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Chapter 9: Nikolai’s POV – Discipline
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2026-04-08 17:17:39Chapter 9: Nikolai’s POV – Discipline
Nikolai’s knuckles split on the third hit. He didn’t stop. The impact of bone against leather echoed through the training room, sharp and controlled. Again. Again. Again. “Focus.” The command came from across the room. His uncle didn’t raise his voice. He never did. “I am,” Nikolai replied. “Then stop thinking.” Another hit. Harder this time. The bag swung slightly off-center. A mistake. --- Nikolai stepped back, rolling his shoulders once, jaw tightening. Blood slicked across his knuckles, but he ignored it. Across from him, his uncle watched with quiet precision. “You’re distracted,” he said. “I said I’m not.” “You missed your angle twice.” Nikolai didn’t respond. Didn’t need to. The silence confirmed it. --- “Again,” his uncle said. Nikolai stepped forward, resetting his stance. Left foot. Right. Balance. Breath. Control. He struck the bag again—clean this time. Precise. Efficient. But even as he corrected himself, something lingered. A pause where there shouldn’t be one. A hesitation that didn’t belong to him. --- “Who is it?” his uncle asked. Nikolai stilled. The question landed too easily. “Excuse me?” “You don’t lose focus without reason.” “I’m not losing focus.” “You are.” A beat. “So I’ll ask again. Who is it?” Nikolai wiped his hand across the back of his shirt, smearing the blood without looking down. “No one.” His uncle studied him for a moment longer than necessary. Then, “Good.” --- Training resumed. But the rhythm didn’t. --- Later, Nikolai stood under the cold stream of water, letting it wash the blood from his hands, from his arms, from the tension that had settled into his muscles. It didn’t work. The thoughts stayed. Uninvited. Persistent. --- You’re careful. The memory of his own voice. Followed by— That’s not a fault. --- His jaw tightened. It didn’t make sense. None of it did. Not the way Arlo reacted. Not the way he noticed. Not the way Nikolai— --- He shut the water off. Hard. Enough. --- By the time he dressed, the house had already shifted into its usual rhythm. Servants moving. Doors opening and closing. Voices low and controlled. Routine. Predictable. Exactly how it should be. --- And yet— He changed direction halfway down the corridor. --- The east wing. --- He didn’t think about it. Didn’t justify it. Didn’t question why. He just walked. --- Arlo was there. Of course he was. Kneeling near the far window, sleeves pushed back again, cloth moving in steady, deliberate strokes. Faster than before. Too fast. Nikolai noticed immediately. --- “You’re still rushing.” Arlo froze. Just for a second. Then continued. “I’m working.” Nikolai stepped closer. “That’s not what I said.” Arlo’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look up. “It’s done correctly.” “That’s not the same thing.” --- Silence stretched between them. Then— “You should be training.” The words came out quiet. Careful. But they landed. --- Nikolai went still. Arlo immediately looked like he wanted to take it back. “I didn’t mean—” he started. “No,” Nikolai cut in. “Finish that.” Arlo nodded quickly. “Yes.” But the damage was done. --- Nikolai studied him differently now. Not just the movements. Not just the reactions. But the awareness behind them. --- “You know what I do?” he asked. Arlo hesitated. “Everyone does.” “Then say it.” A pause. “You’re… the heir.” Not proud. Not impressed. Just factual. --- “And what does that mean?” Nikolai asked. Arlo swallowed. “It means you have responsibilities.” “Which I’m neglecting?” “I didn’t say that.” “You implied it.” --- Arlo finally looked up. And this time, he didn’t look away immediately. “I just meant… you have more important things to do than this.” “This?” “This,” Arlo repeated, gesturing faintly between them. “Standing here. Watching me. Correcting things that don’t matter.” --- That flicker again. Sharp. Unfamiliar. --- Nikolai stepped closer. “You think this doesn’t matter?” Arlo’s breath caught. “I think—” he started, then stopped. “Say it.” “I think it’s unnecessary.” --- Silence. --- Nikolai exhaled slowly. Then— “You’re wrong.” --- Arlo didn’t respond. Didn’t argue. But he didn’t agree either. --- Interesting. --- “You want to be left alone?” Nikolai asked. “Yes.” The answer came too fast. Too honest. --- “Then stop giving me a reason to come back.” --- That landed. Hard. --- Arlo’s fingers tightened around the cloth. “I’m not doing anything.” “You are.” “How?” Nikolai held his gaze. Didn’t soften. Didn’t explain. --- “You’ll figure it out.” --- And then— He stepped back. Turned. Left. --- This time, he didn’t linger. Didn’t stop just outside the doorway. Didn’t listen for the rhythm of cloth against glass. --- He walked straight past the corridor. Straight past the stairwell. Back toward the training room. --- But the thought followed him anyway. Clear. Unavoidable. --- He was wasting time. He knew that. Every second spent in that corridor— Every moment watching— Every unnecessary correction— --- It all added up. --- And yet— --- He didn’t stop. --- Because the truth was simple. Dangerously simple. For the first time in years— Something had managed to pull his attention away from the path laid out for him. And he wasn’t sure if he wanted it back.
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