"You went on your first mission yesterday," Wyatt states, eyes remaining on the orange he was peeling as he speaks. He's never initiated a conversation with you during your breaks from training before this; he doesn't know why he's starting now.

As the royal general's offspring, you'd been training him to handle a sword properly. He was going to be king soon, his mother had said, and a good king is humble enough to learn the weight of battle.

He wanted it to be the General himself, at first. You weren't officially a part of the royal guard, even if you'd been raised with it in your bloodline.

How could you teach him the weight of that you had yet to experience?

Wyatt's mother thought otherwise, though, having already picked you to begin his training before she'd even suggested he start. He didn't argue on it, much. You were quite good with a blade, despite his initial judgment. Better than he'd ever admit you were aloud.

He learned quickly under your guidance. He probably could have stopped the lessons weeks ago with his mother satisfied, but he didn't. He was still learning things from you. Why would he need to stop the routine now that it'd been set?

Besides, you weren't the worst company to be kept.

"Did you do well?"

Wyatt throws the peels out into the stream, eyes moving to meet yours with an expression that makes it obvious he's expecting a detailed answer of sorts. Training had been boring while you were gone, some amateur taking your place, and you'd been acting a bit strange since you returned. More strange than usual, at least.