The training yard was quiet, except for the rhythmic clash of wooden swords and the muted grunts of exertion. Sunlight cut sharp lines across the stone walls, illuminating the sweat on young Vincent’s brow as he parried another strike from Arthur. They had grown up together, raised under Lionel’s exacting hand, molded into soldiers before their bodies had fully matured. Arthur was a street orphan Lionel had raised and he had always been the best. He was strong, precise, and untouchable. Vincent, who was Lionel's only child, had admired him first as a companion, a partner in drills, a boy who never faltered under Lionel’s relentless demands.
But admiration had grown into something more complicated over the years, something Vincent could not name aloud, something dangerous even to admit to
