Chapter 320: Small Dislikes
Chapter 319: Small Dislikes
Lyria’s POV
"I h-hate bitter-t-tasting herbs," I admitted. "L-like the o-ones my p-physician now insists I d-drink every d-day."
His eyebrows rose.
"Truly?"
I looked at him curiously.
"W-why are y-you so surprised?"
A laugh escaped him.
"Because I hate them as well."
I stared.
"I despise anything bitter," he confessed. "It lingers upon one’s tongue far longer than it has any right to. Honey scarcely improves the matter."
I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.
"T-that is a l-lie. You a-are merely saying t-that to m-make me feel b-better," I told him.
He looked genuinely affronted.
"I assure you, Your Highness, I am entirely sincere."
He placed a hand over his chest.
"I have always believed physicians delight in making their medicines taste dreadful."
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
"I k-knew it," I said. "N-no one c-could make them t-taste that awful by a-ccident."
His eyes brightened.
"Precisely."
He nodded solemnly.
"I have long suspected it is part of their training."
I giggled.
"They gather together," he continued with complete seriousness, "and ask one another how they might improve a remedy."
"And then," I said, "they remove everything pleasant from it."
I laughed louder.
"No," he continued gravely, "worse still. They discover something pleasant has accidentally been added."
"So t-they remove i-it?"
"They remove it at once."
I covered my mouth, trying unsuccessfully to suppress my laughter.
"And replace it with something significantly more offensive."
"I-I believe y-you are r-right."
"I have no proof," he admitted, "but I remain convinced."
I shook my head.
"I k-knew I l-liked you."
The words escaped me before I realised what I had said.
Heat immediately rushed into my cheeks.
"I-I m-mean..."
Mercifully, he laughed instead of drawing attention to it.
"I shall take that as confirmation that my theory is entirely sound."
I found myself laughing once more.
It felt...
Easy.
Natural.
As though we had known one another far longer than we truly had.
As we continued speaking, he began circling me slowly too.
I instinctively turned to keep him within my sight.
"That is good," he murmured. "You are already following my movements without thinking."
"I d-do not w-wish to lose s-sight of you."
"Exactly."
His expression grew approving.
"If you lose sight of your opponent, you give them an advantage."
He continued circling.
"But should that happen, your eyes are not your only allies. Use your senses."
I nodded and listened for anything I could hear.
The hall fell quiet once more.
I could hear the rain.
The distant rustle of my maids shifting where they stood.
The faint clink of armour from my guard.
Then...
The soft scrape of Earl Hawthorne’s boot.
He disappeared from my field of vision.
Without thinking, I turned sharply.
My fists rose immediately. He had been approaching from behind, but he stopped immediately.
A pleased smile crossed his face.
"Very good."
I exhaled slowly.
"I h-heard your f-footsteps."
"And that may very well save your life one day."
His words carried no exaggeration.
Only quiet certainty.
"Many people focus only upon what they can see," he continued. "They neglect every other sense they possess, which if I am being honest baffles me. We are werewolves and rely on all senses, not just one after all."
I gave a nervous chuckle at that.
"You, however," he continued, unaware of how nervous I felt due to his words, "have already learned to rely upon more than your sight."
I understood what he meant.
He smiled gently.
He stepped back once again.
"Now," he said.
His posture shifted.
"Again. But this time, I want you to strike me properly, Your Highness. I will not settle for a pat."
Earl Hawthorne moved, and I simply waited.
Just as he had taught me.
One breath.
Two.
Then—
I struck.
My fist shot forward.
It connected solidly with his chest.
The impact was not particularly powerful, but it carried conviction.
Then he smiled broadly.
"There it is."
His voice carried unmistakable approval.
"That was considerably better."
I slowly lowered my hand.
"I h-hit you."
There was disbelief in my own voice.
"You did."
He sounded almost pleased.
"And I am quite proud of you."
Those simple words filled me with a warmth I had not expected.
Praise.
It was such a small thing.
Yet hearing it from him made me stand just a little taller.
He dusted off the front of his tunic with exaggerated dignity.
"I daresay," he mused, "I shall have a bruise before luncheon."
"T-that is n-not possible," I said with a laugh.
He paused, then nodded, a smile on his face. "Quite true."
His expression brightened once more.
"Now," he continued, "let us try again."
He paused, one corner of his mouth lifting into an amused smile.
"But first, you’ve only told me you dislike bitter-tasting herbs. What else?"
I considered his question for a moment, my mind turning over the many things I disliked. There were so many, and yet, when asked directly, they seemed to scatter like leaves upon the wind.
"I d-dislike the c-cold," I said at last. "The w-way it s-seeps into one’s b-bones and refuses t-to leave."
Earl Hawthorne nodded thoughtfully.
"That is quite understandable," he said. "Though, I must confess, I rather enjoy it."
I inclined my head at that, though I could not quite understand why anyone would willingly enjoy the cold.
To me, it always felt lonely somehow.
"I d-dislike p-people who l-lack a s-sense of humour," I continued. "I k-know I s-spoke at length a-about the r-rot in the world, but h-honestly... there are s-still things w-worth laughing a-about."
His eyes brightened with interest.
"I quite understand that," he replied warmly. "After all, you are rather humorous yourself, Your Highness."
I blinked.
"I a-am?" I asked, genuinely startled.
He nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting.
"You possess a delightful wit," he said. "It is subtle, and I do not believe you are entirely aware of it, but it is there nonetheless."
Warmth crept into my cheeks.
"I d-do not think I h-have ever b-been called h-humorous before," I admitted.
"Then those around you have not been paying sufficient attention," he replied simply.
His answer left me momentarily speechless.
I returned my attention to our lesson after that.
Earl Hawthorne’s posture shifted once more into that of an instructor.
"Now then," he said, "I would like you to strike with both fists rather than relying solely upon one. It is important that you learn to defend yourself regardless of which side is available."