Sweat trickled down from my hairline, tickling annoyingly along my eyebrows, but I dared not to break form and wipe it away, it 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 then 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.”

“But I don’t even know what I’m trying to do or why.” My face was reddening, I could feel the heat rising. 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 her hand 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 a scream of pain into roar of 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 another 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, move the universe around you kind of power, 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 her not wild hair.

“I knew it lay within you,” she said through heavy breath, “I should have known you would need what any spoiled child does. Spar 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, while I was unable to move because of how much it hurt, it felt like I was also still in shock and partially numb, it 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 less.”

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 have used something else 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.”