Henry returned to the training grounds despite the struggle in his steps. Each movement felt heavier than the last, burdened not just by physical strain, but by the thoughts that refused to leave his mind.
He kept recalling the earlier scene—his grandmother standing beside Leonard, composed and assured, while his mother's gaze toward him had been laced with disappointment… no, something colder. Spite.
The memory tightened something in his chest.
As he stepped into the grounds, only a few people spared him a glance. Most carried on with their training as though he wasn't there.
He didn't blame them.
If anything, he blamed himself—for failing to command the respect his position demanded.
"Where is Fredrick?" he asked a nearby knight.
The man merely shrugged, offering no real answer before walking off without another word.
Henry said nothing.
Silently, he reached for a blade.
