Fazio and I stumbled back to the villa, sweaty and exhausted after three hours of intense sparring. I'd pushed us both harder than ever before, testing Fazio's limits and my own. My arms felt like lead weights, and a spectacular bruise was forming on my ribs where Fazio had landed a particularly good hit.
"You've been holding back on me," I panted, leaning against the wall as we entered through the kitchen door.
Fazio wiped his brow with his sleeve. "Not holding back. Just never had proper motivation before."
"And the thought of going into a dungeon motivates you?" I grinned.
"The thought of keeping you alive does," he muttered.
We made our way through the quiet corridors, planning to clean up before dinner. As we passed the small sitting room near the servants' quarters. I heard a muffled sound, soft and erratic, unmistakably someone crying.
