This wasn't just a casual skate today—it was her first official step back into training.
Henry walked beside her, his stride calm and commanding as always, though his eyes kept flicking toward her as if gauging her every breath.
"You're nervous," he remarked.
"Of course I am," she admitted, hugging her bag tighter. "This isn't just about stepping on the ice. This is about proving to myself that I can belong here again."
Henry's lips curved faintly. "You've already proven it. But if you need to prove it again, then do it."
She smiled softly at his bluntness, then turned as the door to the rink opened. A tall woman with sleek auburn hair tied in a bun and sharp eyes approached, her stride brisk but graceful.
"Lady Aria," she greeted with a professional nod. "I'm Coach Mireille. It's an honor to meet you."
Aria's brows lifted. "You're the coach?"
"Yes," Mireille said. "Lord Henry arranged for me to work with you. He was insistent on finding someone who understood both professional skating and sports medicine. I have experience in both."
Aria's gaze slid to Henry, her eyes softening. "You did this?"
Henry simply shrugged, though his expression betrayed the faintest trace of pride. "You needed the best. I made sure you got the best."
Her chest tightened, warmth blooming beneath her nerves.
Mireille clapped her hands. "Let's begin, shall we? We'll start slow, evaluate your current level, then build from there."
---
On the ice, Aria laced her skates with steady hands, though her pulse hammered in her ears. As she stepped onto the rink, the cold seeped instantly through her thin tights, but instead of fear, she felt… alive.
"Warm-up laps first," Mireille instructed. "Steady glides, no tricks yet. Let's see your stride."
Aria nodded and pushed off, the ice singing beneath her blades. The first glide was shaky, the second smoother. By the third, she was circling the rink with a rhythm she thought she'd lost forever. Her arms extended instinctively, her posture tall and proud.
Henry stood at the edge, watching. His usual stern expression had softened into something rare—unmasked awe.
"She's graceful," Mireille murmured beside him, her tone professional.
Henry didn't look away. "She's extraordinary."
Aria finished her laps, cheeks flushed, breath fogging in the cold. She stopped in front of them, leaning slightly on the boards. "How was that?"
"Promising," Mireille replied. "Your stamina needs rebuilding, but your muscle memory is intact. Now, basic spins. Let's test your balance."
Aria nodded, moving back to the center. She inhaled, pushed off, and spun. The first attempt wobbled, her injured leg protesting slightly, but she corrected herself and tried again. The second spin was steadier, the third better still.
When she stopped, Henry was clapping softly, a rare grin tugging at his lips.
"You've improved in ten minutes," he said.
She laughed breathlessly. "Don't exaggerate."
Mireille smiled faintly. "He's not wrong. You adapt quickly. With training, you could reach your old level—and perhaps surpass it."
The words sank into Aria's heart like a balm. She had dared to dream, but hearing it confirmed from a professional—it felt like a miracle.
---
The session continued, filled with stretches, controlled jumps, and careful drills. Aria pushed herself harder than she thought she could, sweat dampening her brow despite the chill of the rink. When Mireille finally called an end, Aria collapsed onto the bench, laughing with relief.
"That's enough for today," the coach said firmly. "You've done well, but your body needs to rest to rebuild. Overexertion will only set you back."
Aria nodded, gulping water from her bottle. "Thank you. Truly. I didn't think I'd get this far."
Mireille gave her a small, approving nod. "You have more inside you than you realize. I'll see you in two days for the next session."
With that, the coach departed, leaving Aria and Henry alone in the quiet rink.
Aria sighed, leaning back against the boards, exhaustion in every limb. "That was… incredible. I thought I'd break down crying in the middle of it."
Henry handed her a towel. "You didn't. You shone."
She dabbed her face, then tilted her head at him, mischief sparking in her tired eyes. "You've been watching me all morning. Now it's your turn."
He blinked. "My turn?"
"Yes." She stood, wobbling slightly on her skates. "You've never been on the ice, have you?"
"Not since I was a boy. And that was… brief."
"Then come on." She extended a hand toward him, her grin playful. "I'll teach you."
Henry frowned, as if the idea offended his dignity. "Aria, I am not—"
"Afraid, are you?" she teased.
His eyes narrowed. "I don't get afraid."
"Then prove it," she challenged.
After a long pause, he exhaled sharply, undoing his coat. "You'll regret this."
Minutes later, Henry stepped cautiously onto the ice, his shoes replaced with hastily rented skates. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, his tall frame tense, arms slightly outstretched for balance.
Aria skated backward in front of him, holding both his hands. "Relax. Bend your knees slightly. Don't fight the glide."
"I am not fighting it," Henry muttered through gritted teeth.
She laughed. "You're glaring at the ice like it owes you money."
His jaw tightened. "If I fall—"
"You won't. Not with me here."
Something in her tone made him meet her eyes. The confidence there steadied him more than her grip did. Slowly, hesitantly, he allowed himself to glide forward.