Mentally sick

I pulled the covers tighter around myself, burying my face into the pillow. My entire body ached with embarrassment from the night before, and my mind kept replaying every catastrophic second of it.

The fall, the princess, her icy glare, the way she stormed off, hating me for the rest of her life. 

There was no way I could face the world after that. No way I could show my face anywhere. What if the servants were already gossiping about me? What if the whole castle knew by now? I groaned into the pillow.

"I'm never leaving this room," I mumbled to myself. "Never ever. This is where I live now. I'll die here, and they can bury me in my bed."

The sun filtered through the curtains, too cheerful for my current mood. I shut my eyes tighter, trying to will it away. Maybe if I stayed like this long enough, everyone would just forget about me, and I wouldn't have to deal with the fallout. That seemed like a solid plan.

Suddenly, I heard a loud knock at my door, followed by a too-familiar voice.

"Ren."

No. 

It couldn't be. Not her. Not this early.

"Ren!" Elira's voice barked again, sharper this time, and there was a hard thump against the door.

I pulled the blanket over my head, praying she'd go away. Maybe if I pretended I was still asleep, she'd take pity on me and let me be.

"Ren, I know you're in there."

Of course, she did. Elira always knew everything. 

There was a pause, and I held my breath, hoping against all odds that she'd lose interest and leave me alone. 

Suddenly, the door swung open with a loud bang, hitting the wall behind it with enough force to rattle the floor.

I peeked out from under the blanket just in time to see Elira standing in the doorway, her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed into deadly slits. She looked like she was ready to drag me out of bed by force if necessary.

"Get up," she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

I groaned, curling up tighter under the blankets. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"I'm... sick?" I tried, though I knew it wouldn't work. "Like, really sick. So sick I can't move. I'm practically dying."

Elira raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You're not sick."

"Mentally," I added. "I'm mentally sick. With, uh, shame. It's fatal, actually."

She didn't laugh. Not even a smirk. Elira wasn't one for jokes. Instead, she walked over to the side of my bed and, without warning, grabbed the edge of the blanket and yanked it off me in one smooth motion.

The sudden rush of cold air hit me like a slap, and I flailed uselessly, trying to pull the covers back over myself.

"Elira!" I protested, "I can't face the world after what happened last night!"

She stared at me, her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. "You will face the world," she said, "because you have training today, and you're not getting out of it."

I groaned dramatically. "But I can't! The princess hates me! She despises me! What's the point of doing anything if she's going to hold this over my head for the rest of my life?"

Elira's patience, already thin, snapped. In one swift movement, she grabbed my wrist and yanked me out of bed with the strength of someone who had been training her whole life.

I stumbled, barely managing to keep my balance as she dragged me across the room toward the bathroom.

"Elira!" I squeaked, trying to pull away, but her grip was like iron. "I'm not ready! I haven't even brushed my teeth!"

"You've got five minutes," she said, pushing me into the bathroom. "And don't even think about trying to lock yourself in here. I'll break the door down."

I blinked, staring at her for a moment, half wondering if she was joking. But, of course, Elira didn't joke about training. She was dead serious. I sighed, resigned to my fate, and grabbed my toothbrush.

Five minutes later, I was dressed in my black leather training suit, standing in front of her, trying to muster the smallest amount of enthusiasm.

Elira, unsurprisingly, wasn't impressed. "You look like you're about to be executed," she said flatly.

"That's because I feel like I am," I muttered under my breath.

She shot me a look, and I quickly straightened up. "I mean… I'm ready for training!"

"Good. Let's go."

I followed her outside, dread pooling in my stomach. Elira's training sessions were never easy. She had no mercy, no concept of taking it slow. Every time, I was pushed to my absolute limit, but somehow, today felt worse.

Maybe it was the lingering embarrassment from the banquet or the fact that I had barely slept, but I could already feel the weight of exhaustion pressing down on me before we even started.

The moment we stepped onto the training grounds, Elira didn't waste any time.

"Start with laps," she commanded, her tone sharp. "Five, around the field. Now."

I groaned inwardly but began running, my legs already feeling heavy. The cool morning air stung my lungs, and each step felt like dragging myself through mud. I could hear Elira's footsteps behind me, her presence looming as she kept pace.

By the time I finished the laps, I was already gasping for air, but Elira wasn't about to let me rest.

"Push-ups. Fifty."

"Fifty?!"

Her glare was all the answer I needed. I dropped to the ground, my arms already shaking from the effort. Each push-up felt like torture, but I gritted my teeth and kept going, knowing that if I complained, Elira would just add more.

By the time I finished the push-ups, my entire body felt like it was on fire. Sweat dripped down my forehead, and my arms trembled uncontrollably.

I was hoping praying that she'd give me a break, but instead, she crossed her arms and nodded toward the training dummies lined up in the distance.

"Sparring," she said. "Show me what you've learned."

I stared at her, wide-eyed. "I don't think I can even stand up at this point."

"That's not my problem."

I groaned but forced myself to my feet. My legs wobbled underneath me, and my hands felt like they were made of jelly, but I couldn't say no. Not to Elira. She'd drag me through the mud before letting me quit.

We squared off in front of each other, her eyes cold and focused, mine full of barely concealed panic. Elira had no intention of holding back, I could tell.

"Ready?" she asked, her stance already perfect.

No. No, I wasn't ready. I wasn't even close to ready. But I nodded anyway.

The moment I did, she lunged at me with the precision of a seasoned warrior, her movements so fast and fluid that I barely had time to react.

I tried to block her attack, but she easily swept my arm aside, her fist landing squarely on my stomach, knocking the wind out of me.

"Oof!" I gasped, doubling over. But before I could recover, she grabbed me by the shoulder and threw me to the ground like I weighed nothing.

"Pathetic," she muttered, standing over me. "Get up."

I groaned, rolling onto my back and staring up at the sky. Why did I ever agree to this again?

"Ren," Elira's voice cut through my thoughts, "this is nothing compared to what you'll face in real combat. Now get up and try again."

Reluctantly, I pushed myself to my feet, my whole body screaming in protest. 

The next hour was pure agony. Elira showed no mercy, delivering blow after blow as I tried, and failed, to defend myself.

Each time I hit the ground, she made me get up and try again. By the end, I was drenched in sweat, my muscles completely exhausted, and my pride utterly shattered.

As I lay on the ground for what felt like the hundredth time, staring up at the clear blue sky, I couldn't help but think that maybe staying in bed wasn't such a bad idea after all.

At least there, I wasn't getting beaten up by a merciless elf warrior.

"Training's over," Elira said, finally stepping back. "Same time tomorrow."

Tomorrow?! I wasn't even sure I'd survive today.

As I limped back toward the house, every step a painful reminder of the hellish session I had just endured, I couldn't help but mutter to myself, "Maybe I should've stayed in bed after all."