When Arst arrived at the training hall for the next practice session, Dan, Soren and Liang, as well as some other disciples, immediately flocked to him and started talking all at once.

"Arst, are you all right?"

"What did the old man do?"

"How many hits?"

"That must have hurt…"

"How did the prince react?"

"We were so worried—"

Arst raised his hands to stop the barrage of questions. "I'm fine, I'm fine. Nothing to worry about."

They quieted down and looked at him expectantly. Put on the spot like that, Arst felt a little self-conscious. "I don't know what you want me to tell you, really…"

"You were so brave," Soren said with admiration in his eyes. Others nodded eagerly. "It was high time someone took that vain coward down a peg."

"I knew there was something different about you," Dan said proudly.

"Does this happen often?" Arst asked, a little overwhelmed by all the attention.

"Sometimes?" Liang answered. "We've all been punished one way or another for disrespecting the prince, but it's the first time someone actually pushed him to the ground."

"That was glorious! Made my entire day," Soren said dreamily. His smile disappeared when he saw Arst's expression. "Ah, but you had to suffer for it… I'm sorry, I shouldn't make light of it…"

"Why…" Arst had so many questions. Why was the prince so weak? Why did they all put up with such treatment? What was Xing expecting when he set up their duel?

In the end, he was not able to ask any of them, because Instructor Li came in and ordered them to start practicing immediately instead of gossiping. Arst's back protested at the sharp movements, but he ignored the pain and focused on his forms. That was better than letting himself be distracted by questions whose answers were sure to only anger him further. He swung his practice sword fiercely, promising himself that the artes he learned here would one day be used to protect his family, even if he had to turn them against everyone present in this courtyard. Especially the man he was married to.

When the time came for mock battles, Instructor Li paired him with the prince from the start. "You should show us what you've learned, hmm?" the man told him with a hint of warning in his glare.

Arst ignored him and looked over to Prince Lin, who was getting into position. "Do your best," the prince said with a small smirk, as if to mock him. Arst didn't react outwardly, but inside he was seething. So that's how it is…

Arst was facing two choices. He could comply and suffer the humiliation of losing against someone he knew was much weaker than him. Or he could defy Instructor Li's orders and show the prince who truly was the most skilled between the two, consequences be damned. His pride clamored for the second option, but in the end his aching back reminded him that the consequences were not worth the short-lived satisfaction of putting the prince to the ground again, and he swallowed his pride. Save your defiance for when it really matters, he told himself.

Losing did not necessarily entail fighting badly, however. As it was only the result that mattered, Arst made sure to show the prince that he had lost none of his skills. He simply refrained from putting power in his swings, but they were no less swift and accurate, and the prince struggled to parry for a moment. After toying with him a little, Arst simply let him disarm him, as if he hadn't seen his move coming.

When Arst begrudgingly voiced his surrender, Instructor Li nodded at him approvingly. He felt sick. This was a mockery of all the efforts and hard work he had poured into his training since he was a child. Suddenly, Arst found himself acutely missing Kohei. He would not have tolerated this. Kohei was his tutor in the Outway clan, but Arst's status as an heir had never stopped him from encouraging him to seek stronger opponents. In the Outway clan, giving your all, even against a weaker opponent, was a sign of respect. This was how they improved, and it was good preparation for a real battle, where no adversary would think to go easy on a weaker enemy. Perhaps if the prince had trained with an instructor like Kohei, who wouldn't have coddled him and prevented others from fighting him seriously, perhaps then he would actually be stronger.

Arst did not look at him, not wanting to see satisfaction on his face. He turned away and looked around for someone else to switch partners with. But the prince seemed to have no desire to continue anyway, and informed the instructor that he would be leaving early.

"Prince Lin, your father insisted that you must practice till the end," Instructor Li argued.

"What's the point?" Prince Lin retorted in a low voice. "I've just won against the strongest of your disciples. There is no meaning to these mock battles anymore."

"Ah, well… Yes, I suppose individual training was enough for you…"

Prince Lin was eventually allowed to leave, and Arst felt a little better knowing that he was not in his immediate vicinity anymore. He tried to focus on his other fights, but his heart was not in it, and he ended up losing against Soren, though the man did not celebrate his long-awaited victory.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concerned.

Arst felt anything but okay. The strain of the exercise had aggravated his injuries, and the pain was getting distracting. He wanted nothing more than go home and rest, but of course he would not be alone at home either. "I'm just tired, that's all," he said.

Like the day before, the first thing he did when practice was over was to head to the bathhouse. Soaking in the water brought some relief to his sore body, and he knew that the prince would not bother him there. He was not quite ready to face him just yet. Alone with his thoughts, Arst wondered how long this would last. He had been granted a few weeks of peace, but it was now clear that nothing good would ever come out of this marriage. Naively, Arst had started to feel safe here, in the prince's residence, insulated from the rest of the castle and, by extension, the clan. But the prince was never meant to be an ally, and he felt foolish for almost considering him one. The thought of spending the rest of his life subject to his whims appalled him. At least he hadn't been forced to sleep with him. Yet, his mind added grimly, because there was no guarantee that he would not change his mind eventually. Arst wondered how he would react when it happened. On their wedding night, he had been ready to do it. Not exactly eager, but resigned to do his duty and not completely repulsed by the idea. But now… Now he knew what kind of person his husband was, and the thought sent shivers down his spine.

Prince Lin was reading in his study when Arst entered the main house. Arst ignored him and went to the bedroom to set up his futon. He heard the prince get up and come over, but he paid him no mind.

"It's still the middle of the afternoon," the prince remarked.

"I'm tired," Arst grumbled as he set his pillow down.

"Tired? Already?" Prince Lin asked, dubious.

Irritated, Arst turned toward him. "What? Is resting before bedtime forbidden or something? What's it to you?"

The prince frowned. "I was hoping to discuss your performance earlier."

Arst nearly swore at the provocation, but miraculously, the part of him that had assimilated his father's lessons kept him from saying something he would regret. Calm down, he chanted in his mind. Calm down, it's not worth it.

The prince sighed. "Never mind." He turned around and went back to the main hall. He sat at the table and poured himself a cup of tea.

Arst forgot his resolution not to rise to the provocation and followed him. "What is it? If you have something to say, say it."

Prince Lin stared down at his cup with a somber expression. After a while, he looked up at Arst. "You faked your loss."

Arst scoffed. "Of course I did. Everyone does." Prince Lin cringed. "What? Don't tell me you never realized."

"I did…" the prince muttered. "I did. I just…"

"It's great to be the son of a major clan's chief, isn't it? You don't even have to fight your own battles. Everyone just submits to you, even when you lack the skills to do it properly."

"Then what about you?" the prince retorted, offended. "You had no problem fighting me properly yesterday. But now you submit easily like everyone else. I thought you were different."

Anger spiked in Arst's chest. Was this all a game to him? "Well, I've learned my lesson. Sorry to disappoint, but even I have my limits."

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

Prince Lin opened his mouth, then closed it. He frowned in thought, then suddenly looked back at Arst with wide eyes. "You…"

Arst held his gaze defiantly. He would not give him the satisfaction to see how much he was affected.

Prince Lin rose to his feet. "Show me," he asked tensely.

Taken aback by the sudden request, Arst took a step backward defensively. "There is nothing to see."

"Show me. Now." There was something intense, frantic, in the prince's look.

Reluctantly, Arst removed his shirt and turned around. Behind him, he heard a sharp intake of breath. The prince said nothing, but Arst could feel his eyes on his back. His cheeks burned in humiliation. Was it not enough to be beaten under his orders, did he really have to submit to his scrutiny as well?

"There, are you happy?" he asked bitterly as he turned back to face him. "You don't have to worry about losing to me anymore, the message has been received. Painfully clear."

Prince Lin did not respond. Instead, he walked to the chest of drawers and busied himself with one of the drawers on the lower rows. But instead of taking out whatever he was looking for, he suddenly paused.

"We are out of tea," he stated.

Confused by what that had to do with the discussion at hand, Arst pointed to the teapot the prince had used earlier. "There is some over there."

"Not that one. I need Minah's special blend."

Arst did not know who Minah was, nor did he care.

"Put on your shirt," Prince Lin said. "You are going to fetch some."

"Can't Nils do it?" Arst protested. He wanted to rest, not run random errands.

"You are going," the prince replied in a final tone.

Arst was tempted to refuse, out of pettiness more than anything, but he was sore all over and not ready to test the prince's patience, in case he decided to add fresh bruises to the ones that were barely healing thanks to his meager artes. Dejectedly, he listened to the prince's instructions and set out to find this 'Minah.' At least he would be out of his sight while he was out on his quest for tea.

Minah, it turned out, was an elderly woman who ran the castle's apothecary.

"My, here's a new face! I haven't seen you around." She had piercing grey eyes that scrutinized Arst from behind a pair of glasses. "What can I do for you, boy?"

I'm not a 'boy', Arst thought petulantly. Aloud, he said, "Prince Lin sends me. He said he needs some of your special blend." Whatever that is…

"Already? Didn't he restock just before his marr—Ooh, I know who you are!" she exclaimed suddenly, snapping her fingers. "You are his new concubine, aren't you? The Outway boy."

It felt strange to be stared at so openly. Arst had gotten used to the furtive glances and whispers he garnered here and there before the novelty of his presence wore off, but this woman was looking him up and down intently, which made him feel a little self-conscious.

"Well, well, aren't you handsome? Looks like our young master lucked out."

Arst had a few choice words to say about the concept of 'lucking out' with the prince, but he kept them to himself. "The tea. Please."

"Ah, yes, yes, yes, the tea, the tea…" She foraged under the counter for a while until she produced a sachet and set it on the counter. Arst reached out to take it, but she snatched it away before he had a chance to touch it, looking at him closely over her glasses. "Not so fast, boy. Not before I receive payment."

Payment? The prince had said nothing about payment. "I didn't bring any money…"

She dismissed him impatiently. "Not money, no. Just a little labor." Catching his frustrated expression, she was quick to reassure him. "It's nothing, don't worry. I just need a little favor."

"What do you want?"

"Well, you see, this old lady is getting frail over the years. Now I could use a stepladder, but we don't want me to break any bones if I fall, hmm? You're so tall, I'm sure it will be no trouble for you to get that box from the top that shelf over there?" She pointed to a shelf on his right, which did indeed have a box precariously balanced on top.

"That, I can do," he confirmed, and reached with his right arm, before drawing it back with a wince as pain coursed through his shoulder at the movement. He was about to reach with his other hand, but she was faster than him and with reflexes he did not anticipate from someone who called herself a 'frail old lady,' she grabbed his collar from behind and pulled, exposing his right shoulder.

"Ah-ha. I knew it," she muttered. She let go as swiftly as she had grabbed him, and took a few steps back. Arst knew what was coming even before she spoke the dreaded words. "Take it off."

Arst closed his eyes in frustration, still facing away from her. Why was everyone so intent on taking pleasure in his misery today? "This would be quite inappropriate."

The old woman cackled. "Boy, I am old enough to be your grandmother. Nobody would assume impropriety if they saw you disrobe in here." Her voice more gentle, she added, "Come on. I cannot help you if you don't show me."

The sweet tone made Arst sway. He turned around, trying not to sound too hopeful. "Help me?"

Minah smiled and produced a stool from behind the counter. "Take your shirt off and sit here."

Hesitantly, Arst took a step forward, then another, and before he knew it he was sitting shirtless on the seat.

"Yes, you're quite handsome indeed," she muttered absentmindedly as she fetched another stool for herself. "And strong, from the look of it. How fortunate. Now, let's see about that… those bruises." She fell silent for a moment, examining his back carefully. He nearly jumped when she touched the largest bruise, the one near his shoulder. Her hand was cool against his warm skin. "You poor thing, what did they do to you…" She traced a finger along a welt further down. "When did this happen?"

"Yesterday."

"Yesterday?" She drew back in surprise. "Some of them are already fading… Aah, there was an attempt at healing artes."

Arst nodded.

"Yours? My, handsome, strong, and talented!"

"It didn't really work, though…"

"Did it at least provide some relief?"

Arst nodded again. "A little. But it started hurting again after today's practice."

"Of course it did. What you need is rest, not exercise. You should have gone to the castle's healers."

Arst doubted the court healers would have agreed to treat him. But truthfully, the thought had not even crossed his mind.

"Or maybe not," Minah continued, "depending on how you got those… They are good with illness and battle injuries, but not very sympathetic when the wounds are the result of punishment. What a shame, ah, what a shame… Still, a little is better than nothing. Especially since I hear healers are rare up north. You have potential, that's for sure."

Arst blushed a little at the praise. He was used to people admiring his battle skills, but that was the first time anyone called a half-failed attempt at casting spells potential-worthy.

"How did you know I was hurt?" he asked to change the subject.

"A hunch," she replied. "I thought it was strange you would come all the way here just for a bag of tea. Well, that tea, in particular. More concretely, your cheeks are flushed, not just from my compliments but from exhaustion and pain. And you looked stiff all over. The wince was a dead giveaway, too."

Arst let out a half-sigh, half-laugh. He had underestimated her. She was much sharper than she appeared.

"Little old lady has more than one trick up her sleeve," she remarked humorously. "Now, now. Let's take care of this, shall we?" She patted Arst's back lightly. He felt a surge of mana shimmering behind him. "Gather forth the soothing light."

Arst gasped as the cold sensation of the healing light doused him. It was not unlike his own feeble attempt, yet completely different in intensity. He could almost picture the sparks of light dancing on his back, halting on every bruise, every welt, working their soothing effect to appease them, fade them, and eventually disappear. Relief coursed through him and he almost sobbed in gratitude as the tension in his body eased.

"There, all fixed," Minah commented at long last in a warm voice. "You'll feel sore for a couple of days still before your brain catches on that the wounds are gone. Rest and hot baths, and it'll be like nothing happened."

Arst turned to face her. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

She simply laughed and patted his shoulder. "Don't mention it. Now, how about you get me that box?"

Arst sprang to his feet and went to grab the box from its high place.

"Thank you. You can place it there on the counter. You can have your tea. Oh, but wait, I have something else for you." Minah rummaged through her shelves and came back with two small pots, which she slid in his direction. "Salves," she explained. "The one with the blue cap is good for bruises and muscle pain. The one with the red cap for cuts and burns. In case you can't get to a healer immediately." She winked. She then took out a little box from the larger one Arst had brought down. It was like a small wooden chest, lacquered and decorated with painted flowers. "For storage and easy transport," she said as she handed it to him. The two pots fit into it perfectly, and there was even a sleeve to slip the tea sachet in.

"Thank you," Arst said again.

"Come back any time," she told him. "Give my greetings to the prince. Oh, and tell him not to waste the tea. It's not easy to come by."

Arst promised to relay the message, and stepped out of the apothecary into the bright afternoon sun. His body was still stiff and a little sore, but his mind felt considerably lighter.