Chapter 206 - 204: Punch With A Crunch.

Chapter 206: Chapter 204: Punch With A Crunch.

​"...Shall we be off?" she asks her handmaids, picking up her skirts and making towards the stairs with purpose.

It’s a little difficult to navigate what with the mess, but the servants are quick to duck in ahead of her and clear a path.

The next corridor is more of the same. A touch less wreckage, because this hallway had less to wreck to begin with, but the telltale signs of a struggle are evident in the toppled vases and expensive decorations lying in ruins.

​The trail of destruction leads all the way to the training grounds.

...

The rumours were true. Xena knew they were, because they usually are, and she’s glad she came to see for herself.

​The castle loves to talk poorly of her cousin. His scandalous ways, how cold he can be.

The whispers will be loud today –after such chaos, it’s impossible that they won’t be –talking of how rude and dangerous and violent he is and how he doesn’t respect this castle or this kingdom.

Xena has heard all of that before.

​The more informative, and less slandering of the rumours will tell of a calamitous chase from the kitchens to the training grounds, and how on this day, Loac Trent ran laps like a common soldier.

​Because that’s what he’s doing when Xena finally reaches the training grounds.

The Second’s stance on punctuality is well known throughout the castle; his punishments equally so.

​Evidently, even princes aren’t exempt, because there are two of them down there, snapping at each others’ heels and jostling for position even though there’s space enough on the path for the both of them.

Xena’s endlessly glad she came to see for herself, because what the rumours won’t say –because those who spread them wouldn’t look –and even if they did they wouldn’t be able to tell the way Xena can –is that for all his cursing, her cousin looks like he’s enjoying himself.

​....

​Loac Trent is the fucking worst.

​First he steals his food.

​Then he beats him to the training grounds.

​Khobi’s not even sure exactly when or why it had become a race, only by some unspoken agreement it had.

Possibly from the first moment they’d stepped outside the kitchen.

Maybe even the step before, when they’d both tried to duck through the small doorway and almost knocked heads.

Khobi had thrown the first elbow then and there; he remembers that. Loac had gotten him back for it later. And then some.

​And then won, the bastard. By a considerable margin in fact. And he’d even stopped to gloat, the asshole.

Twice . Khobi thought he had the fastest path to the training grounds down pat by this point –he’d been doing it on the daily, after all, and Montrel had shown him some great shortcuts.

But Loac’s were better. Slightly more dangerous, but faster, and –if Khobi’s being perfectly honest –more fun.

​It wasn’t just his speed either; the way he took stairs and hurdled out windows was more flying than anything else. It just didn’t seem possible for someone to move like that.

​Montrel was crazy fast, but Loac was truly something else.

​And now, to make matters worse, it’s his win again .

​Unbelievable.

​And that’s all just today .

​Sure, Khobi’s fully intending on getting the next one, but no one likes losing.

​"...What was that about flattening me?" Loac inquires smugly, from somewhere overhead.

​" Dammit , again!" Khobi demands, slamming his hands down into the dirt in disgust.

Loac takes his sweet time removing his foot from Khobi’s back to let him up, and that pisses him off even more. It doesn’t make any goddamned sense.

Loac should be shattered from this morning’s gauntlet. Sure, he’s not fresh by any means –there’s sweat dripping down his neck into his armour and plastering his hair dark against his skin –but he’s certainly far more composed than he has any right to be given how little he apparently does this, and how exhausted the soldiers –who do this all the time –around him are.

​"Gettin’ sloppy, Khobi," Montrel heckles, like he had done any better against Gandy this morning.

His nose is still swollen from the other day, "All those laps starting to wear you out?" Khobi doesn’t want to hear that shit from him; he runs just as much as him. Just slower.

​Although, as much as he hates to admit it, he might have a point.

Khobi did push ridiculously hard today. It had been hard not to, because when Khobi had headed for the track as he always did because he was always late, Loac had followed and lined up beside him.

​It had felt like a challenge. So Khobi had done what he’s always done when faced with a challenge.

​Accepted.

​How could he resist, with Loac’s eyes sparking the way they did? There’s something about the change that comes over him when his expression gets like that –all daring, and cocky and dangerous –that makes him want to push, and chase; to both test himself, and see what his opponent is made of.

And Loac comes for him each and every time, like he’s the same.

​And as ridiculous a fighter as Loac is, Khobi finds consolation –and a touch of grim satisfaction –in the fact that even he doesn’t escape training unscathed.

Even the most elite of swordsmen come away with the odd cut or scrape or bruise here and there, and although Loac bleeds less and doesn’t stagger away quite as tattered and bone weary as the rest of them, by the time the sun sets on their day spent under Drogger’s watchful eye, he’s by no means entirely untouched.

​Khobi has been the primary culprit for the most part, but yesterday Montrel split his lip. And Iwamura had ripped a gash in his armour.

Today, Jaga lands a clean punch.

​It’s not at full power; Jaga always reigns himself when he’s sparring, but it still makes an ugly crunch when it connects with Loac’s jaw, and he goes flying .