╰┈➤𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ━━ ❝You've always been my little muse.❞
𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛- you're the object of many powerful men desires; from gods to warriors...they all want 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ 🇵🇴🇸🇹-ᴇᴘɪᴄ: ᴛᴍ!ᴀᴜ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙
📖A mythic slow-burn, spiralin...
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━ ⭒─⭑━
The sparring yard was quiet.
Not silent—there were always sounds on Ithaca's wind: gulls overhead, the distant thud of practice shields from lower courtyards, the occasional clang of a blacksmith hammering somewhere off near the forges. But up here, where the yard overlooked the edge of the cliffs, it was just the two of you.
The ground was flat and packed with sand, ringed by a low wooden rail and a few practice dummies leaning like drunks along the fence. A weapons rack stood half-stocked in the corner, gleaming in the early morning light.
The sun had only just risen fully, turning the sky pale gold and blue. Your breath still fogged faintly when you exhaled. It was too early for the other soldiers. Diomedes had made sure of that.
He stood beside you now, arms folded, watching with a look that was probably meant to be neutral—but on his face, always came off a little terrifying.
"Alright," he said, voice deep and gruff. "Let's stretch."
You blinked at him. "Stretch? I thought you were gonna teach me to stab things."
Diomedes raised a single brow. "And if you can't bend enough to dodge a blade, you're just giving your opponent somewhere soft to bury theirs."
"...Fair point." you muttered.
You bent forward again, groaning as your hamstrings protested. Your fingers brushed the tops of your boots. Barely.
Diomedes didn't say anything, but you could feel him judging you.
"I've been in bed for weeks," you grumbled. "I'm lucky I still know how legs work."
He snorted. "Don't flatter yourself. I heard you moved like a duck before that."
You straightened slowly, scowling. "Wow. So supportive."
"You want support, ask your prince."
You flushed.
He smirked—barely—but it was there.
You moved through the rest of the stretches with a little more effort, mimicking his motions as best you could. He was annoyingly flexible for a man built like a siege wall.
Every movement from him looked clean, honed, practiced. Every one of yours felt... not.
By the time a full half-hour had passed, your joints felt loose, your tunic stuck to your back, and your arms were trembling with the effort of just being used.
