Sweat poured down Callum’s brow, pasting his hair to his forehead, and he had to blink to keep it from stinging his eyes as he raised his blade, ready for the next sparring blow. The muscles in his arms were well past the burning ache that said it was time to pause training; they were shaking now, nigh uncontrollably. And that was nothing when compared to the blisters that scraped against the sides of his feet in a constant throb, the bruises that spotted his torso from the occasional hits the soldiers managed to sneak in.

But it was good training for him, as it was for his soldiers. There would be no rest for muscles or feet when it came time for a battle. And if the mages returned, as it seemed likely they would, there would be many battles before the Vales was claimed. Callum and his soldiers might as well get used to the sensation. 

Besides, the more physical the fight, the better chance he had of forgetting. Not that it had worked yet, but it was just about the only hope he had left. 

He’d set up camp out in Aglye’s northern wilds, far enough from Silerith’s borders to avoid altercation. A sparse crop of woodland, a chill wind, and little else. An unpleasant place. Perfect for his unpleasant thoughts. 

The intention had been to come by himself, but he couldn’t claim to to have been all that surprised when a group of King’s Guard soldiers caught up with him on the road out of Vunmore, claiming that if he was leaving, they wanted to accompany him for training. 

They’d arranged themselves in the usual circle, though by now they knew better than to sit while they watched the sparring, no matter how many hours passed. He’d hammered that instinct out of them on the first day, when he’d been able to do little more than shout at them. Shout at them and throw rocks at the men who dared to rest their laurels on a stone, or even lean back against a tree. If they were going to watch, they were going to stand, damn it. 

A fortnight later, and they were still here. And if they weren’t quite clamoring to train with him, at least they kept showing up. No one had deserted yet, at any rate. 

Perhaps Edmun was blackmailing them somehow. 

It was Godfrey’s turn to face him now, the gawky young soldier holding his sword with a newly trained grip and staring at Callum like he wasn’t sure whether he should attack or offer Callum a drink of water. Two weeks in the wilds had brought his freckles to the forefront, giving his face a boyish look, even as the gangly muscles on his arms thickened day by day. A few more weeks, and the kid might actually be useful in a battle.  

“Are you going to circle me all day?” Callum growled at him. “Attack, damn you.” 

Godfrey rushed forward, his blade striking Callum’s defending one with more force than Callum would have expected. The blow sang into his muscles, stinging his bones, and he bared his teeth, reveling in the sensation.

Metal on metal grated in his ears, dirt and rocks grated under his feet, and he thought he might actually welcome a hit, if Godfrey could manage it. Another bruise was another sensation, another point of pain to focus on.

A few more hours of this, and he might actually sleep tonight. 

“If you don’t sit down soon, you’re going to fall over.”  

Callum lowered his sword, the bubble of sensation shattering with the sound of Thaddeus’s voice. 

He didn’t know when the poisonkeeper had joined the circle of spectators, only that his pristine navy blue robes looked out of place among the dirtied gear of his soldiers. His light brown hair was ragged and growing down over his ears, a few strands brushing the top edges of his spectacles. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a damn library, instead of a forest. 

”And if you fall over,” Thaddeus went on, “these men will have to haul you off and rehydrate you. Hawk doesn’t pay them to be babysitters.” 

“I’m training them,” Callum said. If the words had a hint of petulance in them, well, it was warranted. Thaddeus had surprised him. 

Mages, but his arms ached. 

“You’re no longer their commander,” Thaddeus said. 

“The one they have isn’t training them for shit.” Callum sheathed his sword, then swiped the back of his hand over his forehead. Not that it did much to dispel the sweat. If anything, it just made it worse. “How the fuck did you know where to find me?” 

“Edmun, obviously.” 

Obviously? Callum glanced at Godfrey, who was studying his feet, spots of red blooming on his freckled cheeks. And suddenly, the idea that these men had chased him down on the road out of Vunmore because they desperately wanted him to train them seemed… farfetched, at best. A story he should not have believed, would not believed, had he been less distressed when he met them. 

Now that Thaddeus said his name, Callum could see Edmun’s thumbprints all over it. The old soldier had sent Huck and Archer, both veteran guardsman, but most of the men here were the Guard’s weakest. Edmun knew Callum would not be able to resist the temptation to hone them into excellence. 

He wasn’t sure whether to feel angry or ashamed. 

Of course, the old guardsman had decided to stay behind in Vunmore. It was the only reason Callum hadn’t turned the company away. Someone needed to watch over… to keep the royal family safe. 

The royal family. They soon would be. The thought twisted his gut, sharp and bitter.  

“Go eat,” he said gruffly, stalking toward the pile of rocks where he’d discarded the rest of his things, systematically peeling off layers of vests and shirts as the day—and the training—had warmed.  

The soldiers recognized the dismissal. Godfrey practically scrambled out of the training ring, the others meeting him with slaps on the shoulder. Callum should be doing that. Praising them for their work, at least once every day or two. He wasn’t entirely in his right mind. 

Annoyed with himself, Callum unearthed the flask of whiskey from beneath his jacket and unscrewed the cap. 

“What are you doing?” Thaddeus asked. 

“Thaddeus, you are a scholar. I would think you could observe.”

Thaddeus stalked over to him. Callum could practically feel him trying to stand up taller, to meet Callum’s gaze. He’d always been the little brother, the nervous one, the bookish one—at least until Hawk spawned magic and joined Thaddeus in his book obsession.  

But Thaddeus had his own inner courage, too, one that had had him following his older brother into trees and trouble before he was truly old enough. He’d never been afraid to stand up to Callum even when so many others feared him. 

“Hawk needs you,” he said.

Callum tipped the flask to his lips, trying to revel in the burning trickle and grimacing when it scathed his raw throat instead. Mages, he needed water. But he’d be damned if he admitted as much to Thaddeus. 

“This may come as a surprise,” he said, “but I don’t give a fuck what Hawk needs.” 

Thaddeus stepped closer. To his credit he didn’t so much as wrinkle his nose, though there was no way Callum smelled pleasant. In fact, he was watching Callum with a curve to his mouth that might have been pity. “He didn’t know, Callum.” 

No use in pretending he didn’t know what Thaddeus was referring to. Hawk might not know of his feelings for Laena—feelings that no muscle-punishing training, nor weeks in the woods, could dampen—but Thaddeus certainly did. 

Mostly because Thaddeus’s ears weren’t blocked by their position inside his own ass. Hawk’s, well, that was another story.  

“What good are all those precious spies of his if they couldn’t ferret it out?” Callum grumbled. 

It didn’t feel like Hawk should need spies to know. It felt like the truth should have been written across his face like a fucking beacon. And Laena’s, too.

“Believe it or not, he trusts you enough not to riddle the guard with informants.” Thaddeus sighed. If he kept scrubbing his hand through his hair like that, he was going to worry it right out of his head. “I wish you’d just told him, Callum. He can be reasonable.”

Callum snorted. Not a side of Hawk he’d seen much of. At least, not lately. 

But it wasn’t Hawk’s choices that had his heart tied in knots, that’d sent him fleeing into the middle of nowhere to pretend he needed to train the soldiers. Well, it was true that they did need training—most of them couldn’t fight for shit—but he couldn’t pretend, even to himself, that it was his first reason for fleeing Vunmore. 

It was the memory of her soft body pressed against him in that guards’ room, the way the scent of lavender had washed around him like a damn drug. The feel of her throat against his lips. They way he’d ached to bury himself deep inside her and forget that anyone else had ever existed. 

Because it was Laena who should have told the king why she couldn’t possibly marry him, Laena who should have trusted herself, and her own power. And her feelings for Callum. She hadn’t even tried to deny them. 

It might have been easier if she had.  

“Hawk doesn’t know,” Thaddeus said, “because he’s focused on keeping his kingdom out of Silerith’s reach. And out of Etra’s too, now. Hawk doesn’t know because your soldiers are loyal to you, and none of them have breathed a word.” 

Callum sat on the rock, head pounding, throat aching. 

“Come back to Vunmore,” Thaddeus said. “Hawk isn’t the only one who needs you.” 

Callum clutched the flask in his fist, wondering how hard he’d have to squeeze to dent the thing.  “Don’t say it.” 

Thaddeus patted him awkwardly on the shoulder, then wiped his hand on his robe. “Laena needs you, too.” 

Fuck.