Aurein's POV
Rowan stood beside me in the quiet clearing, the afternoon sunlight spilling through the branches above us like molten gold. The air smelled faintly of pine and cold steel. He had insisted on teaching me swordsmanship "his" way—gentler, patient, almost brotherly.
"How many days have you been practicing swordsmanship now, Aurein?" he asked, brows knitting with interest.
"Actually, this is only my second day," I said, embarrassed. "I barely know anything."
He chuckled softly. "No, don't be shy. I'm happy to teach you. At least this is one favor I can repay. When we were young, you always taught me so many things." He said it with a warm smile that almost made me forget how utterly clueless I looked with a sword.
I laughed. "Imagine that—before, I was like the big brother. Now you're taller, broader... I look like the younger one."
"That's perfectly fine," he said, tapping my head gently. "I'll protect you and do everything I can to make my small big brother happy."
Before I could even react to that, a voice thundered through the training grounds.
"Wrong! From the start—wrong! You're all too soft!" General Voltaire barked towards his warriors. "Be more snappy!"
Rowan and I froze, instantly turning our attention toward him. The General's commanding presence was impossible to ignore—sharp eyes, armor glinting, every word slicing the air like a blade. Even from here, you could feel the intensity radiating from him.
"That General Voltaire... I didn't think he was this strict when training," Rowan whispered. "No wonder they call him the war prodigy."
I couldn't deny it. As I watched him correct his warriors—all of them sweating bullets—it was clear General Voltaire demanded perfection. And mercy wasn't exactly part of his vocabulary.
"Well, he's strict," I said. "Let's not mind him. Come on, let's get back."
"Right. I'll teach you the very basics," Rowan said gently. "Exactly how I learned them."
I tried recreating the stance General Voltaire had taught me yesterday, planting my feet the way I remembered.
"I see—you know the stance. But let's correct it," Rowan said, stepping closer. "Left foot slightly forward..." He guided my knee with a light touch, adjusting my weight. "Good. And here—let me fix the edge of your sword and your grip."
He leaned in, adjusting my wooden blade, then lightly took my hands.
"When you hold the hilt, keep it at stomach level," he said, placing my hands correctly. "Here—"
"That's wrong!" General Voltaire's voice thundered across the grounds again.
Rowan and I glanced over just in time to see him scolding Ton-Ton.
"If you hold your sword like that, you cannot fight properly! Is that what I taught you? The hilt should be between your upper stomach and lower chest! Do it again!" Voltaire said, his tone knife-sharp.
"Y-yes, General!" Ton-Ton said, practically trembling.
Poor guy. He looked half-dead from exhaustion and hunger.
"Ah, he's right, I forgot about that," Rowan said, nodding. "Let's correct your stance again."
I swallowed, adjusting my sword exactly how General Voltaire instructed Ton-Ton... not that he was talking to me specifically. Or was he? Because somehow, his yell sounded suspiciously directed at my stance.
"Now," Rowan said softly, "I'll teach you the basic forms. You'll pick them up quickly. For this form, left foot forward—right foot behind. Toes pointing sideways. Your stance should look like an L."
I copied him.
"Good. Now, weight distribution," he said. "Sixty percent on your back foot, forty in front. That helps with balance and fast movement."
"Okay—copy," I said, adjusting again.
"And your torso..." Rowan stepped behind me, gently pressing his fingers between my shoulder blades. "Keep your back straight. Shoulders relaxed..." Then he fixed them, warm hands settling briefly on each shoulder. "And hips turned diagonally."
His hands were steady, guiding without force. Every touch was feather-light but precise.
"And your grip," he continued, lightly brushing my hand. "If you tense your fingers, you'll tire quickly. Let the sword breathe—let it move with you, not against you."
I nodded.
"For the first form," Rowan said, "Guard stance. Ready position before attacking."
"All right. How do I...?"
"Raise the sword, tip upward. Keep the hilt at your lower chest. Elbows down, shoulders relaxed. Eyes forward. Weight on your back foot. Watch me."
I mirrored his movements.
"This stance is for defense," he said. "Posture. Reading your opponent. All battles begin here. If your guard stance is wrong... everything else collapses."
"Wow, I'm learning so much," I said, genuinely impressed. "You must be incredible at swordsmanship."
He smiled. "Let's say I trained very hard—for our kingdom, and for you. So that when you become the king of Ardentia, I can fight and protect you."
My cheeks warmed. "Rowan..."
But before I could continue—
"Basic slash—downward cut! Form two!" General Voltaire roared across the field.
Rowan and I both turned, momentarily forgetting our training. General Voltaire moved like a force of nature—precise, powerful, unshakeable—as he demonstrated the move for his warriors.
And for a moment... I couldn't look away.
"Lift the sword above your head. Keep the elbows close—not flared—and bring the blade down in a straight line," General Voltaire said, demonstrating each movement with slow, lethal precision. "Then stop the blade at chest level. After that... return to Guard Stance." He finished the sequence with one fluid motion, as if the sword were merely an extension of his hand.
Even from where I stood, the sharpness of his technique was obvious. Each movement was crisp, clean, and impossibly controlled. The sword looked weightless in his grasp—laughable, considering I had already held his and nearly broke my wrist from how heavy it actually was.
"Now, copy me," he said.
"Yup, that's the second form. Just follow General Voltaire's instructions, Aurein," Rowan said, nodding encouragingly.
"Okay!"
I lifted my sword and imitated the sequence.
"Is this right?" I asked.
"Don't raise your shoulders too much," Rowan said gently. He stepped closer and laid a hand against my upper chest. "Keep your core engaged—" He froze. His eyes widened, and he quickly withdrew his hand. "Wait, is it even okay to touch you there, Aurein?"
"No! It's not okay!" General Voltaire suddenly roared—not at us, but loud enough that Rowan and I practically jumped.
"No! I don't allow this! You cannot be weak! Fix your posture!" he shouted at his warriors.
"What is his problem?" I muttered under my breath.
"Did you say something?" Rowan asked curiously.
"Nope. Don't mind it," I said with a smile, focusing on correcting my stance.
I swung my sword.
Slash!
"Was that okay, Rowan?" I asked.
"You need more force. Who are you attacking, the wind?" General Voltaire said sharply as he scolded poor Ton-Ton again—who already looked like a ghost wandering the battlefield.
"Y-yes, General!" Ton-Ton said, trembling.
"You should put more impact into it, Aurein," Rowan said in his usual calm tone. "Stronger, firmer. Don't be afraid of the sword."
"Mmff!" I grunted, trying again.
"You slash like a girl!" General Voltaire barked. "Fix it! Ton-Ton—again! Make it bold! Like a true warrior you are!"
"Y-yes, General!" poor Ton-Ton said, nearly tripping over his own feet.
Why did it feel like Ton-Ton wasn't the real target here? Everything coming out of General Voltaire's mouth felt suspiciously aimed in my direction. As if he was just using Ton-Ton as an excuse to insult my technique.
"Nggh!" I slashed again. "Better, Rowan?"
"It looks a little weak still. Let me guide you," he said.
He stepped behind me—close enough that his breath brushed my ear. Then he enclosed me with his arms, firm and warm, guiding my hands where they held the hilt. It was exactly like what General Voltaire had done before... except Rowan's touch felt softer, almost protective. "I'll let you feel how strong it should be," he said.
His hands tightened around mine.
Slash!
The power surged through the motion—clean, decisive.
"Ah! So that's how strong it should be," I said, amazed.
"Want me to teach you again?" he asked with a grin.
"I think I get it," I said.
As soon as he released me, I tried again.
Slash!
"That's it! Much better this time—good job!" Rowan said brightly, patting my shoulders. "You've always been a fast learner since we were kids. That's what I've always liked about you, Aurein."
"Thanks, Rowan," I said, smiling back.
Then he gently brushed something against my hair.
"There was a leaf," he said softly as he removed it.
"Thank you," I said, meeting his eyes for a brief, warm moment.
"By the way," he said quietly, "I just noticed something about you, Aurein."
"What is it?"
"Please don't take this as an insult—actually, take it as a compliment." He smiled at me, soft and sincere. "You're... surprisingly pretty for a guy. I mean that in a good way. I like how you turned out. Your features are softer than most men I know."
I looked away. "I hate it, honestly. I want to look more masculine—not... feminine. I will be the next king, I should look intimidating like my father, at least."
"No, no. You don't look feminine. Maybe more of mixed. But it suits you. It fits you," he said gently.
"You know, you're the first person who's ever complimented my looks," I said. "Most people tease me for looking or moving 'like a girl.' They say it's inappropriate for a prince."
I said it loudly enough for a certain general to hear.
Sure enough—General Voltaire's ears twitched. He paused mid-instruction.
Good. He heard that. After all his indirect insults since we started with the sword training, I deserved that tiny victory.
"That is the truth!" General Voltaire suddenly said. "It's true that all of you need to improve! Because I believe in your potential!" he continued... directed at his warriors.
I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw my brain.
"Aurein, are you okay? You look... annoyed? You just eye-rolled," Rowan asked, confused.
"I'm fine! Don't mind me. Teach me the next form. I want to learn from a trainer..." I replied, then I spoke louder, enough for the general to here, "...who's gentle, considerate... and not annoying."
"If I become gentle and never strict, how will you learn?" General Voltaire shouted back—still speaking to his warriors, yet somehow addressing exactly what I said. "You must be ready for my words! They are for your sake!"
"They look like they're having a rough time," Rowan whispered. "General Voltaire is quite... stern, isn't he?"
"You said it," I replied with a mischievous smirk.
"Anyway, let's continue, Aurein," Rowan said, his tone brightening. "Form three is the diagonal strike."
"What an impressive name," I said, genuinely amazed. "Sounds like some kind of powerful secret technique."
He laughed softly. "Think of it as splitting the wind in two directions—smoothly, Aurein. No rushing. That's form three." He lifted his hand slightly as he spoke, guiding the air. "Let me show you. May I borrow your sword?"
"Yup!" I said, handing him the wooden blade.
But Rowan didn't just take the sword.
He took my hand along with it—his palm warm over mine, fingers curling around far longer than necessary.
"Umm..." I muttered, staring at our joined hands.
"Oh! Sorry!" he said with a small laugh before letting go. "By the way... I noticed something. Your hands are really soft."
"They are?" I said, embarrassed, glancing down at them.
Then, without warning, he gently took both of my hands again—this time palm-down—and brushed his fingertips along mine. His touch trailed across each joint, feather-light but deliberate.
"Your nails are clean. Your fingers no calluses at all. You've taken good care of your hands. They're like the hands of a—"
"—a woman?" I finished with a sigh. "Yeah, I know. I get it."
"Yeah..." he admitted softly. "But don't take it the wrong way. I'd actually do anything to keep these hands of yours this pristine. They're... special." His voice softened near the end.
Before I could react—
"Training is over for now! I'm going to bathe!" General Voltaire suddenly shouted. "No one stays behind—everyone shall take a bath!"
"I literally just took a bath, General Voltaire. Maybe you forgot?" I said.
"I said everyone," he emphasized. "All warriors under my unit."
"I'm not part of your unit, technically. I'm a prince, not a warrior."
"Technically you are wrong," he said flatly, "you are part of me. I mean my unit. Your father instructed me to treat you as one of my warriors, so you will follow my orders."
"Ugh..." I groaned. "Fine. I guess I have to come with them," I whispered to Rowan.
"I'd love to join... but maybe next time," Rowan said with a smile.
"What are you still waiting for, Prince Aurein?" General Voltaire barked. "Your companions already went ahead to the spring."
"I'm coming! Why are you in such a rush?" I snapped. "Sorry, Rowan..."
"It's okay," he said warmly. "I should return to the palace anyway. My father and I are supposed to speak with the King. I just went here to see you personally. I'll wait for you there?"
"Sure!"
"Or actually..." Rowan paused, thinking. "What time will your training finish?"
"General Voltaire? What time exactly will we finish?" I asked, turning toward the insufferable man tapping his foot impatiently—as if eager to drag me away from Rowan.
"Late evening!" he said instantly.
"That's too long!"
"Especially if you stand there chatting," he added dryly.
"Don't mind him, Rowan. We'll probably finish by afternoon," I said.
"All right. Then I'll come back for you. We can go for a walk—visit the places we used to go when we were kids. Just like old times," he said with a soft smile.
"Okay! I'd love that," I said.
"Are you done talking?" General Voltaire called.
"I'm going!" I snapped at him. "See you later, Rowan!" I said, smiling more softly at Rowan.
He nodded once and gave a respectful bow.
"Prince Aurein," he said.
"Stop bowing! You make me feel like a stranger," I said, laughing.
A long, dramatic sigh echoed behind me.
Of course—it was General Voltaire.
"All right, let's go! I know you're itching to bathe," I said irritably, walking toward him.
"Lord Rowan, we shall take our leave," General Voltaire said with clipped formality.
Rowan nodded back then walked away... and I was left with the one person determined to ruin my mood.
We began walking.
"What is your problem, huh? General Voltaire!" I snapped. "Don't pretend, you think I didn't notice—you were clearly directing your comments at me while tormenting Ton-Ton and the others!"
"You're imagining things, Prince Aurein," he said coolly. "I wasn't targeting anyone."
"Whatever!" I muttered. "I already took a bath. Can I just stay near everyone while they bathe? You know I get grossed out easily. All their sweat is going to mix in the spring, and I don't want it touching my skin."
"You are so dramatic," he said.
"See?! This! This is exactly what I mean!" I said, frustrated. "When Rowan was around, you acted like some noble, strict, honorable general. But as soon as it's just me—insults everywhere!"
"Perhaps you forgot what I told you..." he said, suddenly serious.
He turned his head and looked directly at me.
"When I am with you... I can show my true self."
I froze.
"...Can't you at least show your noble self when it's just the two of us?" I asked irritably.
"I refuse to obey that," he said with a smirk.
"Hmp!"
"And..." he said, releasing a slow exhale—as if deciding something.
"Yes? Out with it."
"Did you learn anything from your training with Lord Rowan?" he asked.
"A lot! And he explains everything very well!" I said proudly.
"I see..." he said, brows tightening as he stared forward.
"But," I added, "he wasn't as precise as you when it comes to swordsmanship. He forgot some things, and if you hadn't yelled instructions earlier, I would've done the forms wrong." I looked at him, serious. "In a way... I still prefer you to teach me, actually."
The air tightened between us.
General Voltaire didn't respond immediately.
But I saw the way his jaw clenched.
The way his shoulders eased just a little.
And the faintest, barely-there smile flicker at the corner of his mouth.
Just for a moment.
Out of nowhere—
(Smack!)
General Voltaire suddenly struck my arm with a light punch.
"Aw! What was that for!" I yelled, rubbing the sore spot. "Why would you do that? Don't forget—I'm still royalty!"
But when I looked at him... I froze.
He was smiling at me.
Not in his usual smug, teasing, irritating way—but a genuine, warm, almost glad kind of smile.
My breath hitched.
"Why are you smiling? Stop it!" I said, half-laughing as I grabbed his face and pushed it to face forward, anything to make him stop smiling at me like that.
Because it made me feel uneasy.
Uneasy in a way that felt... good.
"So," he asked, voice casual but his eyes too focused on me, "you still choose me to train you?"
"Of course," I said. "Rowan is only visiting. He won't be here long. And besides—you're the one who mastered swordsmanship. Learning from you would be the best choice."
"Good," he said. "At least you thought of that, Prince Aurein. If you always think like that, we wouldn't have any problem."
"Wow. Thanks," I replied sarcastically.
We finally reached the spring. His warriors were already there staring at us like confused ducks.
"What are you staring at? Bathe!" General Voltaire barked, and the warriors instantly scrubbed themselves like terrified children.
Then—without warning—he began undressing right in front of me.
I choked.
"G-General Voltaire!" I said as I slapped a hand over my eyes.
"What? You're acting as if you aren't even a man like me, like you've never seen mine," he said with a laugh. "Go on—look. See how proud I am of my manhood."
Against my better judgment, I peeked through my fingers.
There he stood—hands on his hips, chin raised, absolutely shameless and absolutely proud.
"Just bathe already!" I yelled, flustered. "I'll rest for a while!"
"Fine," he said. "But don't leave my sight. If you disappear, I'll give you a punishment you won't like."
"I know! What else can I do? You practically own my life right now!" I snapped.
"Good. Then we understand each other," he said with a smirk, marching into the spring. "Hey, you! You've got dirt on your back! Scrub your neck properly!" he ordered to one of his warriors, and I shook my head while laughing softly.
He was in a good mood now—definitely.
But his mind... I could never understand it.
Sometimes hot-headed, sometimes serious, sometimes playful—and sometimes just plain insane.
Yet as I watched them—laughing, splashing, pushing each other around like true brothers—I realized I had been smiling the whole time.
For most of my life, I had been alone. Surrounded by servants, yes—but not by people who treated me like one of them. Not like a prince. Not like royalty.
But these past few days?
I felt alive.
Not lonely.
Even if General Voltaire tormented me every second, he still cared. Yes, he punished me—but not out of cruelty. He pushed me because he was testing me. Preparing me. Making sure that when I become king, I won't break. That Ardentia won't fall.
He was not just protecting me—He was protecting our home.
"Prince Aurein! Help me!" Ton-Ton suddenly shouted.
I looked up just in time to see him being carried by ten warriors like a giant sack of rice.
"When I count to three!" General Voltaire called out, soaked and grinning like a child who found a new toy.
"What are you doing?" I asked through laughter—though I already knew.
"One, two, THREE!" he shouted.
They launched Ton-Ton into the air.
(SPLASH!)
Water exploded upward. Droplets reached me even from afar. I burst into laughter as the warriors cheered, slipping and nearly falling from their own excitement.
I couldn't stop smiling.
No matter how strict General Voltaire was, he still laughed with them—played with them—stood beside them like family.
No wonder they respected him so deeply.
"One more! Who's next?" he yelled mischievously. "You—Asper!"
"No way, General! I'm so skinny I might get swept all the way to the next kingdom!" Asper shouted and ran like he was fleeing from a monster.
Too late.
Ton-Ton and the others blocked him.
(SPLASH!)
Asper flew—and Ton-Ton fell right after him.
Good thing Asper wasn't flattened!
"And the next one we'll throw into the spring is..." General Voltaire said, pausing dramatically.
Then he looked directly at me—with a devilish smile spreading across his lips.
My hands instantly grabbed the tree behind me.
"No! No, no, no! I don't want to! I'm completely dry! I'm still wearing my training gear—this will get soaked!" I shouted, knees locking in fear.
And the general took one slow, deliberate step toward me.
As if he found his prey and cornering it!
The warriors exchanged looks—mischievous, unified, and dangerous. It was the kind of glance that meant trouble... and I was absolutely the target.
Before I could even breathe, he moved.
"General Voltaire!" I shouted as I sprinted away. But within just a few steps, he was already in front of me. He moved like lightning—swift, precise, unavoidable.
In one seamless sweep, he scooped me up. One arm slid behind my back, the other under my thighs, lifting me with humiliating ease.
"You," he said with wicked delight, "are the lucky creature I'm throwing into the spring next."
"General! Put me down!" I shouted, gripping his chest without thinking. His muscles were solid beneath my hands—far too solid—and I realized I was holding on much tighter than necessary. My cheeks flamed.
But he didn't stop. He walked with purpose. Toward the spring. Toward the freezing water. Toward the impending doom of my once-dry, once-dignified self.
"General, I swear—!" I yelled, but when I glanced up at him, he just grinned. He was too happy. Too alive. Too... infuriating.
"Woooooh!" he shouted.
And instead of throwing me—he jumped with me still in his arms.
SPLASH!
We hit the water hard. A burst of white foam exploded around us, the cold spring crashing over my head. My training gear clung heavily to my body, dragging me down as I resurfaced, sputtering and drenched.
"I'm soaked, General Voltaire! Because of you!" I said irritably, scowling at him.
But him?
He kept grinning—wide, bright, annoyingly handsome. He looked even more pleased than before.
"One more! You need to be fully drenched!" he said and grabbed my arms, giving the terrifying impression he meant to dunk me again.
"General! No!" I yelped, grabbing his shoulders to push him away—except with how close we were, it looked more like I was clinging to him.
Honestly, I was annoyed... but it was the kind of annoyance mixed with something fluttery. Something warm. Something I absolutely refused to admit existed. I glared at him, but my heart was beating far too fast for someone "just irritated."
"Come on, join us!" General Voltaire shouted to his warriors.
The warriors cheered and hurled themselves into the spring—like children freed from discipline. Their jumps were so powerful they nearly collided with us.
Suddenly, fear punched me in the chest.
They were huge. Strong. Chaotic. One wrong angle and my fragile royal bones would be crushed—especially by Ton-Ton!
So my body reacted on its own.
I moved closer to General Voltaire.
Close enough to use him as a shield. Close enough that my chest brushed his. Close enough that I could feel the heat of his breath over the chill of the water. My hands clung to chest while the river swayed violently with every splash.
"General! Make them stop!" I pleaded, as the waves smacked into us, tossing my balance.
But him?
He only laughed. His hand slid to my lower back, pulling me securely toward him—protecting me, anchoring me, holding me in place as if shielding me was the most natural thing in the world.
And then—it happened.
A warrior collided from behind, a powerful shove that hit my back.
I lurched forward.
Straight into him.
And in that single heartbeat—the world... stopped.
My body crashed into his chest, and before I could pull away, our faces met—angled in the exact way that—
Our lips touched.
My eyes flew open.
The instant our lips brushed, everything else drowned away—the warriors' shouts, the splash of the river, the noise of the world. All of it blurred, fading behind a curtain of breathless silence.
His lips were warm despite the cold water.
Soft, yet solid—like a moment that shouldn't have happened... but did. Time froze between us, suspended in the fragile space of an accidental almost-kiss that wasn't really "almost."
I felt his breath against my skin. Too close. Far too close for someone who insisted he was "just my General."
Then, just as abruptly, the world resumed.
The splashes.
The laughter.
The chaos.
But us?
We did not move.
We stood still.
"General Voltaire..." I whispered, staring at him, unable to process anything beyond the imprint of his lips against mine.
He stared back, eyes wide. Shocked. Breath caught. Like even he couldn't believe what just happened.
My hand flew to my mouth.
His warmth still lingered there.
The General and I...just kissed.
But... it was accidental.
Our lips just... brushed.
That doesn't count as a kiss.
...Right?
Or does it?
End of Chapter 12