Sweat trickled down from my

  hairline, tickling annoyingly along my eyebrows, but I dared not to

  break form and wipe it away. Doing so would come with a harsh lecture

  about needing to separate my bodily sensations from reaching out for

  divinity.

  My life had completely

  transformed since my father’s death, but not at all in a way I

  could have anticipated. Instead of ascending the throne and perhaps

  being guided by a steward while I still came of age, my position was

  being dangled in front of me like a carrot to get me to perform. What

  exactly I was being asked to perform, I didn’t yet understand and I

  could tell by everyone’s frustration that I was not progressing as

  quickly as they thought I should.

  “Reach for your inner divine

  gifts,” the monotone trainer reminded, as if there was some way I

  could have forgotten in the past few minutes since she last said it.

  “They dwell within you, you are not extending yourself far enough,

  keep reaching even if it hurts. Pain is meaningless and passing,

  divinity is eternal.”

  I took a deep breath in,

  partially to prepare for another burst of effort and secondarily to

  hold in a sharp comment. If I didn’t do exactly what she wanted

  when she wanted it normally she would just take control herself using

  whatever twisted magic she possessed and use me like a puppet, I

  didn’t understand why she couldn’t just do the same for my

  training, since it seemed like she thought it should come so easy for

  me.

  It seemed silly that she was

  going through this whole trouble of training me at all, she could

  just puppet me and effectively control the monarchy while I could do

  little to nothing about it. I had gathered that for some reason it

  was desirable to have me on the throne, even though it was becoming

  increasingly obvious that I was going to be held up to a lot of

  expectations and was being groomed to be a very specific kind of

  ruler.

  With a grunt, I pulled my

  consciousness inward and explored a strange pressure within that I

  had never noticed before. The best way I could describe it was like

  the very core of my being had a tightly stretched balloon that was

  walling off something and preventing me access to whatever it was. My

  trainer had always referred to it as gifts given to me by the divine,

  though I got an innate sense that whatever lay beyond the barrier was

  very much a part of me, just an aspect that had yet to be explored.

  My inner will explored along

  the tension-ed surface and probed, looking for any flaw or thin point

  I might be able to punch through, but it all felt smooth and

  impenetrable. Letting out a held breath in a wavering stream of air,

  more sweat trickled down my face and trailed down my neck, soaking

  into my already damp shirt. I wasn’t sure how I was exerting so

  much physical effort without any actual movement, but I was always

  left much more exhausted than my combat lessons ever did. I used to

  try to find any reason to avoid those lessons, felt they were

  difficult and unnecessary, but I found myself wishing that I could go

  back to how it was and appreciate how easy I had it.

  “Your mind is wandering,”

  she said harshly, “this is why you are struggling. You have no

  discipline, others have accessed their divinity easier and quicker

  than you, yet it is not in their blood.”

  There it was about my blood

  again, she kept insisting that something about my bloodline had to

  make this whole process easier. It didn’t make sense when I was

  almost absolutely certain my father had no training like this and I

  never saw my mother undergo any kind of training at all.

  The words of my nursemaid

  telling me in hushed tones that my mother came from a family of

  witches did worriedly tug at me, but surely that couldn’t be the

  case. This whole ordeal of rigorous training in the early mornings,

  then religious studies all afternoon and early evening had been

  orchestrated by the Great Church and they suffered no witch or

  whisper of witchcraft to continue. If the rumor of my mother’s

  family had any merit to it, I was certain they would have rather had

  me drawn and quartered than allow my bloodline any chance of

  continuing.

  A sharp smack on my back

  jolted me from my concentration and the area immediately began to

  sting and raise into a welt. The woman was very good at making any

  strike hurt several times worse that you thought it should and the

  satisfied little smile she wore on her face after doing it further

  salted the wound.

  “You know there are

  consequences for not keeping your focus,” she said, a smile on her

  lips. “I know you have been spoiled for much of your life, but you

  will come to see that as a pity. You were made soft and ripe for evil

  to settle in deep. You are fortunate that we have come along when we

  have, the evil has not yet settled deep into your bones, but we

  cannot purge it if you continue to disobey.”

  “I’m trying-” I tried to

  protest.

  “None of that,” she

  hissed, “I will not have you talk back to me. You know that you are

  not trying to your fullest or you would have already succeeded.”

  She straightened her cassock

  and tucked the long, leather strap she used for her version of light

  punishment back into the belt of her robes.

  “But I don’t even know

  what I’m trying to do or why,” I complained despite knowing the

  strap, or perhaps worse, was about to be retrieved again.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  I could feel that my face was

  reddening, The heat was rising up my neck and spreading through the

  rest of my body. Since I could remember, whenever I got truly upset

  my skin would flush in an instant and feel as though it was on fire.

  I thought for sure the outburst would earn me another strike and

  stern word, but instead the trainer’s right eyebrow cocked upwards

  and her smile suddenly morphed into something that made my stomach

  churn.

  “I think we have made a

  breakthrough my child,” she said in a low voice. Without warning

  she lifted the strap from her belt and smacked down on my back again

  this time harder and with more venom. “You will continue to get no

  answers until you have adequately advanced in your training,” she

  hissed. “Which at this rate I’m beginning to think is never,

  perhaps you are just a useless boy, I should suggest that there may

  be no divine gift within you and that someone else replace your seat

  on the throne.”

  Pain radiated out from the

  impact site, my body screaming as it seared through me and across my

  back. My instincts told me to submit and writhe in agony on the floor

  before her, but I would not give her the satisfaction. I would submit

  to no one, especially not someone threatening to deny my birthright.

  She would get no satisfaction from seeing me break. Before I could

  fully recover, another thudding slap descended and with all of my

  remaining strength I turned my head away and stifled a scream of pain

  and anger.

  “You are so soft and

  spoiled,” she said with a dispassionate voice, “any other of my

  students wouldn’t react so dramatically to just a little corrective

  slap. You are weak not only physically, but spiritually, and regally,

  I would hardly believe you come from royal blood. Perhaps your mother

  was more like her mother than I thought and couldn’t deny her base

  instincts and became a whore, maybe you’re not the late king’s

  son at all.”

  Rage roiled through me, the

  sweat that had been upon my brow and soaking my robes drying almost

  instantaneously from the intense heat radiated from my body. It felt

  like there was a bonfire burning in my core, the flames licking

  through my blood, begging for an escape. With an anguished cry of

  rage, I felt a deep, twanging snap of something deep within and my

  vision swam as waves of heat and energy crashed out from me, my body

  giving up sensation beyond the fiery inferno and raw, chaotic power.

  The explosion continued for

  what felt like hours, heat and intoxicating potential spilling from

  me like a hole had been sprung in a full bucket, but instead of the

  bucket emptying and diminishing to a trickle, it was like what had

  been contained in me was limitless. I could barely tell that I had

  crumpled to the floor and it felt like I was being held down or

  someone was sitting on me, but it was a distant, dreamy feeling where

  I was wholly unconcerned with what was happening to my physical body.

  I wanted to stay swimming in

  the torrent of power, I had never felt anything even close enough to

  begin to compare, perhaps the satisfaction when you wield power over

  someone and you know that they have no choice but to obey. The

  feeling was power, but not political or social power, it was raw. I

  felt like I could bend the universe to my will. Suddenly it seemed

  silly to ever doubt something like magic could exist. It must, it had

  to be what had been restrained and sectioned off inside me.

  At some point I must have

  passed out, because next I knew it was silent and my body felt heavy

  and sore. I opened my eyes and tried to get up, but cried out in pain

  when I tried, my whole body twitched with pain when I tried to move

  any part of me. I couldn’t even move my head to see around me

  without sparking new pain, so I was relieved when the trainer stepped

  into my view, her own line of sweat beading down from beneath her

  hood.

  “I knew it lay within you,”

  she said through heavy breath, “I should have known you would need

  what any spoiled child does. Spare the rod, spoil the child is a

  saying for a reason.”

  That is what had done it in

  the end, the insult to my mother and few strikes had not been all.

  She had been beating the barrier open the entire time I had been

  swimming in ecstasy. I feared just how badly she had hurt me in the

  magical fervor. I was unable to move because of how much it hurt, but

  it felt like I was also still in shock and partially numb. The pain

  would likely blossom into something much more sadistic later without

  quick treatment.

  “Stand up,” she commanded.

  I could not miss the hint of mirth in her voice. “I have had

  servants immediately pop up and get back to work after harsher

  punishments.”

  I moved my arm to comply and

  get it underneath me to rise, but I could only get it half way before

  letting out a choking moan. I had never had a broken bone before, but

  I was inclined to believe that the arm was either broken or the elbow

  out of socket.

  “Remember that I can make

  you instead,” she continued, “I won’t be delicate getting you

  to your feet and I promise it will hurt all the worse than if you

  just do it yourself.”

  Knowing she was absolutely

  telling the truth, I took a deep breath in and shuffled my legs

  forward, gritting my teeth against the white hot pain as I got my

  knees underneath me enough to allow my arms to be slithered under my

  torso. In a cry of effort, I pushed up on my arms and took a moment

  to rest while my knees shivered and my arms quivered in effort to

  hold up my body weight, my arms were not yet black and blue, but I

  could clearly make out raised, red hand prints and other long thin

  welts where she must the leather strap to beat me.

  “I said to your feet, not

  get half-way and rest.”

  With a grunt of effort, I

  stood, my vision doubling from the pain emanating from my back, it

  must have taken a majority of the blows. I would not be surprised

  later to find the back of my robes splashed with blood.

  “We are done with training

  for the day,” she said, turning from me like it was any other end

  to our session, “you are still expected to show up for your

  religious studies promptly after your lunch, so do not think a bump

  or bruise will get you out of anything. Do not answer anyone who

  queries what has happened to you, they only aim to further spoil you

  and will hinder you from your true potential. I believe you have had

  a taste now of the power the Church can offer you, do not throw the

  offer away by letting your desire for soothing and sympathy cloud

  your path. Your path must be made on a bed of suffering, it is a

  noble and respectable path, one many of martyrs have walked. Before

  you lies a glorious future that must be walked on thorns, the low

  will not understand that true glory must rise from the crushed bones

  of the physical, and sometimes spiritual, body. You must accept your

  path with your head high and reject comforts that will slow your

  progression and mar your gift of martyrdom.”