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"Do I have to?"
Father sighed. "Yes, Lyney, you have to. I've trained you enough, haven't I?"
Lyney glanced across the training room, where Freminet was awkwardly standing, huge claymore in hand.
"But I don't want to hurt him."
Father put a hand on Lyney's shoulder, pushing him forward. "You've sparred with me more than enough. I'm sure it'll do your confidence good to win for once."
But did Freminet know he was about to lose?
Father positioned him in front of Freminet. Lyney gripped his polearm tighter. He hated sparring with it, but he was the successor; he really had no choice but to do what she said.
The corner of the boy's mouth turned up just a bit, almost in a smile, but it faded quickly.
Lyney gave his brother a big smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Start now," Father said. "And don't hold back."
Lyney swung his polearm, holding back as much as he could. Freminet was able to dodge, and swung his weapon at Lyney in return.
The boys sparred for a moment, both of them unwilling to actually hurt the other.
But Father would not be patient for long, Lyney knew.
"Sorry," Lyney mouthed. "I'm sorry."
With the wooden handle of the spear, he hit Freminet square in the chest, and the boy fell over, clutching his ribs in pain. Lyney instantly felt terrible. How could he just hurt his brother?
"Good job," Father said, resting a hand on Lyney's shoulder. "I'll return in a few moments. The three of us can continue then."
Lyney nodded. "Yes, Father."
Father left the room, the click, click, click of her heels against the tile fading as she returned to her office.
Lyney threw his weapon away, and knelt beside his little brother.
"That hurt," Freminet panted, clutching his chest.
"Shh, shh, I know, I know, let me see," Lyney tugged Freminet's hands away and lifted his shirt up.
The pale skin of his chest was flushed red, inflamed from the impact, possibly forming a bruise.
"It's not that bad—"
"You're sure?" Lyney asked.
Freminet nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure."
Lyney pulled his brother's shirt back down. "I'm sorry."
Freminet sat up, running a hand through his blond hair. "I— I'm okay. You had to do it."
Click, click, click.
Father was coming back.
The brothers stood up, and quickly picked their weapons up again.
"Ready?" Father asked when she entered the room, holding her own weapon.
Lyney nodded. "Yeah, Father, we're… We're ready."