The Lycan King's Secret Daughter novel Chapter 15

SYLRA’S POV

“You’re late,” Caelen said before I even reached the edge of the training circle.

“I’m ten minutes early.”

“You’re late to who you need to be,” he replied, tossing me a dull-edged training sword. “That’s what matters.”

The sword slapped into my palm with more weight than I expected. I tightened my grip, ignoring the urge to roll my eyes. We stood alone in the open field behind the east tower, the grass dew-wet, the morning air already warm with sun and pressure.

“You know, most people start the day with a greeting,” I said. “Maybe even a compliment.”

He smirked. “Compliments are for achievements. You haven’t earned any yet.”

“Good morning to you too.”

He stepped into the circle and rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck with a satisfying pop. “For now, I’m your trainer. Not your audience. I’ll teach you field combat, pressure control, and the kind of political maneuvering that wins wars before the first arrow flies.”

“How generous.”

“No,” he said, drawing his blade from his hip with a flourish. “Necessary. Because if you walk into the Council chambers or a battlefield like you did yesterday, someone’s going to gut you with a smile.”

I scowled. “Thanks for the confidence boost.”

“Confidence without skill is a liability,” he shot back. “Now. Defend.”

He came at me fast.

The first blow I parried out of reflex. The second jarred up my arm, and the third sent me stumbling back on my heels.

Caelen didn’t hesitate. “Again.”

I reset my stance and lunged, sloppy, desperate. He twisted, sidestepped, and used my momentum to flip me off balance. I hit the dirt with a grunt.

“Again.”

I pushed up, gritting my teeth, and came at him harder. This time I swung low, hoping to clip his legs. He jumped, turned, and slammed his blade against mine so hard it rattled my shoulders.

“Too slow,” he said. “And too obvious.”

Sweat stung my eyes. I lunged again.

I block, counter, twist, and strike again and again. My body moved, but my mind frayed.

“You’re telegraphing every move. It’s like sparring with a child.”

“Maybe because I’ve only been trained for five minutes!”

“And already whining?” he said, ducking another wild swing. “You think the battlefield listens to excuses?”

“Maybe if the battlefield didn’t talk so damn much!”

“You’ll be dead before your second sentence.”

“Shut up and fight me.”

I swung harder. He parried like it was a dance. It was effortless, controlled, and calculated, and I was gasping.

My sword lowered.

My arms shook.

I dropped the blade, panting, throat burning from frustration and exhaustion.

“I’m done,” I muttered. “This is pointless.”

Caelen’s voice dropped, ice-cold and cutting. “You’re not a princess.”

I looked up, eyes burning. “What?!”

He stepped forward. “You’re not a queen. You’re not even close.”

“Watch your mouth.”

“I’m watching your hands. They’re shaking.”

“You’ve been doing this your entire life! I’ve had weeks. What do you expect from me?”

I clenched my fists, chest heaving. “Then let’s fix that.”

He blinked once. “You what?”

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