Arya’s interference was both helpful and irritating. He hadn’t asked to have Lliane sent to his room, nor to have Senjay as a teacher—but Garrin had little choice except to take advantage of the situation. He needed a teacher; Senjay was willing to teach him. And he’d certainly proved he wouldn’t hold back because of Garrin’s title. This was exactly what he needed if he was going to learn how to protect himself.

So why did he feel so bitter about it?

Senjay rocked smoothly to his feet and let down his hand to help Garrin up. “So? Are you ready for your training now, or shall I schedule an appointment with your staff?”

“Now is fine,” Garrin grumbled. He wanted to ignore the offer of help, but it wasn’t Senjay’s fault that he was so bad at fighting. It wouldn’t be fair to take his frustrations out on someone who had agreed to help him. “But we should probably find somewhere other than the hallway,” he added.

Senjay hitched one shoulder. “As you command. Where would you prefer to go?”

Privacy was rare in Whitecliff Castle. The regular training grounds would be full of soldiers and guards, so that wouldn’t work. There were his bedchambers, but the room wasn’t spacious and Garrin didn’t want to risk something getting broken. The few storage rooms he knew about were too small, and all the courtyards were open to windows and doorways so anyone could stumble upon them.

Where was a princess with a memorized map of the castle when you needed her?

“We’ll have to go outside the castle,” Garrin decided. “It’s the only place we won’t be disturbed.”

Senjay nodded. “Don’t bother with a cloak—you won’t need it once we get started. Lead the way.”

Garrin was tempted to use the servants’ exit Arya had showed him that morning, but he wasn’t sure he wanted a foreign dignitary to know a hidden way out of—or into—the castle. So he lead the way to the front gate, hoping that Renton was occupied elsewhere, and hurried across the grounds. Their luck held long enough that no one questioned them as they exited the gates, which left Garrin feeling as though he’d cheated his way out of a consequence. The sensation annoyed him; after all, there was no rule that said he could not leave the castle. Renton had only suggested he take an escort with him. Technically, Senjay could be counted as an escort, since he was of equal rank with Garrin. So why did he feel uneasy?

“I didn’t know we’d be walking halfway across Fyrest,” Senjay complained.

Garrin frowned at him. “We’ve barely left the castle. Do you want somewhere secluded or not?”

“It makes no difference to me,” Senjay said. “I don’t mind if your subjects see me beating you.”

“There’s no glory in defeating someone who doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Garrin pointed out.

Senjay shrugged. “I take my wins however they come to me. Not all of us can afford to be picky.”

“What does that mean?” Garrin asked.

“Nothing,” Senjay said. “Details you haven’t earned the right to hear. Perhaps if you beat me, I will explain.”

When I beat you, Garrin amended. When.

There was a flat area against the southern walls of the castle, obscured on three sides by tall rocks that jutted up from the cliff’s face. Garrin had spent many summer days huddled below the rocks, reading in their shade back in the time when he still had some freedom. That had ended before he turned ten, but he thought of the secret space often. It would provide shelter from the wind and prying eyes while giving them a clear area to train.

“Well,” Senjay said when they’d arrived. He looked around at the high rocks, which had shielded the ground from drifting snow. “This should work well enough. It’s not a proper training ground, of course, but we will make do.”

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“It’s all we have to work with,” Garrin said. He rolled his shoulders, suppressing a wince as his ribs stretched. The walk had been cold and his muscles were still stiff from the morning, so he took a moment to stretch while Senjay inspected the space.

“If we were back in Thiyaan, there would be dozens of suitable places,” Senjay muttered. “And the prince would not have needed to ask for training—it would have been given to him.”

“I didn’t ask you,” Garrin said.

Senjay grinned. “You did not. But you need it, so let us begin.”

They trained for what felt like hours. Senjay was a surprisingly patient teacher, generous with his compliments as well as his corrections. He elbowed Garrin in the ribs once, but after Garrin’s hiss of pain, he was careful to avoid the area. Neither mentioned the kindness, though Garrin silently appreciated it. He wasn’t quite ready to excuse Senjay’s other faults just because he wasn’t taking advantage of the injury.

“You are not as strong as you look,” Senjay said at one point as he effortlessly knocked Garrin’s punch away. “Put your weight behind your fist. You must learn to strike with more power.”

“I’ve had little reason to use it,” Garrin grunted back.

Senjay lifted his hands as targets. “You do not keep busy here, not like you would in Thiyaan. There I train every day with my sisters. Even the youngest know how to protect themselves.”

Garrin tried to imagine what it would be like to train with sisters—to have sisters—and came up blank. “What about... strength differences? Size? Isn’t it unfair to expect your sisters to fight as well as you?”

“You are bigger than I am,” Senjay pointed out. “And we are unevenly matched because of my skill, not your size. You would be ill-equipped to defeat my sisters as well.”

That was a depressing thought, and Garrin resolved to learn quickly—if for no other reason that to wipe the smug smile off Senjay’s face.

They trained until Garrin was panting and sore enough for Senjay to take pity on him and suggest they return to the castle. “The hour grows late,” he said. “It will be time to dine soon. And you will need to clean up.”

There was no use arguing that. Garrin’s clothes were soaked in sweat, which froze to his skin every time a gust of wind made it past the outcropping of rock. He wanted nothing more than to return to his room and call for a bath, then collapse into it and fall asleep before anyone else could bother him. But Senjay was right; they would be dining soon, and he didn’t have the luxury of putting off the meal. He would have to wait until afterwards to bathe.

“This training,” Garrin said hesitantly as Senjay led the way back to the castle. “I would like it to remain secret.”

Senjay grinned. “You do not wish it to be known that you have been so poorly prepared for your life on the throne?”

“Others would argue that I should not have to fight,” Garrin muttered. “I have others to do that for me.”

“But you obviously do not agree,” Senjay said.

When Garrin didn’t answer, Senjay laughed. “I will tell no one of our training. It suits me to keep the secret as well. Who wants it to be known that your bruises are because of me? Your Marshal Renton would doubtless have something to say.”

That was likely true. Silence was prudent for both of them then; Garrin could trust that the Thiyaan prince would keep the secret.

They returned to the castle without incident, even though they entered through the main gate. Where the guards may have questioned Garrin alone, they could hardly say anything to two royals. A passing servant answered Senjay’s inquiry after the details of the evening’s meal: dinner would be served in an hour, and if he could be so bold, His Majesty the King had questioned after Garrin’s whereabouts.

Senjay shook his head as the servant hurried away. “Your absence was noticed, then. Can you come up with an excuse?”

“Of course I can,” Garrin muttered. “You’d best do the same, just in case.”

He grinned. “No one cares about what I do with my time. But I shall create some alibi if it will ease your fears. To prove what a thoughtful teacher I am.”

Garrin rolled his eyes. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Senjay agreed.

They parted ways near the Great Hall, each returning to his room to prepare for dinner. Garrin had made up his mind to ask Jakin to have a bath ready as soon as the meal was finished, but an hour should give him enough time to at least wash the sweat from his face and change clothes. This would be his third wardrobe change of the day—and if he continued his training, that trend would continue. He cringed to think of the curses the launderers would heap upon him for so much extra work.

But at least their curses would be in private. What Renton would say when he found out Garrin had left the castle again... well, Garrin wasn’t looking forward to it.

There was no use postponing the inevitable. Safe within his bedchambers, Garrin allowed himself a groan while he peeled the clothes from his clammy skin and washed in the basin of fresh water Jakin left for him each morning. When he was dry, he changed into yet another outfit, this one suitable for a dinner with visiting royalty.

Then he donned a midnight blue cloak and left the comfort of his room behind.