I thought my line sounded impressive—at least, I hoped so. Honestly, I was surprised he didn’t look half as ugly as I’d envisioned, and I wanted to maintain that poised air.

A sudden thump tore me from my thoughts. My fighter had dropped to one knee with a solid thud, bowing his head. Ordinarily, I’d expect that from any slave, but this man was meant to be my guard someday—surely he warranted different treatment than a common servant. After all, he was a royal’s slave, and that made him more important.

“Raise your head. I wish to look at you further,” I ordered. When he looked up, my heart skipped a beat. I was more pleased with him than I’d expected to be. His appearance almost made me forget the beating he’d taken earlier… except—where were his bruises? And why wasn’t there any blood?

“Fighter…” I began, narrowing my eyes. “You look far too healthy after that fight. Care to explain how?”

He seemed about to speak, but the man behind him spoke first.

“Your Majesty, I am Kethreen Kushim, the boy’s instructor. If I may be so bold, I can explain on his behalf.” The man knelt and bowed his head, and since he was the fighter’s trainer, I decided his account might be more reliable than the boy’s own.

“I grant you permission,” I said, turning my attention to him.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” He straightened slightly. “You see, this boy is… different. He was ‘blessed’ by the Cultists of the First Flame, who, for some reason, mistook him for something holy. This so-called blessing, though minor, grants him a degree of resilience.”

I studied him carefully. He spoke with conviction, or at least enough to suggest he truly believed it. It sounded ridiculous, but it would explain why the fighter seemed unharmed despite his ordeal. Still, questions crowded my mind: Why would the cultists bestow such a gift on a slave? If they could bless him so easily, why not bless themselves?

“You said they blessed him. Why not bless themselves?” I asked, also curious how this man knew such details.

“They’re cultists, Your Majesty,” he explained, his voice matter-of-fact. “Their fanaticism blinds them to something so obvious to us. They wouldn’t bless themselves, because the thought simply wouldn’t cross their minds. As for how I know—well, their cells have hidden gaps I can peer through in secret.”

It made a certain sense, even if it might not have been the whole truth. For now, it was acceptable—I could confirm the details later. Shaking my head, I glanced back at my fighter. Perhaps I should come up with a more fitting name.

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“You. What are you called?” I asked in a tone that implied I could rename him at a whim.

“This one is called Edric, Your Majesty,” he answered. His head remained bowed, so I couldn’t see his mouth move, but his voice was deeper than I expected—no trace of the cracking so common at our age. Speaking of age… he seemed close to mine, as though fate had guided me to choose him. I waved a dismissive hand toward the instructor.

“You’re dismissed,” I said. My gaze was already back on Edric, but oddly, he moved as though I’d addressed him.

“Not you— you,” I clarified, pointing firmly at the instructor to avoid confusion. The instructor cast a quick look down at Edric, and I caught a flicker of emotion in his eyes, though I couldn’t pinpoint what it was—perhaps concern that Edric might offend me somehow.

I made a show of patting my palm lightly. “No need to worry. Any offense the slave makes won’t be placed on you.” I felt magnanimous making that promise—after all, I am a benevolent princess, and I intended to show some care for my subjects.

Edric’s POV

I felt a jolt of nerves the moment the princess dismissed my instructor. It was like my safety net vanished before my eyes. Part of me hoped she’d let me leave, but that obviously wasn’t happening—she wanted me here.

What does she even want with me? And why does she keep calling me her fighter? I understand that each slave is property and that, by virtue of her being the princess, we all belong to her. Still, there must be plenty of other men and women more valuable to her than I could ever be.

I heard the click of my instructor’s boots slowly retreating. Each step quickened my heartbeat until the distinct sound of the door handle turning made it freeze. Then came the click of the door closing—and it was just the princess and me.

“You know, Edric…” she began, her voice lilting with a controlled confidence, “I love beautiful things.” I sensed her circling around me. My gaze remained on the floor.

“And you are just that. I picked you on a whim, but—” she paused, almost playfully, “I think it was a very lucky whim.”

I knew I needed to respond, but my mind raced, searching for something—anything—to distract her or buy me an escape. I barely registered her next words.

“Raise your head. I wish to gaze upon your eyes.”

I hesitated, my mouth twitching, but finally lifted my head. “Yes, Your Highness.”

She inhaled slowly, as though savoring the moment. “They’re like gems… so precious. Do you know what my father told me?”

I gathered it was a rhetorical question, but I shook my head anyway to acknowledge her.

“He said I could pick someone to be my personal guard. And I picked you. Do you know what that means? Use your words this time—I want to hear your voice.”

My first thought was that my freedom was gone. If I became her guard, I might never escape. Then again, perhaps if I became a champion, I could maneuver myself toward something resembling liberty.

“I do not know, Your Majesty,” I answered, feigning simplicity.

“That’s okay,” she said softly, an unsettling smile touching her lips. “I’ll educate you. It means that from now until the end of your days…I will be your world.”