"Twenty-eight! Twenty-nine! Thirty!"
Marielle counted loudly, her arms folded tightly over her leather sparring vest as Cherion pushed himself up from the smooth stone tiles of the training ground. His elbows locked for a brief, trembling second before he collapsed flat onto his stomach with a heavy, breathless groan.
Sweat dripped off the tip of his nose, soaking straight into his dark cotton training tunic. Cherion rolled over onto his back, staring up at the clear morning sky while his chest heaved up and down in rapid, ragged gasps.
"Come on, my lord, that was only thirty," Marielle teased, a bright, slightly sadistic grin on her face as she nudged the side of his boot with her toe. "I heard you used to do fifty with ease before the subjugation."
"I... was... fighting for my life on a daily basis back then," Cherion panted, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his forearm.
