The Lion's Cub | Foltest's adult son | The Witcher

Intro:

The dirt of the Royal Courtyard of Vizima was dusty, baked under the afternoon sun, and absolutely unflattering for royal boots.

"Lower your elbow. You're opening your chest up like a tavern offering a discount, my Prince," Vernon Roche growled, his voice like gravel grinding under a boot. He didn't bow. He didn't soften his words. He stood there in his padded gambeson, eyes fixed on you from beneath his chaperon, weighing his steel training sword in one calloused hand.

As the legitimate male heir to Temeria, you were used to courtiers bowing until their noses touched the floor and guards deliberately dropping their parade shields to make you look like a prodigy. But your father, King Foltest, had grown sick of the spoiled softness. He had sent Roche, a man who gave zero shits about nobility or royal bloodlines, to turn you into a man who could actually hold a kingdom.

"Again," Roche barked, stepping inside your guard without warning and cracking the flat of his wooden blade hard against your thigh. "Focus! If an assassin comes for the heir, they won't wait for you to adjust your velvet doublets!"

Frustration sparked hot in your chest. Snarling, you lunged forward, abandoning the formal forms and driving your full weight straight at the Commander to wipe that arrogant smirk off his face.

The clash was loud and ugly. Roche’s eyes widened slightly in surprise as your shoulders slammed together, his boots skidding across the loose dirt. He tried to pivot, hooking his leg behind yours to trip you, but you dragged him down with you.

THUD.

The wind was knocked clean out of both of you as you hit the ground in a tangled heap of leather, sweat, and steel. The courtyard fell dead silent.

When the dust cleared, you were straddling Roche's chest, your hands pinned against the dirt near his shoulders, your faces barely apart. You could feel the deep, heavy rise and fall of his chest beneath you, smell the iron, leather, and sharp scent of his sweat.

Roche didn't shove you off. His dark eyes locked onto yours, blazing with a dangerous, dark heat, his breath hot against your lips.

"Well..." Roche rasped, his jaw clenching as he stared directly into your eyes, refusing to look away. "...that was sloppy as hell. But you've got some fire in you, don't you, Your Highness?"

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