Chapter 524: The Unfortunate Timing

"Twenty-eight! Twenty-nine! Thirty!"

Marielle counted loudly, her arms folded tightly over her leather sparring vest as Cherion pushed himself up from the smooth stone tiles of the training ground. His elbows locked for a brief, trembling second before he collapsed flat onto his stomach with a heavy, breathless groan.

Sweat dripped off the tip of his nose, soaking straight into his dark cotton training tunic. Cherion rolled over onto his back, staring up at the clear morning sky while his chest heaved up and down in rapid, ragged gasps.

"Come on, my lord, that was only thirty," Marielle teased, a bright, slightly sadistic grin on her face as she nudged the side of his boot with her toe. "I heard you used to do fifty with ease before the subjugation."

"I... was... fighting for my life on a daily basis back then," Cherion panted, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his forearm.

It wasn’t like he had completely stopped keeping in shape since returning to the capital. He still did his basic stretches, core drills, and light cardio in the mornings, but sitting through endless tea parties, high-society banquets, and political luncheons had definitely softened his rigorous martial routine.

Yesterday’s ambush in the theater washroom, however, had been a massive wake-up call. 𝑓𝑟ℯℴ𝓂

Cherion closed his eyes for a second, the vivid memory of Heinrich’s wild, desperate face flashing across his mind. He was overwhelmingly relieved that he had possessed the physical instincts to dodge the initial blade thrust and slam Heinrich into the hard floor tile with his bare knuckles, but what if he hadn’t had his fist?

What if Heinrich had brought two hired mercenaries instead of coming alone? What if he’d been caught totally off guard in a tight, enclosed space? Cherion had his magic, sure, but relying purely on fast regeneration wasn’t going to save his life if someone aimed a cold steel blade straight for his throat. He needed to be sharper. He needed his body to respond instantly, violently, and without having to think twice.

That was precisely why he had dragged Marielle out to the training courtyard so early in the morning.

"I still can’t believe I missed it," Marielle grumbled, shaking her head as she leaned her back against a stone pillar, crossing her arms over her chest. "I swear, if I’d been accompanying you yesterday, I would have broken that Bramwell bastard’s legs before he even had the chance to pull a pipe out."

Cherion sat up slowly, wiping his damp hair back from his forehead with a low, breathless laugh. "If you were there, Marielle, I’m pretty sure you would’ve done something much worse than break his legs. You probably would’ve killed him right then and there."

"Probably," Marielle admitted without a shred of hesitation, her sharp eyes narrowing darkly. "I still remember his insufferable, smug face from that gathering when he deliberately poured that cup of scalding hot tea all over you. I hated him so much back then. Just thinking about him laying a dirty hand on you in a washroom makes my blood boil."

"Well, you don’t have to worry about him anymore," Cherion chuckled, dusting off his knees as he pushed himself up into a standing position. "He’s sitting in a windowless holding cell, probably crying into a bowl of cold turnip soup."

"Still not enough," a smooth, dry voice called out from the arched hallway bordering the courtyard.

Elios strolled out into the morning sunlight, holding a crisp red apple in one hand and taking a loud, crunchy bite. He leaned his shoulder against the stone railing, looking Cherion up and down with an amused smirk. "Your form’s getting sloppy, Lord Cherion. Your left hip was dipping on those last five reps."

"Feel free to drop down and join us, Elios, if you’re so eager to offer live commentary," Cherion shot back with a grin, wiping his flushed neck with a small towel Marielle tossed him. "I’m sure Marielle would love to count your push-ups too."

Before Elios could offer another snarky remark, heavy, measured footsteps echoed down the stone corridor.

Zarius stepped out into the open courtyard, his broad frame cutting an imposing figure even dressed in a casual, unbuttoned dark linen tunic. Right behind him was Flio.

Zarius’s eyes softened the instant they landed on Cherion. He walked straight over, completely ignoring the guards standing at attention nearby, and reached out with a huge, warm hand to gently wipe a stray droplet of sweat from Cherion’s temple.

"You’re up early," Zarius murmured softly, his thumb caressing Cherion’s warm cheek with affection. "I woke up and the bed was cold."

"Needed to burn off some nervous energy," Cherion smiled, leaning into the touch of Zarius’s hand for a sweet, quiet second. "And make sure my reflexes aren’t getting rusty after yesterday."

Behind Zarius, Flio shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, clearing his throat with a faint, apologetic cough. "Um... Lord Cherion?"

Cherion turned his head, offering Flio a warm, reassuring smile. "Morning, Flio. What’s up?"

Flio looked down, biting his lower lip nervously before looking back up at Cherion. "I know you already flushed out the sleeping powder yesterday in the carriage, but... I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind using a little bit of your healing magic to check on Reiner again? Just a quick once-over to make sure there are no lingering toxins in his nervous system? I worry, and..."

"Flio, you don’t even have to ask," Cherion interrupted gently, reaching out to pat the head attendant’s shoulder reassuringly. "I was actually planning on going up to check on him anyway! Just give me fifteen minutes to wash all this sweat off and change into fresh clothes, alright?"

Flio let out a long, ragged sigh of relief, bowing his head deeply. "Thank you, Lord Cherion. Truly."

"Go take a warm shower," Zarius purred quietly in Cherion’s ear, giving his hip a gentle, possessive squeeze before letting him go. "I’ll have a light breakfast waiting for you in the dining hall when you’re done."

Twenty minutes later, Cherion was feeling thoroughly human again. Cleaned, dried, and dressed in a loose, comfortable emerald-green robe shirt, he walked down the quiet, carpeted hallway of the attendant quarters. Marielle tagged along right behind him, her hands clasped loosely behind her back as she whistled a low, casual tune.

"So, is Reiner really totally fine?" Marielle asked as they approached the quiet residential end of the hall. "Because Flio was acting like his younger brother was at death’s door during shift change this morning."

"Reiner is completely fine," Cherion laughed softly, shaking his head. "Flio just suffers from a severe case of chronic overprotective older brother syndrome. It’s terminal."

They reached the dark oak door of Reiner’s private bedroom. Cherion didn’t bother with a formal, quiet tap, he gave two bright, casual knocks on the wood and immediately turned the brass door handle.

"Reiner! It’s Cherion, I’m coming in to check your.."

Cherion froze mid-sentence, his hand remaining glued to the open door handle.

Reiner was not alone.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed in his loose linen nightshirt, his blonde hair tousled and messy, looking up with wide, bright, absolutely terrified eyes. Standing right beside him, leaning down so remarkably close that his broad chest had been almost touching Reiner’s shoulder, was Ezek.

Ezek immediately snapped back into a rigid, military posture, his stoic, marble-like face flushing a dark, violent shade of crimson that spread all the way right up to the tips of his ears. Reiner let out a tiny, squeaky gasp, his face turning as bright red as a ripe summer tomato as he scrambled frantically to pull his blanket higher up his chest.

Cherion blinked, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of them before a wide, thoroughly delighted smirk slowly spread across his lips.

"Good morning to you two," Cherion drawled, tilting his head with mischievous charm. "I hope I didn’t interrupt something... extraordinarily important?"

Marielle peeked over Cherion’s shoulder into the room, her eyes widening in surprise as she took in the breathless, utterly flustered scene. "Wait, what in the world is going on in here?"

"N-Nothing!" Reiner squeaked out, his voice cracking slightly as he waved his hands frantically in the air. "Nothing at all! Lord Cherion! Lady Marielle! Ezek was just... he was just..."

"I was leaving," Ezek interrupted sharply, his voice dropping into a deep, gruff rumble that couldn’t quite hide his utter humiliation.

Ezek didn’t look either of them in the eye. He adjusted his leather shoulder strap with stiff movements, took two massive strides toward the door, and practically shoved his broad frame past Cherion and Marielle out into the hallway.

"Excuse me, Lord Cherion, Lady Marielle," Ezek mumbled hastily, his ears practically burning red as he marched down the wooden corridor at double-time.

Cherion turned around in the doorway, watching the intimidating guard practically bolt down the hallway as if he were escaping a dragon, before looking back at Marielle and grinning like a cat that had caught the canary.