Chapter 409: Teach Me

Zephan;The training field is empty this early in the morning.

Just how I like it.

The rhythmic sound of steel cutting through air echoes across the grounds as I drive my sword through another sequence.

Strike, turn, step and strike again.

My muscles burn pleasantly beneath my skin, and I relish the sensation.

The feeling is the only anchoring thing I have felt in a VERY long time.

Pain is simple. It’s... predictable. Unlike everything else.

The Black Sect, Balinar, the future... my family.

I drive the sword down on the dummy harder than intended, and it breaks open.

Wood splinters scatter across the ground, and I pause.

I stare at the damage for a moment before exhaling slowly.

Ever since that conversation with Father and Mother, my thoughts have refused to settle.

It keeps circling back to one thing.

The Black Sect.

Somehow... They want Elián.

The thought of it is like poison in my chest.

Every road leads back to him. The entity wanted him, Balinar wants him, and now the Black Sect wants him too.

The worst part of it all is that nobody seems to know why.

I tighten my grip around the sword, and I feel my heart break open in my chest.

If danger comes again... Will I be strong enough?

The question angers me as much as it worries me, because such a question shouldn’t exist.

As a prince. As a future king. As an Alpha, and a mate... The answer should be obvious.

Yet lately...

I’m no longer certain of anything.

A familiar scent drifts across the training grounds, and every muscle in my body stills in response.

Strawberries, late night dew, and roses....

I turn towards the warm scent and find Elián standing at the edge of the training field.

He’s in light clothing again. Brown pants and a robe so light it’s practically see-through.

My breathing stabilises as I stare at him.

His beautiful red eyes take in the sight before him, but we both remain silent.

He looks much better than the three days he was unconscious.

His colour has returned to his face.

Anyone looking at him would probably say he’s recovering well.

...I know better.

Something has changed.

I noticed it days ago.

The silence, the way he watches people now... The way his smiles never seem to linger.

The way he spends more time thinking than speaking.

The Elián I knew would have arrived talking. About the weather, about breakfast, or about some random thought that crossed his mind halfway down the corridor.

This Elián simply stands there. Watching me. Thinking.

And that unsettles me deeply.

"Elián." I greet, and he returns his gaze to my face.

"Zephan." He calls with his ever-so-delicate voice, and I smile.

I lower my sword and take a step towards him.

I would have gone closer, but I reek of sweat. I don’t want my stench to affect him.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, and for a second, he says nothing.

Then he walks towards me and stops just a few feet away.

"I need a favour." He says, and my brows rise slightly.

That wasn’t what I expected.

"What kind of favour?" I ask cautiously, and he lifts his eyes to meet mine.

He takes a breath, then says something I’m certain I heard wrong.

"Teach me how to fight."

I blink at him. Waiting.

Surely there is more. A joke, a smile... Something.

But nothing comes.

He simply waits for my response, and then my face scrunches in confusion.

"Teach you how to fight?"

"Yes." He responds immediately, and I almost laugh.

Not because the request is ridiculous, but because it feels impossible.

"You can’t possibly—"

"I’m serious."

I can see that. That’s the problem!

My gaze drops instinctively toward his stomach. Toward the child—my niece. The delicate life growing safely inside him.

My answer bursts out of me immediately.

"No."

His expression doesn’t change. Well...not immediately.

But I see the disappointment. The frustration and expectation.

As though he knew I would say that.

"Because I’m pregnant." He says flatly—like it’s not a candid reason—and I sigh.

"Yes. Because you’re carrying a child." I point out, and he stares blankly at me.

"And if that thing comes back?" He asks out of the blue, and the words hit me like a blow to my chest.

My jaw tightens instantly, but he holds my gaze with no remorse or shyness from the truth.

"If that creature comes back for me. If Balinar comes..." He continues, and my grip tightens around the hilt of my sword.

"Elián—" I try to reason with him, but he cuts me off.

"What do I do?"

The question cuts through me. Because of how honest and deceptively simple it is.

"What do I do if you’re not there?" He adds, and I swallow.

I do not have an answer to that.

Because the truthful answer is one neither of us wants.

If they come...with the state he’s currently in. He’d do nothing.

He’d have to wait. Have to hope that someone stronger arrives in time to save him.

We both know that. And it’s troubling to think of how defenceless he is without us.

Elián lowers his gaze briefly, then looks back at me. And when he speaks again, his voice is quiet. Dull... different.

"I’m tired of that. I’m tired of standing behind people while they bleed for me." He says, and the air around me suddenly feels very cold.

"I’m tired of watching everyone risk their lives while I wait for someone to save me." He adds as his eyes drift past me, toward something only he can see.

Then he looks back at me.

And then, I understand this isn’t a whim. This isn’t curiosity, or him just wanting to learn something new.

This is fear. This is grief. Determination, and maybe... Something a little dangerous.

"Teach me." The request comes again. Softer this time. But yet, harder to refuse.

For several seconds, neither of us moves.

The morning breeze drifts across the training grounds, carrying the scent of dew and freshly cut grass with it.

Elián waits patiently, and the look in his eyes bothers me.

The usual Elián would have argued. He would have pouted, complained, thrown a tantrum or tried to negotiate.

This version of him, however, simply stands there and waits for my answer.

As though he’s already accepted that nobody is just going to hand him what he wants, and he’s prepared to fight for it.

"...One condition." I finally breathe, and his eyes immediately lift.

"The moment I think you’re pushing yourself too far, we’re done," I note, and he nods. Too quickly. Too eagerly.

"Fine."

"I mean it," I warn, and he gives me a look.

"So do I." He replies matter-of-factly, and I stare at him.

Trying to determine if he’s simply being stubborn. Trying to determine if grief is driving this...If I’m making a mistake.

The more I look at him, the more I realise something.

Even if I refuse today... He’ll come back tomorrow.

And if I refuse tomorrow? He’ll keep coming back till he finds another way.

At least this way I can keep an eye on him.

"Fine." I sigh, and the relief that flashes through his eyes lasts only a second before disappearing again.

That’s another thing that’s changed.

He used to wear every emotion openly. Now, they vanish almost immediately. Hidden behind thoughts he refuses to share.

I don’t like it. Not one bit. But it’s not like he was going to cry and break like that and remain normal after waking up.

"Come here," I order as I walk over to the weapons rack.

He walks over to me. I grab a practice sword from the rack and immediately regret it.

The thing is almost as tall as he is.

His brows rise, and I have to bite back a smile.

"So we’re starting with swords?" He questions, and I shake my head in disagreement.

"No," I reply flatly as I take the weapon back.

"You’d break your arm," I add, and his expression drops.

"I would not."

"You absolutely would." I retort as I place the sword aside and grab a shorter wooden training blade.

Then another.

I hand one to him, and he accepts it carefully. Turning it over in his hands and testing the weight.

"How do I hold it?" He asks me, and I pause. Then I blink at him.

"You’re serious?" I ask, and he nods innocently.

"Very."

Light, help me!

I pinch the bridge of my nose as I lift my face to the sky.

"This is going to be painful," I mutter, but he hears me nonetheless.

"Probably." He mutters back, and I scoff in disbelief.

At least he’s aware of it.

I then move behind him. Carefully adjusting his grip, the angle of his shoulders, the position of his feet, and his overall posture.

But the moment I fix something, something ele his out of place.

Everything feels wrong. Not because he’s incapable. But because his body isn’t used to any of this.

He’s stiff, unbalanced, and he overthinks every movement.

"Relax." I breathe, but he snaps.

"I’m trying."

"Try harder."

"I’m literally standing still!" He whines, and I nearly lose my patience.

"You’re still somehow doing it wrong." I groan, and that earns me a faint twitch of amusement from him.

It’s a relief to see, because...At least some parts of him are still intact.

"Again," I order as I step away from him, and he adjusts.

"Again," I repeat. Deciding this time that it’s best he finds the balance himself.

He readjusts, but his balance is still...off.

"Again." I exhale, and he sighs

He makes another adjustment, and when I take yet another step back, I give a half nod.

"Good enough."

"Good enough sounds concerning." He retorts, and I roll my eyes.

"It should. You’re not perfect, but we can work with this stance." I note, and his shoulders slump.

I can’t help but smile at the sight. He’s so small and adorable, it almost physically hurts to think that there’s so much danger lurking around him.

"Show me a basic strike," I ask, to see what he might know, and Elián immediately swings.

The result is horrifying.

His blade nearly flies from his hand, his painstakingly acquired alance disappears, his feet tangle, and before I can stop it, he’s falling.

I move swiftly. Managing to catch him around the waist before he hits the ground.

For a moment, we both freeze. Then Elián groans.

"Oh, that was embarrassing."

I huff a laugh.

"A little." I agree, and he pouts at me.

"A little?"

"Okay, a lot," I admit, and he closes his eyes.

I release him, and he fists off wrinkles from his robe as he stares at me. Probably waiting for a scolding.

I pick up the training sword he’d dropped, and those enchanting eyes of his just watch me.

"At least you’re learning something important. Fighting is difficult." I note as I toss the blade back to him.

"Most people only respect it after it humiliates them," I add, and Elián catches the sword... Barely.

Then he mutters something under his breath, and I choose not to ask because I have a feeling it wasn’t something nice.

The next hour is painfully frustrating for both of us.

Every lesson ends the same way.

Failure.

Failure.

Failure. Sometimes... spectacular failure.

He tripped over his own feet twice, accidentally struck himself once, and somehow managed to throw his practice blade halfway across the field.

I was watching him the whole time, and I genuinely don’t understand how it happened. Neither does he.

By midday, he’s sweating. Breathing hard, frustrated, and exhausted.

I expect him to quit, but he doesn’t.

Every time he falls... He stands and tries again.

Every time something doesn’t work... He asks why.

Instead of complaining, or whining... He just... Learns, adapts... tries again.

And despite my worry for how stubborn he’s being... I begin feeling a tinge of pride.