The gym had been purpose-built for Damian, with several recommendations from Dominic—Head of Security, and Damian's personal trainer. The wide windows allowed natural light to filter in from outside, providing a view of the winding river below.
It was still early in the morning, barely six o'clock by Damian's reckoning. As usual, he was one of the few people awake in Rossheim Palace.
His daily exercise was one of the few routines he managed to keep despite his chaotic schedule. This required an early start to the day—a time when most of the royal residence was only just beginning to prepare for the day's tasks.
Yet even so, Damian's early start was once again beaten by one of the newest—and most problematic—members of his retinue.
"Good morning, Your Highness. Did you have sweet dreams? Or were you up late again with some new girl?"
Lynn Brightwell's charming voice was accompanied by a disarming smile that belied her antagonistic comments. The woman was three years his senior, with short-cropped red hair, and icy blue eyes.
She was currently engaged in a series of squats, an iron bar across her shoulders with several weights attached to each end. At a glance, she was casually pressing a hundred pounds as though it were nothing more than a brisk pre-breakfast walk.
Damian huffed.
"My dreams are none of your concern, and nor are my bedroom activities. Must I remind you of your place again, Captain?"
"I know my place just fine, Your Highness. Serve and protect the prince at all costs. I don't recall anything about needing to keep my criticisms to myself, though."
"How in the Flame's Ash did you manage to become a captain?"
He sat down on one of the foam mats and began stretching his hamstrings. He was limber, easily able to reach his toes, and despite having turned twenty the past spring, he felt that he might still grow another inch or two by the year's end.
Lynn dropped the weights onto the ground with a resounding thud. She began racking them dutifully, sweat glistening on her nape and across her forearms. She wore only a white tank-top and gray pants, and Damian often found his eyes straying to the sweat dripping down her throat and between her small breasts.
If only she wasn't so damn annoying. Where does she get off acting so casually with the Crown Prince?
The ringing peal of the six o'clock bells reached his ears, carried by the breeze from the Holy Order's Cathedral on the banks of the river. No matter where you were in Rosweiss, you could hear the Cathedral's tolls—even in the depths of Tenebrae, where the Deep clung to every surface and repelled the very idea of the Flame.
"Another morning without prayer?" Lynn asked, clicking her tongue playfully. "Not a faithful man of the cloth, are you, Your Highness?"
Damian scowled as he began a series of crunches. With every rise, he met Lynn's eyes in the mirrors covering the opposite wall. She took a swig from a flask of water, her gaze meeting his in the reflection.
"And what about you, Captain Brightwell? Shouldn't you be leading your troops in morning assembly? I was under the impression the Flameguard should be the most pious of us all. Lead by example, and all that."
Lynn shrugged, stoppering her bottle was a metallic chink.
"I trust my men for more than just their ability to attend church. Of course, it helps that they all have an excellent connection to the Flame."
"I'll take your word on it; I don't think I'd know what a decent connection to the Flame would feel like."
"Ah, yes, the famous Crown Prince and his performance issues," Lynn giggled to herself, proud of her innuendo. She smacked her hand against a rack of wooden swords. "How about a round or two to brush off the cobwebs, Your Highness?"
The gall of this woman, I swear.
Since she assumed the position of Captain of the Flameguard, Lynn had found a dozen different ways to annoy him. She'd also seen fit to spar with him almost every morning, resulting in his sound defeat every time. His ass was getting rather sore from being knocked down, and he certainly didn't appreciate that knowing smirk on her lips.
Dominic had trained Damian rather well in the art of hand-to-hand combat, and he was confident he could take a rogue attacker should the need arise. But swordplay—the domain of the Flameguard, and all the Order's soldiers—was certainly not his greatest strength. Besides, given his rather unique handicap with Blessings, he preferred to specialize in what he could always rely upon—his own body.
"I'm good, thank you, Captain."
Damian grunted, hauling himself to his feet. He stood about an inch taller than Lynn, but her solid build and the powerful air she gave off somehow negated that difference.
He offered her his best, most charming smile.
"But I could always do with a post-workout cooldown in the showers."
Lynn grinned again, but her smile didn't reach her eyes.
"Oh, the famous playboy prince makes his move. How long have you been thinking up that line, Your Highness? Three days, at least, I'm sure. I'm terribly sorry to disappoint, but unlike all your floozy little maids, my panties don't come sliding down for a handsome jaw and some honeyed words."
"So you admit I'm handsome?"
"And a cheap talker," Lynn shot back, wiping her sweat away with a towel. Yes, Damian's reputation had definitely reached Lynn—he wondered if Gunther himself had even informed her—but the stoic captain showed no signs of interest in anything he had to offer.
"Enjoy your exercise, Your Highness. Try not to think about me too long in the shower."
With that, Lynn departed, leaving Damian to utter a wordless growl. Yes, this new captain was going to take some breaking in, that was for sure. With a sigh, he returned to his training, his thoughts annoyingly distracted for the remainder of the hour.