Prince Lin made good on his promise to attend the next practice session, and Arst was secretly eager to see how he would fare.

The instructor, Rian Li, was a distant cousin of the main branch. He was a tall man in his forties who had come to dedicate his life to training the youth of the clan after an injury took him out of the battlefield permanently. The injury had long since healed, but he never went far without a cane, which he often waved around to demonstrate the forms he taught, or to correct his pupils' posture. The man was very strict, making them practice until they could reproduce his instructions perfectly, but with that strictness came a certain rigidity that Arst sometimes found frustrating. He had never been good at falling in line meekly, and often found ways to improve artes to suit his style better. Unlike Kohei, who adapted his teaching to his disciples' own strengths, the Long Dau instructor demanded uniformity, which was why Arst had to forego his preferred long sword in favor of regular size practice swords. It had taken him some time to get used to it, as force of habit caused him to misjudge distances at first, but a blade was a blade, and there was no challenge Arst was not ready to take up when it came to the battle arts. Within two weeks he'd secured his place at the top among the other students, which had earned him resentment and admiration in equal measure.

That day, Arst reached the training hall early, as he usually did, and headed to the courtyard where they all practiced. Some other disciples were already there and waved him over.

"Arst! We were just talking about you!" one of the young men said with a grin.

"Oh? What were you saying?"

"Soren here said he's pretty confident he can beat you today."

Arst raised his eyebrows at the man in question. "And what makes you think you can?"

Soren stuck out his chin proudly. "I've been practicing. I think I figured out how to get past your guard."

Arst grinned. "I'd like to see you try."

Soren held his gaze defiantly, while the other two—Dan and Liang—debated on who to bet on in hushed voices. The three of them were sons of notable courtiers who had attended lessons together since they were young. They were close friends and had quickly warmed up to Arst, welcoming him in their group for some friendly competition. They kept chatting animatedly while the courtyard filled with other trainees—most of them were also sons of important courtiers or ministers, while the rest were members of the main family. Prince Lin was among the last to arrive, and his appearance was met with glances and whispers.

"Are my eyes deceiving me or is that the prince?" Soren asked. "It's been ages."

"What is he even doing here?" Dan whispered back. "It's not like he—" He was interrupted by Liang elbowing him. Liang nodded in Arst direction with a tense look, and the others fell silent after that. Arst was about to ask them what they meant when the arrival of Instructor Li put an end to all conversations.

Arst did not get to see much of the prince during warm-up and form practice, as the latter stayed close to his cousins, whom Arst's group tended to avoid. Then came time for mock battles, where disciples took turns against each other. Arst's first match was against Soren, who, contrary to his bold declaration earlier, did not manage to get past his guard at all.

"Aw man, I was so sure I got it this time," he whined as his practice sword hit the ground, torn from his hands by one of Arst's powerful hits.

"Better luck next time," Arst offered.

When he looked around, he noticed that Prince Lin's own fight was already over, with no indication as to how it'd gone. The same pattern repeated over the next few rounds as they switched sparring partners, until the prince was matched against Soren. Once again, Arst was too focused on his own fight to follow what they were doing, but the noise of Soren's sword hitting the ground with a clang brought the attention of everyone in their vicinity. Arst and his opponent both paused, taking in the scene. Soren was standing away from the prince, too far for the latter to have disarmed him.

"Oh no!" Soren exclaimed loudly, causing even more disciples to stop and look at him. "Would you look at that? Prince Lin, your power is so great that it made my sword slip from my fingers on its own!"

Around them, some people started to snicker. Prince Lin was glaring at Soren, clearly displeased with his joke.

"Ah, don't you know? My cousin is so strong even a glare can defeat you!" The man who spoke was called Xing Long Dau. He was the eldest son of Yan Long Dau, the oldest of Lars' younger brothers. Arst did not know Xing well, but the man often acted like he ruled the place and liked to bully those lower in status. It was the first time Arst saw him interact with Prince Lin, however.

"What is going on here?" asked Instructor Li, coming to investigate the interruption.

"Master Li!" Xing exclaimed in fake surprise. "We have a bit of a problem! No one here is a match for Lin. It must be terribly boring for him to defeat us all without breaking a sweat. He will never find a worthy opponent at this rate. Unless…" He looked around slowly, deliberately, until his eyes fell on Arst and his lips stretched into a smirk. "Hasn't Arst here taken the spot of top disciple during his absence? Perhaps they should test their strength against each other? They are married, after all. They should know by now how each other handles his sword."

Arst did not like the mocking way Xing was phrasing it, but truth to be told, he welcomed the opportunity to test himself against the prince. "Fine by me," he declared, readjusting his grip on his sword. Prince Lin stared at him for a long moment, before moving to stand across from him. Arst smiled and offered a nod of encouragement.

"All right, all right, everyone back to your own practice." Instructor Li urged the others to focus again, and walked away to take care of the other groups.

When the signal to start was given, Arst immediately went on the offensive. Prince Lin barely had time to block his strike, and the force made him take a few steps back. Arst did not stop his assault, and this time the prince was too slow and found himself with the tip of Arst's wooden sword under his chin before he could react. He held his breath, his eyes wide with surprise and another emotion Arst was not sure how to interpret. Next to them, the fighting stopped. Arst lowered his sword and Prince Lin released his breath, while a wave of whispers spread around them. Before Arst could break eye contact to see what they were whispering about, the prince fixed him with a determined look.

"Again."

Not one to step away from a challenge, Arst stepped back into position and nodded for him to begin. This time, he let the prince make the first move. Prince Lin lunged at him in a way that was much too open—Arst could have easily slipped past his guard and disarmed him, but he merely stood in place and intercepted the hit with his sword. Over the next few hits they traded, Arst noticed that the prince lacked strength and often made basic mistakes. It seemed impossible that he would be able to defeat the likes of Dan and Soren, who excelled in both technique and physical strength. Arst thus came to a chilling realization: they must have been faking their losses against him. Slightly indignant, Arst put a little more strength into his next hit, and Prince Lin, who had not expected the sudden burst of power, was thrown back onto the ground, his own sword slipping from his hands and landing behind him. Nearby, someone gasped.

They remained like this for a moment, too shocked to move, until the instructor's shrill voice broke them out of their daze. "What is going on here? I told you lot to focus on your own fights!"

He stepped out from the crowd that had somehow assembled around them, and fell silent when his eyes took in the scene. "Practice is over," he declared in a low voice. Everyone's attention snapped to him immediately, and he repeated himself more loudly. "Haven't you heard? Practice is over! You lot are obviously too distracted today. Go home and reflect on your failings! Shoo! Shoo!" He waved his cane around to illustrate his point, and the crowd immediately dispersed. "You!" He pointed at Arst angrily. "Stay here."

Prince Lin slowly got up and watched the other disciples scramble to get away. Xing stopped next to him on the way. "Seems like you've found your match," he said smugly, before he walked away with his friends, whispering something that made them all laugh out loud, the prince's glare following them until they disappeared into the hall.

Dan, Soren and Liang also passed near them. Out of them, only Liang stopped for a moment, to give Arst's shoulder a squeeze. "Good luck," he whispered. Sensing their instructor's glare, he went away quickly, not leaving Arst time to respond. Before long, Arst, the instructor, and the prince were the only ones left in the courtyard. Prince Lin approached them, looking like he wanted to say something, but he closed his mouth before any word came out.

"Don't worry," Instructor Li told him. "I will tell Lord Lars that you performed well today."

A dark look came over the prince's face at his words, but he simply nodded curtly and left through the hall.

Now truly alone, Instructor Li turned toward Arst. "Come inside," he said tersely.

Arst followed him into the deserted training hall with a sense of foreboding.

"Kneel," the man ordered. For a brief second, Arst considered ignoring the order, but a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like his father reminded him not to get into further trouble, so he did as instructed.

The first strike took him by surprise, and he lurched forward with a gasp as his back erupted in pain. He straightened up immediately, bracing himself for the next impact, determined not to show any further reaction. The second strike, though anticipated, was somewhat heavier, but this time no sound escaped his gritted teeth.

"How dare you!" Instructor Li snarled.

Arst was tempted to retort he had no idea what he was talking about, but he had a feeling that would only enrage the man more. The explanation came on its own anyway, as a fragmented rant between the blows.

"Who do you think you are…"

Strike.

"Just because you warm his bed at night…"

Another strike.

"No one, no one is allowed to claim superiority to the prince."

Arst gasped again, this time more from the realization than from the pain itself. Was this why everyone feigned defeat when they matched against the prince? Suddenly, the hushed whispers from earlier made sense. They'd known. It was an implicit rule, so ingrained in their common consciousness that no one had even thought to inform him, a newcomer. How many before him had been made to kneel in this very spot, to bear the consequence of their supposed insolence?

As he endured the next dozen of hits, Arst felt bitter hatred rise within him. So this was his husband's true colors. Under his mask of indifference and his softer features, he was just as rotten as his father, after all. How typical of those prestigious elites to obfuscate their lack of talent with repression and violence. In the end, the prince was simply following in the footsteps of his ancestors, believing his birth to give him the right to toy with others as he wished.

It was not the first beating Arst had experienced at the hands of the Long Dau clan, nor was it even the worst, but this one left him shaking in rage even long after Rian Li had left the hall.

Thankfully, he managed to make it back without crossing anyone's path. He went straight for the bathhouse, not even bothering to check if the prince had returned to their chambers (a breach of protocol, but he was past the point of caring). He quickly undressed and used the mirror to check the damage. His back was covered in bruises and welts, but at least the strikes had not broken skin, it seemed. Murmuring an incantation under his breath, Arst focused his mana into a healing arte, directing the spell to the areas that stung the most. The sensation was not unlike being doused with cold water, which was enough to distract him while the spell worked on repairing his aching body. The swelling and the pain receded somewhat, but the spell wasn't enough to completely heal him. Arst had never been particularly well-versed in healing artes. He knew how to close cuts and slashes from common battle wounds, but blunt damage required another category of spells that he had not learned to manipulate well. Now he almost regretted not spending more time learning such artes, as they would have been a useful skill to have at his disposal in his current situation. At least the spell he cast did manage to provide some relief, even if it could not completely erase all the bruises.

Afterward, Arst drew a bath for himself and soaked in it, letting his mind wander, contemplating the events of the past few weeks. No later than this morning, he had been happy to have made some progress with the prince. In just two days, the frosty atmosphere between them had thawed a little and they were able to hold a conversation naturally. He'd even caught himself enjoying spending time with him in the library. Arst realized with a certain degree of shame that he'd even hoped they could develop a friendly relationship over time. What had he been thinking? There was no friendship to be had between the Long Daus and the Outways, and he'd been naive to even think the prince could be an exception. Prince Lin was his father's son after all, why would he be any different? One day he would succeed Lars as chief, and continue his family tradition of seeking power at the expense of the smaller clans. And Arst would be trapped by his side, a powerless observer, unable to stop him.

Arst splashed water on his face, shaking off his spiraling thoughts. No. He refused to be powerless. He will not let him bully Karla and the rest of the clan. Not anymore. If it ever came to that…

"Maybe I should have actually rebelled when I had the chance…" he murmured to the empty room.

Prince Lin was waiting for him when he came back into the main house.

"Welcome back."

Arst gave him what he hoped was his most intimidating glare, and the prince recoiled a little at the animosity. Pathetic, Arst thought to himself. Lars Long Dau, for all that he was incapable of governing his territories fairly, was at least renowned as a great warrior. In fact, it was that very might that often kept other clans submissive. However, his son seemed to have inherited none of his strength, and was nothing but a weak coward whose status was the only thing keeping others in check. Arst now knew why he had never seen him on a battlefield: he would have been completely useless, and a disgrace to all his clan.

It was with these thoughts swirling through his mind that Arst lay restless on his futon that night, kept awake by the dull ache in his back and the overwhelming disgust he now felt for the man lying on the bed next to him.