Daliya grumbled and squeezed the hilt of her sword in her grasp, holding the handle in her two hands. The blade pointed away at an angle.

  She was surprised when it had arrived that morning. The blacksmith had kneeled on the floor, his head touching the ground, apologizing for being late. There were some difficulties with the mines, he had claimed. Silver Steel was scarce these days, with no sign of the nuisance ending.

  Daliya thanked him and instructed Adyl to prepare a room for him to rest in. The poor man had looked at her as if she was sending him to the guillotine.

  Daliya huffed. Just how much evil was the princess?

  “What is with that sloppy footwork?”

  She shot him a look and assumed the stance he had taught her: one foot in front, the other slightly bent behind her for support.

  Haitham looked her over.

  “Good. Begin. Slash. Slash. Thrust. Block. Slash—Pay attention to your feet—Slash. Thrust. Block—readjust your grip—Good. Start again.”

  “Again? But I’ve been training for hours!”

  He ignored her complaint. “Again.”

  For all of Haitham’s criticisms—nagging— and the grueling daily training to which she was subjected, she found herself improving in leaps and bounds. Maybe the vision—a constant nightly companion now—fueled her determination and drive to grow stronger. Still, with each passing day, her attention sharpened, her movements became more fluid, and with her improvement came the hope that she might still see the world beyond that wretched day.

  Finally, after weeks of training, she would test her progress against a battle-hardened assassin. Her sparing partner was busy choosing his weapon of choice—a branch.

  Daliya huffed as she regarded him. How dare he look down on her? She would have to beat some respect into him. He had refused the swords she had gotten the trouble of getting from the training grounds—under the suspicious eyes of Mazin. The captain of the knights hadn’t let her leave the premises until she answered a thousand and one questions.

  ‘Is she in need of some assistance?’

  ‘Would she like him to clear the premises for her training?’

  ‘Would she be amenable to a sparring session?’

  She had paused at the question. She would love to test her strength against various opponents, but she worried he would find out her charade the second their blades connected—especially if he used to spar with the princess. So, no, it was.

  Haitham’s eyes shone briefly. A reddish color that reminded Daliya of the sky at dawn. He whispered something too low for her ears. She watched the branch glow a dull yellow before fading. He stood before her, spinning his weapon around, testing its sturdiness.

  He lunged toward her. She barely had time to lift her sword before steel met wood. The branch didn’t splinter, didn’t break. Daliya bulked at it.

  How…?

  Her thought was cut short as he struck down again. She blocked the blow and pushed forward, keeping the sword’s blade away from her face.

  Then came the barrage of blows. She blocked and parried his attacks, nearly buckling under the successive strikes. She angled her sword to block an oncoming strike when her feet slipped on the melting snow.

  He was using his powers to turn his surroundings in his favor.

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  She opened her mouth to protest his cheating, then paused. They hadn’t specified that only swords—and a stick—could be used in their fight.

  In the flurry of blows, she had completely forgotten about her powers.

  It was easier now. The powers answered her calls—as if giddy to be called upon—before the thought fully formed in her mind. Spikes of ice jutted from the ground, chasing Haitham as he jumped back to avoid their jagged edges. His branch hung morosely from one of the spikes. Frost covered the stick from when it was pierced till it covered the whole branch. It wasn’t long before it merged with the ice, encased in a crystal tomb.

  “Not bad.” He whistled.

  Shards of ice floated around them. He was in her domain now.

  His dagger materialized in his grip in a shower of sparks.

  He was serious now. Good. That was what she wanted. Finally, she would get some real training.

  “Oh, it’s starting now,” her lips pulled into a grin, tooth and all.

  “Bring it on.” He smirked back at her.

  She sat heavily on the chair, resting her head on the desk, pillowed on her arms. She closed her eyes, groaning. “I’m too tired to sleep,” she lamented. Her body ached, her bones ached, and her side hurt from a slip on the snow earlier. The fall was so loud that she feared everyone in the garden’s perimeter had heard its echo. It was also painful, something Daliya was unwilling to admit.

  “Crybaby. This is nothing compared to the hellish training I had to endure when I was a child. This is basic training at best.”

  She shot him a glare. “Sorry for being a normal human being. Back home, the most training I ever did was running for a few hours. This is what I would call hellish training.”

  He regarded her with an amused look. “You do know we’re just starting, right?”

  She sat up. “Are you saying there’s still more?”

  “I’m saying we haven’t even started real training.”

  “No, no, absolutely not.” She threw her hands up in protest. “I’m resting tomorrow. In fact, I’m taking the remainder of the week off.”

  He shook his head, smiling. “A bit too early to yield, don’t you think? We wouldn’t want you going around freezing people’s arms off now. Let’s talk about resting after you can control your powers..” He tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing. “Though with how things are progressing, it would take you years to get the hang of things. I’m afraid you have some training to do.”

  “That’s it. I give up. Let’s talk about this, let’s see, never.” She dragged herself to the bed, not even bothering to remove her shoes. “I wanna sleep. You know where the door is—or the window, in your case. Show yourself out.” She shooed him away.

  She closed her eyes, hoping desperately for sleep to grace her with its presence, but no matter how much time passed, no matter how many dollar bills she counted, sleep still eluded her.

  She groaned. “I hate you.” She clutched her pillow and pressed it against her face. “Why can’t I sleep? I want to sleep!”

  “Alright, alright. Wait for a bit. I might have something to help our crybaby get some shut-eye.”

  With her eyes still closed, she gave him the finger. She listened for the telltale signs of footsteps but found only silence. When she opened her eyes, he was gone.

  Damn assassin.

  Soon, he was back with a mug cradled in his hand. Her brows furrowed in confusion.

  “Here.” He handed her the cup. “I stole it from the kitchens.” He winked.

  It was milk.

  “Honeyed milk. The best remedy for good night sleep, and the best there is for weakened bones.” He gave her a look. “Something you clearly need.”

  Daliya rolled her eyes at his blabber. If anything, she was doing better in her training than on her first day. She took a sip and grimaced.

  “Is it cold?”

  At her nod, he touched the cup, and little bubbles appeared on its surface.

  Was he using his powers to heat it up?

  She smiled and took another sip of the now-warm milk.

  “How is it?”

  “It’s good.” She nodded.

  He chuckled. “I need a raise. I somehow upgraded from being your bodyguard to your personal nanny.”

  She slapped his shoulder, a half-hearted tap. “Who’s the nanny? You’re the reason I can’t sleep. My bones are too tired and aching to rest.”

  He lounged leisurely on the window sill. “It’s not my fault your body is in such a bad shape.”

  She threw a pillow at his head. He caught it easily and put it behind his back.

  “I suggest you go to bed now. Our training will resume first thing in the morning.” He sounded proud of himself.

  She groaned. “Slave driver. I hate you.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I hate you, too.” He grinned.

  She leaned down on the bed, buried under the covers. The last thing she heard as sleep finally welcomed her into its peaceful embrace was the soft click of the window as it gently closed.