The sun hadn’t even climbed fully into the sky yet, and I was already sweating. The grass beneath my boots was slick with morning dew, and somewhere in the distance, a rooster was screaming like he, too, didn’t want to be awake this damn early.

“Alright, shoulders square,” Demetrius barked, circling me like a predator with a clipboard in his head. “Feet apart. Don’t limp them together like you’re ready for a ballroom dance.”

Abigail, seated elegantly on a nearby stump with a polished apple and far too much lip gloss for this hour, called out sweetly, “Oh, I wouldn’t mind a dance if it’s with you, Sir Demetrius. Or, you know, anything involving close contact.”

He didn’t look at her.

“Still ignoring me?” she pouted. “That’s fine. The hot ones usually do until they’re drunk.”

“Abi,” I warned, tightening my grip on the training sword.

“What?” she said, smiling with all teeth and sin. “I’m just trying to make morning combat more... *invigorating.* Besides, if he doesn’t want me, he’s clearly into—”

“I said, focus,” Demetrius snapped.

His voice, rough as gravel and deeper than the abyss I occasionally fell into in my dreams, sent a *very* unwanted shiver down my spine. And when I looked at him—gods help me—he was in a sleeveless tunic today. Because of course he was. The scar that trailed down his right bicep shimmered in the light like a badge of violence.

He caught me staring.

I looked away.

He didn’t.

With a smirk—barely a flicker of one, but enough to light fires—he murmured just low enough that I *barely* caught it, “If you keep biting your lip like that, Destiny, I might forget I’m your trainer.”

I froze.

Abigail dropped her apple.

Ivy—who had suddenly appeared by the training fence, perfectly dressed in tight leather pants and a corset like this was a fashion show—choked on her own spit.

“What did he just say?” Abi whispered, eyes wide like she’d just witnessed a sin.

I didn’t respond.

I *couldn’t*. Because my brain had just spontaneously combusted.

Demetrius stepped back, face blank again, like he hadn’t just whispered a whole-ass fantasy into my ear.

“Again,” he said. “Sword raised. Attack me.”

I *swung*, mostly out of rage and confusion, and he blocked it with a single lazy motion.

“You hesitate,” he muttered. “Too emotional.”

“Oh, I’ll show you emotional—”

“You already are.” His eyes dropped briefly, and then he added under his breath: “You’re hot when you’re pissed.”

“WHAT DID YOU JUST—” I started, swinging again, this time with a half-yell that probably echoed into the mountains.

He dodged it, laughing—actually *laughing*—like the cocky bastard he was, as my sword sliced through nothing but air.

Behind me, Abigail was *wheezing*. Ivy was gripping the fence like it held her sanity.

“Oh, he is *feral,*” Abi gasped. “Destiny. Babe. You need to bottle him. Sell him. Mount him—”

“ABIGAIL,” I hissed.

“I'm just saying!” she giggled. “He’s practically undressing you with his voice and you’re over here swinging like it's your virginity on the line.”

I missed my footing and stumbled, catching myself just in time.

Demetrius, of course, looked mildly entertained. “You lose focus too easily. Try again.”

“Maybe if you’d stop talking like we’re in a damn tavern brothel—”

“That’s what gets your attention, huh?”

My jaw dropped.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only I could hear. “Fine. Then listen close, little adventurer. If I wanted to get your attention, you’d already be flat on your back. And not because you tripped.”

I *dropped* my sword.

Abi screamed.

Ivy stormed off.

And Demetrius?

He just smirked and walked to the water bucket, calm as hell.

“Pick up your sword, Destiny,” he said over his shoulder. “Unless you want me to bend you over the fence and *teach* you why you don’t take your eyes off your opponent.”

I did not move.

I could not move.

Because suddenly, training wasn’t the hardest part of this morning. Not even close.