Timer.
[Time Remaining: 02:00 Minutes.]
"Enough running," Cassian said, kicking the weapon rack aside. "Attack me."
"What?" Elian panted, leaning on his wooden sword. "Are you insane? You're a tank. I'm a... I'm a twig."
"Attack me," Cassian ordered, his voice dropping an octave. "Show me you have teeth, Valet."
Something in Elian's brain snapped. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the pheromones radiating off Cassian in waves—hot, spicy, and challenging.
'Fine,' Elian thought. 'You want teeth? I'll give you teeth.'
Elian didn't swing the sword. He dropped it.
He sprinted forward, lowering his shoulder.
Cassian blinked, expecting a strike. He didn't expect a tackle.
Elian slammed into Cassian's midsection. It was like running into a brick wall. Cassian barely moved, but the impact forced him to take a single step back to keep his balance.
Elian wrapped his arms around Cassian's waist, burying his face in the Prince's sweaty chest, and held on.
[Contact: +1 Minute.]
"Gotcha," Elian wheezed into the wet fabric of Cassian's shirt.
Cassian froze. He looked down at the valet clinging to him like a koala. Elian was trembling, covered in dust, smelling of exertion and something sweeter—his own Omega scent spiking from the exercise.
"That," Cassian said, his voice sounding a little strangled, "was not a martial attack."
"It worked," Elian muffled into his chest. "I have immobilized the target."
Cassian didn't push him away. His hands hovered for a moment, then settled on Elian's shoulders. He didn't push; he steadied.
They stood there in the center of the ring, chests heaving in sync. Elian could feel Cassian's heart hammering against his cheek. It was fast. Powerful.
[System Notification: Quest Complete! +50 LP.][Current LP: 85.]
[Intimacy Milestone: Sweaty Embrace. +10 Minutes Lifespan.]
"You are cheating," Cassian murmured, but his grip on Elian's shoulders tightened slightly. His thumb brushed the curve of Elian's neck, right over the pulse point.
Elian shivered. "In war and love, Your Highness. All is fair."
Cassian went still. "Love?"
Elian realized his slip-up. "Attributes! War and... attributes. Love of the game. Sportsmanship."
Cassian pulled back, peeling Elian off his chest. His eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide. He looked at Elian's flushed face, his messy hair, the dirt on his cheek.
"You are a mess," Cassian said.
"I'm a hardworking servant," Elian corrected, breathless.
"Come," Cassian turned, walking toward the benches. "Water. And a towel."
Elian hurried to fetch them. He grabbed a thick white towel and a canteen.
When he returned, Cassian was sitting on the bench, legs spread wide, head tipped back as he poured water over his face. The liquid ran down his neck, soaking the already translucent undershirt, making it cling to his abs like wet tissue paper.
Elian stared. He physically couldn't look away.
'Lord have mercy,' Elian prayed. 'I am looking respectfully. I am looking very, very respectfully.'
Cassian held out a hand, blindly seeking the towel.
Elian didn't hand it to him. He stepped in between Cassian's spread knees.
It was a bold move. A dangerous move.
He pressed the towel against Cassian's face, gently drying the water. He moved down to the neck. Then the chest.
Cassian lowered his hands, letting Elian service him. He watched Elian through heavy-lidded eyes.
"You are getting brave, Elian," Cassian said softly.
"Bravery is required for the job, Sire," Elian whispered, patting the towel over the royal pectorals. "Especially when the hazards are this... large."
Cassian caught Elian's hand through the towel. He squeezed.
"Be careful," Cassian warned. "You might find yourself in over your head."
"I think I'm already drowning, Your Highness."
For a long moment, the tension stretched between them, thick enough to cut with a knife. Elian felt the heat radiating from Cassian's thighs against his own legs.
Then, Cassian stood up abruptly, breaking the moment.
"Go wash," Cassian commanded, his voice rough. "You smell like... distress. And dirt."
"Yes, Sire."
As Cassian stormed off toward the showers, Elian stood holding the damp towel. He brought it to his face and inhaled deeply before he could stop himself.
Cedar. Musk. Power.
[System Notification: Elian +1 Heart.][Current Hearts: 6.5 / 1000]
Elian grinned, clutching the towel like a prize.
"I'm definitely keeping this towel."