Sparring

Finley's POV

I was punching the hell out of the sparring bag in the training area, sweating so much, but I didn't care. I needed to do something to let the frustration out. It had been three weeks, three weeks since I began working in the castle. Three weeks of being Prince Edward's guard. Three weeks of handling his temper and mood swings.

However, that wasn't the reason for my frustration. For the first time in three weeks, the prince was not at the forefront of my mind. Today was the birthday of the one I had lost. The few days leading up to today had been terrible. I had been so close to letting myself fall back into the dark hole I was in during the first few months after his death. I wasn't going to let myself go down that path again. So, here I am, letting out my frustrations on this poor object.

"There you are, I've been looking all over for you," I heard a voice, which I recognized as the prince's, call out from the other end of the room. I turned to see him standing with his walking stick and staring at me with those unreal eyes.

"Your Highness," I bowed down, "do you need me for something?" I'll be surprised if he did because he never actually needs me. Sometimes I feel like if he could push me off the castle terrace because of how much of a bother I was, he would.

"No, nothing like that," he replied. With his walking stick, he took careful steps until he reached me. I would have offered to help, but I learned the hard way that trying to help the prince leads to him thinking you're calling him handicapped.

"I was just wondering where you had run off to. I was bored, and well," he leaned against the wall, staring at me. His hair fell into his face. I had to fight the urge to sweep it away from his eyes, but he might just break my fingers if I did.

"Well, here I am. Have you had your meal, Your Highness?" I asked, even though I knew the answer was most likely no, because him eating means he had used his herbs, which always results in busy weakness and irritability. He wouldn't be here if that was the case.

He proved me right and shook his head. "The maids haven't brought it yet. Also, none of this 'Your Highness' or 'My Prince' nonsense. Call me Edward, at least privately or in informal settings." I'm not sure how that's going to pan out. I hardly even call him by his name in my head.

"Alright...Edward," I tested the name out. I guess I could get used to calling him by his name—in private.

"You can continue what you were doing before I came along and interrupted. I'll just stay and watch you; maybe I could even learn a thing or two," he said jokingly and sat on the floor. I nodded my head and continued my assault on the bag. Initially, it was hard focusing with someone watching, but I got the hang of it, remembered the reason for my frustration, and blocked everything out.

"Do you think I can learn?" Edward's voice shocked me because I had more or less forgotten he was there, and I tried all that was in my power not to jump. I turned to face him, and he was looking at me expectantly.

"Yeah, I'm sure you can. Princes typically have some sort of training, but with your condition—whatever it is—it might not be so. Have you had any sort of training, and are you allowed to do something like that both by your carers and your body?" I knew the prince doesn't like talking about it, but I have to make sure.

He looked away before looking at the ground. "Um, they never said anything about it. I wasn't even willing, so I guess they didn't put it in mind, and for my body, I'll tell you if I can't take it." I was surprised by his gentle approach to this, but I appreciate him not flaring up.

"Alright, up you go." I helped the prince to his feet and almost abandoned that halfway when I felt how soft his hands were. "First, you need to learn how to throw a punch, and that will be accompanied by the perfect fighting stance. Do you know how to make a fist?" He rolled his eyes like the question I was asking was stupid.

"Of course I do," he said, balling his hand into a fist, and that was the funniest thing I had ever seen. I tried not to burst out laughing, but he could see the laughter in my eyes and crossed his hands over his chest.

"What's so funny, Finley?" The look of defiance on his face was so ridiculous I couldn't help the laughter that left me.

"My dear prince, you, as a matter of fact, can't make a fist." He looked at me like he didn't believe me. "For one, your thumb needs to be tucked in like this." I showed him how it should be with my own hand, and he wasn't getting it.

I moved forward and took his hand in mine. I could not imagine the spark I felt even if I tried. It took all my willpower not to take my hand back—no, no, I'm just imagining things. I helped the prince with his fist.

"Okay, now for the stance. I'm going to touch you if that's okay." The prince nodded breathlessly. I turned him around by the waist to face the bag. He was so small; he doesn't eat nearly enough. I put my hands on the small of his waist, and it was like they were made for my hands—stop this, Finley, focus.

I tried to run over it as fast as possible so I wouldn't touch him for any longer, so I could resist the urge to...pull him closer? Heavens, the sun must be affecting my head more than I had originally thought.

"Okay, throw your first punch." The prince nodded, drawing his hand back and meeting the bag with a force that sent it backward. It was a really good punch for a beginner. If he had been given the training required, he would have been a great fighter.

"That was amazing, prince. Are you sure you haven't done this before?" I teased, but I wasn't lying. The punch was really good.

"You're just saying that to be nice. Also, I said to call me Edward," he said shyly.

"No, that was really good, I promise. And calling you Edward will take some getting used to. How about we meet in the middle? I'll call you prince, just prince," I offered.

"Yeah, that's alright, and thank you."

"You're welcome. Now, let's go over some things." We threw punch after punch at the bag, taking turns. Edward's punch didn't have as much force as before, and I knew it was time to stop. We collapsed on the floor, spent and breathing heavily.

"That was amazing," the prince declared after catching his breath. I turned my head to face him and realized we were closer than I expected. We were just a breath away. My breath caught in my throat, and this was not because of exhaustion. No, this was something different.