The training hall was vast and open, its stone floors worn smooth by centuries of warriors. Morning light streamed through high arched windows, catching on dust motes and the silver accents of Kylen’s banners. Maisie stood in the center wearing simple training clothes — loose black tunic and pants that allowed movement. No collar. No leash. Just the faint ache of old bruises that were finally beginning to fade.
Kylen faced her, barefoot and stripped to the waist, his powerful body a study in controlled strength. Scars marked his torso like maps of old battles, but he moved with the easy grace of someone who had never been truly broken.
“Today we begin,” he said, voice low and steady. “Basic defense. Nothing more. You tell me when to stop.”
Maisie nodded, nerves twisting in her stomach.
