"What is going on here?" Duke Connor Arces's voice rang out across the training grounds as he strode forward, General Odin at his side. Behind them, Duchess Eloisa and Marchioness Freya followed at a more measured pace, skirts brushing against the cobblestones.
Jansen flinched at the sound of the Duke's voice. His body ached as though he'd been trampled by a cavalry charge. Every muscle throbbed, and each breath felt like a punishment. He still couldn't wrap his head around how he'd been bested so thoroughly by a girl who barely reached his chin.
The girl's strikes had been swift and accurate, each one landing precisely where he would usually hit young Sandoz during training. But her power—gosh, her power—was far beyond anything he'd ever used. What he gave Sandoz was discipline. What she gave him was wrath, multiplied tenfold.
Before Jansen could muster the nerve to speak, a nearby knight—one who had earlier offered to train Sandoz—stepped forward and bowed.
