The hidden training grounds were located beneath the eastern wing of the palace, a cavernous space where the air was perpetually chilled and smelled of ancient stone and damp iron. Shadows clung to the high, arched ceiling, broken only by the flickering orange glow of a few wall-mounted braziers. Constantine stood in the center of the sand-covered floor, his chest rising and falling in shallow, measured rhythms. Across from him stood Isabella de Winter. She was transformed from the ragged creature in the dungeon; her silver-gold hair was pulled back tightly, and she wore a suit of dark, flexible leather that moved like a second skin. In her hand, she gripped a steel longsword with the easy familiarity of a natural predator.
"You look significantly more like the knight the stories describe
