For now, he lounged in his chair at the breakfast table, with all the regal arrogance he was known for in the old days. And if anyone noticed how hard he gripped his walking stick, at least they did not comment on it.
Twenty minutes later, by his watch, when Luka felt sufficiently rested, he shuffled down the hall to his study. The going was slow, and he had to bite back a few curses when he had to turn corners, but in the end, he got there on his own steam.
He collapsed into the chair at his desk, his lips quirking up at the thought ofsteam, and the image that immediately followed it: Maya, her eyes bright as she showed him one of her inventions, saying“Steam powers it, you see?”
Smiling, he let his mind take him back to the past, and their days at the military academy…
~
She was staring at him again.
Luka could feel her eyes on him, staring in cold assessment. Well, let the girl look her fill. He would show Maya von Rakhmonov how it was done.
They were in the middle of a field training exercise, working on their task in groups of four. Luka was part of the first group that was pitching their military-issued tent outside on the back lawns of the academy. He hammered the last stake into the soft ground and stepped back, testing the strength of the ropes holding up his tent, satisfied with his work.
The rest of his group—one man and two women—were two steps behind him, some of them still struggling with getting their tents unfolded.
Most of the women in the military academy were not from noble families, in contrast to the males, who were mostly second and third children of their parents. While some of the nobles sent their heirs to the academy simply to take advantage of its superior education—like his father had sent his sister, the Crown Princess—the ranks of the officers were typically made up of the second sons of Drakkan nobility.
All of them the expendable children of nobility, and at the head of it all was himself, the Spare. He knew his father was grooming him to eventually take over the position of Commander of the Imperial Drakazov Army from his uncle Yarek, himself a second son.
Maya von Rakhmonov was one of the few noble women in their year at the academy. And unlike her peers, who had chosen to go into military nursing, or logistics, here she was, in officer training with him. There were whispers that she hoped to graduate at the top of her class, just like her elder brother, Nikolai von Rakhmonov, heir to the Rakhmonov province, who had graduated five years earlier and was now looking after his estates.
Well, Rakhmonova needed to learn that one did not always get what one wanted.
Luka would be the one getting the top spot. His pride wouldn’t allow anything less.
Luka stepped in to help the others in his group, ostentatiously putting up ropes and hammering in stakes. The sound attracted the attention of their instructor, Lord Alexei Utkin—which was what Luka had intended.
“Well done, Prince Luka,” the older man said, looking over Luka’s efforts. “Stellar work, as always.”
Luka smiled graciously at his instructor, who nodded and moved on to check the other students’ work. The class had been divided into groups in their first field exercise, with Alexei timing everyone to see who was the fastest at setting up camp.
But really, everyone in the class knew that the real rivalry was between Luka and Maya.
Ever since she had challenged him during sword training practice last month, Maya von Rakhmonov had become his fiercest rival in the academy.
But Luka wasn’t going to back down without a fight. He had his own rival to eclipse—his older sister, Princess Annika von Engelhart, heir to the throne.
As the first born of their father’s first wife, Annika was the favorite. As beautiful as she was talented, his sister had the skills to succeed their father—and she made sure everyone knew it.
So, he just had to prove that he was as good as her. That it was just an accident of birth that madeherthe heir, instead of him.
Three years ago, his sister had passed out of the military academy at the top of her class. Luka ould do no less.
No matter how much Maya von Rakhmonov wanted the top spot for herself.
~
“Weekly scores are on the notice board.”
The announcement had the cadets scrambling to check the posters for their names. A hand clapped itself to Luka’s shoulder.
“You’re tied with Maya for the top, as usual. I don’t know why the rest of us bother trying, everyone knows we’re only competing for the second spot.”
His friend Volkov tightened his arm, drawing Luka closer, and he shrugged it off good naturedly.
The von Rakhmonov girl came up to them, marching along as if she was still on the parade grounds. Luka had noticed it before, how she never seemed to have any friends, except for—
