The morning sun cast a golden hue upon the training yard as Gabriel stood amidst the clangor of steel and the boisterous laughter of armored men. Where warriors celebrated strength and skill whilst honing their abilities. Where I feel like an outsider.

As he entered the yard, anxiety coursed through his veins. Mocking glances greeted him from the seasoned and battle-hardened warriors. Among them, his elder brothers Artus and Leoman stood tall, each wielding a sword. Gabriel felt a stark contrast to them on this sandy field. Other familiar faces dotted the grounds: nobles, soldiers, and guardsmen. The only encouragement came from his friend Lovren, who stood by his side, well aware of the challenges that lay ahead.

"So, you fancy yourself a warrior now," scoffed Artus, to which Gabriel offered no response, knowing it was the last way he wanted to be perceived.

"He won't last the day," Leoman chimed in, echoing his brother's sentiment.

"If he fails, Father will probably allow us to whip him," Artus said. A sneer curling on his lips.

A sickening feeling enveloped Gabriel’s gut. Surely, they won’t whip me.

The master-at-arms, a stern and imposing figure named Ser Rodrick, stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Gabriel. "Boy, on these grounds, you are no prince. All men, carrying a sword, are judged by their ability to defend their brothers in arms," he said. "While many doubt your ability, today and every other day you step on these sacred sands, you have the chance to prove them wrong."

Ser Rodrick's reputation as a fair yet demanding instructor preceded him, earning him the respect of even the noblest of warriors.

"I will do what I can, Ser Rodrick," Gabriel responded with determination.

"No, boy, you will do more than that. You will train, you will bleed, and you will fight," Ser Rodrick said, his voice commanding obedience. Gabriel nodded resolutely, accepting the challenge laid before him.

The master-at-arms scoffed, clearly unimpressed. "Lovren, come here,". His friend approached; his movements filled with uncertainty. "You will spar with Gabriel, and you will hold nothing back. Do you hear?"

"Aye, Ser." Lovren wore a sympathetic expression, as if conveying his regret for what was to come. Aware of the scrutinizing eyes upon him, Gabriel understood he was the source of their amusement.

Lovren retrieved a training sword from the rack, his movements displaying a practiced ease. Gabriel fumbled with his weapon, struggling to find a comfortable grip.

The tension in the air mounted as Ser Rodrick bellowed, "Begin."

Lovren swung his sword, executing precise strikes, while Gabriel clumsily attempted to block and parry. The spar continued, Lovren alternating between measured strikes and slower attacks to allow Gabriel a chance to respond. Gabriel, however, refrained from actively engaging, focusing solely on defense.

"Lovren, do not hold back. Do not lose the respect of your sword brothers," Ser Rodrick said. A flicker of hesitation passed through Lovren's eyes, too swift for Gabriel to fully grasp, before his friend changed his stance and attacked with genuine force. Gabriel struggled to avoid the blows, his sword skittering across the sand with each collision. The surrounding warriors sneered, reveling in Gabriel's feeble attempts.

After Ser Rodrick commanded him to pick up the fallen sword, he bellowed, "Again." The cycle continued, with Gabriel either dropping his sword or enduring the punishing blows from Lovren. Laughter erupted, mocking his every mistake, intensifying their ridicule. I will not yield.

The wooden training swords, though not lethal, inflicted painful blows upon Gabriel's body. Lovren's expression showed his internal struggle, but he persisted in delivering this harsh lesson. On and on it went until Ser Rodrick's voice cut through the torment. "Enough! We've seen enough."

Gabriel panted frantically, the pain lighting his body on fire. Looking at his arms, he saw the red marks where Lovren's sword had broken his skin. Witnessing the blood flowing freely down his arm, queasiness filled him. Lightheaded, his footing became unsteady. Gagging at the sight of his own blood, he couldn't control his body. Not again. Gabriel bent down and retched the entire contents of his breakfast on the sand.

The crowd's derision only deepened; their eyes gleaming with hunger for his suffering. His friend looked at him with concern and pity. Lovren steadied him with a firm hand on his shoulders. Gabriel wasn't sure how he could train to be a warrior when the sight of blood made him throw up.

He collected himself and shrugged Lovren off. Irrational anger welled within him. How could Lovren do this to me. Although he knew his friend had little choice, the anger remained.

Gabriel realized that while others in the yard were learning stances, how to stab, how to swing, and how to parry, he had learned only pain.

As Gabriel staggered away, his body battered and bruised, he heard Ser Rodrick's final decree: "You will run around this training yard until you can no longer stand!" The command reverberated through the air. Every step he took shot lances of pain through his weary limbs, but he refused to yield, a testament to his endurance.

Amidst his laborious run, Gabriel stole glances at the true training taking place. Warriors engaged in fierce sparring, honing their skills with relentless determination. His brothers proved themselves as formidable opponents, their dominance apparent in each duel. Although he had never aspired to be a warrior, Gabriel yearned to absorb the techniques and strategies employed by those around him. Yet, his focus remained on each arduous step he took, determined not to succumb to the pain. I must keep going.

His body eventually betrayed him, collapsing onto the scorching ground. He lay there gasping for breath, his face layered with fine grains of sand. Slowly, he turned over, squinting against the glaring light, only to be confronted by the sneering face of Artus.

"You always thought yourself better than us," Artus said. "Now, you know you are nothing."

Gabriel had always sensed his brothers' dislike for him, but this level of animosity was unexpected. What have I done to make them hate me. He could not recall a time when they had ever shown him acceptance.

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In the distance, an unfamiliar voice chimed in, "Maybe he should have been born a princess. He's pretty enough." Laughter erupted among the crowd, feeding on the cruelty of their words.

Then came a voice he recognized all too well—Leoman's saying, "Maybe he should not have been born at all." Gabriel's heart sank, his first day of training concluding with a sense of desolation.

As he made his slow and ragged walk back to his chambers, Gabriel couldn't shake the overwhelming loneliness that enveloped him.

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Gabriel sank into the warm, comforting water as the servants prepared a bath for him. The fatigue and weariness in his thin, battered body found solace in the soothing embrace of the perfectly heated water. Resting his arms against the sides of the tub, he closed his eyes and let his weary muscles relax. The air was infused with the pleasant scent of sage bath salts, creating a calming atmosphere that enveloped him.

As he soaked in the bath, Gabriel's mind drifted back to the training session. The memories of humiliation still stung, but he refused to let them break his spirit. He longed to prove his worth and defy the expectations placed upon him, yet he couldn't help but feel torn. I don’t want to become what I hate most.

The unjust treatment from Ser Rodrick echoed in his thoughts. The master-at-arms had not taught him the proper forms, instead subjecting him to his fellow warriors' merciless jeers and blows. It was a harsh and unforgiving introduction to the world of combat. However, Gabriel had resolved that he would not allow the same events to repeat themselves. He would show his will and resilience, not through physical strength, but through his character and demeanor. I won’t let others think of me as weak.

Finishing his bath, Gabriel scrubbed away the grime, revealing the welts and bruises he'd earned, each one turning an ugly shade of purple.

A knock interrupted his thoughts. "Coming," he called out, hurrying to dry off and dress. Opening the door, he greeted his mother, the queen, as she entered his chamber and settled into a chair. Her eyes scanned the room, mock strictness in her gaze. "You really should organize your room, Gabriel. There are books everywhere," she said in a playful tone.

"Hi, Ma. I'll get to it eventually," he said. They shared a moment of comfortable silence.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Gabriel met her gaze, understanding the weight of her apology. "You know that if I could have kept Tunklard here with you, I would have. But it was the king's command." Her brows drew together in sympathy, a look Gabriel had seen far too many times in his life, knowing the depth of her remorse.

Their close bond allowed him to be open and truthful, even in his reticence. “I can't bring myself to look at the books anymore. They remind me too much of him.”

"What would Tunklard want you to do?" she asked, her voice tender.

Gabriel knew exactly what his friend would expect of him. "He would laugh at my sentiment and then order me to read two books to make up for it." To honor Tunklard's lessons I must carry on.

Shifting the topic, his mother inquired about his training. Gabriel took a moment to gather his thoughts. "It was terrible," frustration clear in his voice. "I expected it to be bad, but it was even worse than I imagined. They laughed at me… mocked me." He paused, his breath catching.

"They made my only friend in the yard beat me to a pulp. I can't believe he would do that to me," Gabriel added, still feeling anger at Lovren's betrayal, although he knew it was unfair of him.

His mother regarded him, her gaze unwavering. "I heard whispers of what transpired, but I didn't realize it was that severe. I assume you're referring to Lovren. Don't take it out on your friend. All men must follow orders."

Though anger still burned within him, her words struck a chord. He understood the point she made, as he had arrived at it himself. Hearing it from her helped quell the raging fire within him.

"I know, but still," he replied. "Even my brothers aggravated the judgment from the others, telling me I should not have even been born," he confessed, bitterness seeping into his words.

He paused, wanting to ask a question to which he wasn't sure he wanted the answer. "Why do the king and my brothers hate me?"

She chewed her bottom lip, looking at him with apprehension. They had discussed his brothers' actions before, and while she disapproved, the king favored them. She let out a sigh before saying, “No son wants to hear this, but you are getting older, and it's time you learn the truth. You may already know this, but your father holds no love for me. We sleep in different bed chambers and only speak together at public events. He has hated me ever since the day I was brought here—when I was only sixteen summers old.”

He understood all this. The rumors were that the king was grief stricken when his wife had died. That he killed all the doctors that failed to save his wife and locked the doors to his chambers for a week, speaking to no one. All that was heard from the chambers were crashing sounds and sobs. The king was so volatile that when he emerged after a week, he almost led the kingdom into civil war.

For months, battles raged, and it looked like the kingdom would be cleaved in half and the dynasty would end. Until his mother's family, the Adrena household, who were also reported to be direct descendants of the first king, Accamanus, proposed an alliance with the king. An alliance that would be bound by blood through marriage between the king and his mother.

“The king has never liked me,” she said. “The only reason he married me was to keep the kingship he had killed for. After losing his first wife, the land was in turmoil. He was still grieving, but he was losing power. He knew he had to remarry—had to rely on another house in order to rebuild, and I am a walking reminder of that weakness. I didn't want to marry the king. I had heard all the tales about him, but I had no choice."

He could see the strain on his mother's face, but he needed to know more. "But why doesn't my father like me?" his voice was barely a whisper.

“I don't know. After all our years together, I still don't understand the man. I suspect that just as I am a reminder of his weakness, so are you. We had to have you soon after our marriage to solidify our marriage. Although he didn't say anything, it pained him.”

She paused, her eyes distant. "Your brothers hold no love for me. They thought I was trying to replace their mother. They see you as my son. That you're different from them. They don't understand you. I'm sorry; I know it's not fair. But I want you to know that I love you more than anything in the world."

"But then, why does he love my sister? I see how he cares for her deeply. I am happy about it, but I just don't understand." His mother looked uncertain. It appeared she didn't understand it herself.

She assessed him, gently shook her head, then shifted her tone. “My little boy has grown. I remember the days when you used to cling onto my leg and wouldn't let go. I remember you stealing pies from the kitchens, each plan becoming more ridiculous as the cooks tried to stop you. And the many times you became lost in your books, devouring knowledge larger than your head, only to come to me and share everything you learned.”

She smiled at the fond memories, and he couldn't help but smile back. “You're grown now, Gabriel. I won't shelter you from the truth anymore. You can't remain as you were. I abhor violence, and I hate that you must become a warrior and the general. But we can't choose who we are. You must become more than what you are now.”

Her words seeped into his heart, resonating with the truth he realized. "Not all is well in this kingdom. Our position grows more vulnerable each day," she continued, her voice filled with concern.

"But Father is the king," he responded, puzzled.

"Yes, he is," his mother affirmed. "And yet, still, our position is vulnerable. The nobles are angry at his greed and the raised taxes. The people are angry that their son’s and husband’s are dying in the endless wars. And as payment for their sacrifices, they suffer from starvation because of the Galatic Kingdom's sanctions."

She paused for a moment. "I don't tell you this to scare you. I tell you this so you can prepare, so you can protect yourself. Please, Gabriel, I need you to learn how to fight."

A newfound resolve filled him as he stood before his mother. He knew she hated death as much as he did, but something scared her, and that sent a chill down his spine. He collected his thoughts and responded, "I will, my queen," declaring with determination. In doing so, he would honor Tunklard's memory by persevering, even in the absence of his beloved friend. And perhaps, someday, he would find a way to bring about the change he and his mother believed in—a world where violence wasn't the only measure of strength and power.