A Royal Screw Up

I collapse to the ground, panting as sweat cascade down my forehead. Strands of hair stuck to my face like a second skin. For the next two minutes, I lay flat on the ground staring at the blank canvas of a ceiling. And with every second that passes, I feel the lethargy begin to crawl away from my bones, my system regenerating once again. I had just gotten back from school only to get a text message from my father telling me to meet up with him at the training ground. We've been at each other's throat for the last three hours now. "Not bad. But you should work on your attacks." My father dearest comments, extending a helping hand. I grumble a little complain under my breath but my old man picks it up as he pulls me to stand. Once I'm standing on my feet, he hands me a bottle of water before throwing a towel over my head. I mumble a thank you and then proceed to gulp down on the liquid. It's refreshing. Especially after receiving a couple of blows. Although Dad claims he's using a hundred percent of his strength, I'm a hundred percent aware that he doesn't. Because if he did, that would mean I'd be out cold on the ground. "Good job." Says the man despite my obvious lacking. The praise however once again brings a warm feeling within me. Enough to hover and distract the sore spots roaming all over my body. I can't help the grin that forms on my lips. Going through training is my family's right of passage. The second we can walk on our own two feet, we're exposed to a lot of things. A lot of them a normal family wouldn't dare flash a four year old child. Some even dangerous. This tradition stems all the way to the eighteenth hundreds. For centuries, my family line served beside the King and Queen. They've dedicated their lives to them. We're known to have stealth in our blood and a unique talent when it comes to combat and martial arts. Basically, our skills our unbeatable. So it's only natural that I follow in their footsteps and yield the reputation my ancestors built for us. "Go get changed. Your mother's making your favorite food today." Eyes sparkling, I nod my head and sprint off immediately to where I last left my bag. Five minutes later, we're in the car heading back home. It's not often I get to have a one on one duel with my father. Since he's not always home. And although I'm thankful that my uncle's training me in the field of fighting martial arts, it's differen with dad. I barely get to see the man after all. The King himself specifically picked him to become his right hand man, given that he trusted him more than anyone else. Basically, my father's in charge of the government affairs when the King isn't around and oftentimes accompanies him wherever he goes. He's got a lot on his hands right now but I'm happy he's squeezing some time for me. We arrive to the sweet scent of broth filling the house. My little brother, Nyro, appears from the corner with a huge smile on his face. "Dad!" The six year old boy screams. It's been three days since we've last seen him so it's a natural reaction. I try not to laugh out loud when he almost trips on his steps. "Hey there little buddy." Father lifts Nyro up in his arms and engulfs him in a hug. "How've you been? You didn't give your mother and sister a hard time right?" "I didn't." The boy giggles as I flash him a knowing look. My brother adorns pale skin and two huge black eyes that creases whenever he smiles. The color of his hair's similar to a dark starless sky. Unlike me, Nyro wasn't exposed to anything that could put him at harm's way. Modern times have led my family line to eventually have the first born follow on their lead rather than have all of their children in the same field. Which Is something im grateful for. Since I've noticed Nyro lacking a couple of assets when it comes to physical movements. He isn't as fast as me when I was his age, nor is he stealthy. He'd constantly bump into things even if they're sitting right In front of him. I think the proper word to describe him would be clumsy. He's clumsy but intelligent. Dad sets him down and gestures us to head to the living room. I take Nyro by the hand and lead him to the said place while my old man disappears off to the kitchen where mom is. As I collapse on the couch with a sigh, Nyro notices a grey circle on my arm and pokes it, causing me to flinch. "It hurts?" Asks the boy with innocent black eyes. He tilts his head to the side in curiosity. "This? It doesn't." I tell him. Nyro's aware about the things I have to go through. There are times when he'd suddenly sprout out words saying he wants to learn how to fight, leaving all three of us brushing it off with a chuckle. Although Nyro being the second born's mainly the reason why he isn't doing the same things I'm doing, there's another reason why we don't want him getting involved. He's always been a weak child. The boy sneers as he gets off the sofa, landing on the floor with a soft thump. "Liar." I can't help but chuckle at his cute reaction. The pout he makes whenever he senses someone lying to him is the most adorable sight ever. "Where are you heading off to?" Without looking back, he goes. "To get something." He walks out of the living room to return two minutes later. Stopping in front of me, Nyro shyly extends and a hand and that's when I notice the ointment between his fingers. I feel a fluttering sensation engulfing my heart. "Thanks baby." "I'm not a baby." The boy immediately says with flustered eyes and crimson cheeks, coaxing a chuckle from my mouth. "Of course you're not." I say in a slight murmur, attempting to hide my amusement. "What was I thinking? Our Nyro is a big boy right?" The firmness of his nod is enough to send me smiling again in amusement. I can't seem to get enough of him. "Thank you." I take the ointment from his little fingers and begin applying it. As I do so, Nyro keeps his steady gaze on the gliding motion I'm doing across my skin.