KIERYGAN'S POV
The sun dipped low over the training field, bleeding gold across trampled dirt and melting snow. My men were panting, slick with sweat, some nursing bruised ribs and bruised egos.
I pulled my tunic back over my shoulders, the fabric clinging to my sweat-damp skin. “We’re done for today,” I said, and the chorus of groans that followed told me they were more than ready to be finished.
Callum flashed a sharp-toothed grin, blood trickling from his nose. “Tell me, was this supposed to be a sparring session,” he panted, “or are you secretly trying to kill our men?”
He barked a laugh and tossed me a canteen. I caught it without looking, drank half, and poured the rest over my face. I left the others to clean up the mess and followed the worn path to Ashteryn’s workshop to pick
