These Gilded Seas

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Melting Points

"Stop!" I yell, panting in the dust several yards behind the prince.

He turns his body towards me and continues to jog backwards. "Tired?"

"Yes!"

We've been running for nearly thirty minutes. It's fair to say I'm exhausted.

I tremble to a stop, and my body doubles over, hands on my thighs for support. Everything trembles, and sweat pours from my face.

"And I'm not wearing the right..." I point to my feet with a scowl. "Things! I'm not wearing the right things."

Eero laughs and jogs over to me. "You know, I thought you'd be tougher than this."

I glare up at him from my bent position. I am tougher than this, I want to say, but the words get lost between my dramatic inhales. It feels like I've been wrapped in seaweed for several hours. If I could just catch my breath, it wouldn't be so bad.

Who knew I'd be so out of shape on these stupid legs?

"Please," I manage to croak, "can we take a break?"

"Absolutely not," Eero says, grabbing my forearm and steering me towards the row of dummies. "You need to practice while your muscles are warmed up."

I grumble incoherently but don't resist. He's right. It'll be a lot harder to get started again if I fall out on the grass right now.

"Let's see that stance you were bragging to William about," Eero says, planting his hands on his hips. With his legs spread to shoulder width, he looks like a tree. His curls are the leaves, his tattoos the bark. All we need are the roots and a couple of stray birds to nest on him.

Still groaning, I shift myself into position: legs spread to nearly shoulder-width, right foot slightly forward, left foot back. My arms come up under my chin, but I tuck them closer to my chest than I did in my fight with William. I learned my lesson there.

"Decent," Eero says.

"Decent?!"

"Your back," he mumbles, beginning to circle me. I jump as his hand grazes my spine. It starts at the base, where he presses the wet fabric to my skin, runs up the buttons, and ends in the nook between my shoulder blades. Even though there are several layers between us, I still shiver. "Straighten it. You've got a slight curve here, and that could throw off your balance."

Without warning, he sets one hand on my shoulder and flattens the other on my back. Then he pushes, fixing my posture. Of course, that would be an issue; I've never had to stand upright before.

"Your defense is good. I saw that with William. We just need to work on your offensive tactics," he says, letting go of me. I let out a short breath and watch him walk back around me. He points at the row of dummies. "Strike."

"With my... fist?"

"No, with your foot," he deadpans. "Yes, rød fisk. With your fist."

He returns to his position behind me and plants that giant hand on my spine again. I grit my teeth and ignore the pressing of each finger pad against the fabric.

While he holds me in place, I strike out at the sack of flour. Eero watches over my shoulder, more attentive than any instructor I've had before.

"Again," he says. I repeat the movement, wincing as the rough texture scrapes against my knuckles. "Again."

Huffing, I punch. Again. This strike results in my entire face contorting in discomfort. I clench my fist to my chest and resist the urge to shake it out. Eero's stern face doesn't change; he just watches me for a second before telling me to do it again.