The mana came slower the second time, his core already strained from the day’s earlier draw, and Alex sat in the center of the formation for longer than he wanted to admit before he felt the trickle settle into something usable, the motes drifting toward him with noticeably more reluctance than they had that morning.
Zara waited the whole time without complaint, sitting on her stone like she’d grown roots there over the course of the day, content to let the silence stretch as long as it needed to.
When he finally rose, his legs unsteady in a way that had nothing to do with mana and everything to do with simple, accumulated exhaustion, he turned to her with a request that made her eyebrows climb almost immediately.
"Bring the Viper’s Spine," he said.
"Just that one. Leave the Amethyst Paradox in its box, I don’t think I’ll need it for this."
"You’re not done," Zara said.
It wasn’t really a question, more a statement of fact she’d already accepted before he’d finished the sentence.
"There’s a sparring session in the training hall right now," Alex said, already walking toward the path that led back through the trees.
"I checked the schedule before any of this started today, back when I was still planning the whole list out. I want to see it."
"You want to see it," Zara repeated, falling into step beside him with the chain box now tucked under one arm and the sword carried in the other, her stride adjusting to match his without either of them commenting on it.
"Or you want to be in it. Those are very different things and I’d like to know which one I’m walking toward."
"Both," Alex admitted, with no hesitation at all.
"Mostly the second one, if I’m being honest about it."
She didn’t argue, which he’d learned by now meant she’d already accepted the outcome and was simply choosing her battles for the day, but he caught the slight tightening around her eyes that meant she was recalculating risk in the background the way she always did before letting him do something that made her nervous, running through scenarios he couldn’t see.
They crossed the palace grounds in the deepening evening light, servants bowing low as they passed, the routine so familiar by now that Alex barely registered it beyond the automatic nod he gave in return, his mind already somewhere ahead of his body, picturing the hall before he’d even reached it.
The training hall came into view, lantern light spilling from its open doors, the sound of sparring already audible from the courtyard, the rhythmic clash and grunt of bodies in motion, steel meeting steel in a pattern that told him the session was already well underway.
Alex stepped inside.
Theron Blackwell stood at the center of the hall, mid instruction, his voice carrying easily across the open space as he directed a cluster of young recruits into pairs, his hands gesturing through the air to demonstrate some point about footwork.
"—and remember, control before power, every single time. I don’t care how strong your strike is if you can’t—"
He stopped.
Every head in the hall turned toward the doorway at the same moment, the way a room turns when something shifts the air in it, and Alex felt the immediate ripple of recognition pass through the gathered recruits, a wave of straightened spines and widened eyes moving through the room from front to back.
They bowed, nearly in unison, the motion practiced and automatic, dozens of bodies folding at the waist in a single coordinated movement.
"Your Highness." Theron’s voice had shifted into something more formal, more careful, the easy authority from a moment ago folding itself away and replaced with the particular stiffness of a man recalculating who exactly he was speaking to.
"We weren’t expecting you this evening, I have to say. Is there something you need from us?"
"Raise your heads," Alex said, and watched the room straighten, dozens of eyes now fixed on him with varying degrees of curiosity, caution, and the particular wariness reserved for royalty showing up unannounced in a place they technically had every right to be but rarely bothered visiting.
He looked at Theron directly.
"I’ll be joining you for today’s spar," he said, simply, like he was stating something already decided rather than asking for permission.
Something flickered across Theron’s face, quick enough that most people might have missed it, but Alex had spent five years cataloguing exactly this kind of expression on adult faces and recognized it immediately for what it was.
It was the look of a man deciding whether the third prince wanted to actually fight or wanted to play at fighting, and choosing, for the sake of diplomacy, to assume the latter, because the alternative felt like a conversation nobody in this room actually wanted to have.
"Of course, Your Highness." Theron’s tone carried the particular warmth adults used when humoring a child, gentle, accommodating, the kind of voice that expected this to be brief and harmless, a formality to be gotten through before the real training resumed.
"Did you have a particular partner in mind, or shall I select someone appropriate for, ah, for this kind of exercise?"
"I’ll choose," Alex said, and his eyes moved across the gathered recruits, scanning past the obvious candidates, past the older, more developed fighters whose stances already announced years of practice, settling instead on someone standing near the back of the group.
The boy was young, dark-haired, dark-eyed, holding a standard practice sword with the careful, slightly stiff grip of someone who hadn’t held it long enough for it to feel natural yet, his knuckles a shade too tight around the hilt.
"You," Alex said, pointing.
The boy startled, looked around as if confirming the gesture was actually meant for him and not some other person standing conveniently nearby, and then stepped forward with the particular nervous energy of someone who’d just been singled out by royalty for reasons he couldn’t begin to guess at.
"Your Highness." He dropped into a bow that was slightly too deep, slightly too long, the kind of bow that came from genuine anxiety rather than ceremony, his words tumbling out faster than he probably intended them to.
"It would be an honor, truly, I mean, I don’t know what I did to be chosen but I’ll do my absolute best, I promise you that, I won’t embarrass myself or the unit or, well, I’ll try not to."
Zara, standing a few feet back with both weapons still in her arms, made a small sound that might have been a laugh she was trying very hard to swallow before it escaped fully.