The sun hung high that afternoon, scorching the palace grounds with its merciless heat. The air was heavy, wrapping the soldiers' training field in an invisible haze of sweltering warmth. The wide yard, encircled by stone walls, was filled with the sound of wooden weapons clashing and shouts of determination.
Mathien sat beneath the royal parasol, his robe still neat despite the burning heat. His face was as cold as ever, untouched by the midday sun.
Beside him, Hana stood tall, holding a large hand fan. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat, sweat trailing down her temples and neck. Yet she remained dutiful, fanning the king.
"If you faint first, I won't be carrying you home," Mathien muttered without glancing at her.
Hana clicked her tongue softly, though she couldn't hide her smile. "If I faint, who'll lose out? You'll be the one suffering from the heat. No one will be here to fan you."
Mathien gave her a brief glance. "I'll just call another servant."
