It’d been an innocent comment, really. A curious question from his mother, wondering when he’d begin meeting with the women of Idris, to find the future queen. But that comment had ruined him. All Alec had been able to do was give a small, strained half smile and assure her that of course, he’d begin his search soon, before he dismissed himself. Because he couldn’t help the fact that he hated the idea of marrying a woman, but he could help the state of his body. Where he was in his training.
The fact that he was supposed to be entertaining a noble woman from France - well, that had completely slipped his mind in the desperate need to exert some sort of control over his situation.
Alec had lost count of how many pull ups he’d done. The only conscious thought he had in his mind was the fact that his arms were screaming, but with each painful twinge, he forced himself to do another, tapping the bottom of his chin lightly on the top of the bar before he was dropping himself back down slowly, carefully working his muscles in a way that would make him regret it in the morning - but he had to. To make himself better. To make himself good enough.
It wasn’t until he heard the door to the training room open, making him turn his head to look over his shoulder, that he remembered what he was actually supposed to be doing. Dropping down onto his feet lightly, the prince plucked up a towel and began lightly dabbing at the sweat that pooled on his face. “I apologize. I must have lost track of time,” he said simply. More like he’d had the destructive urges to do something else instead. “I’ll be ready in a moment.”
