CHAPTER 71: LEG DAY IS CHEAPER THAN THERAPY

Natalia inhaled deeply as she entered the condo’s home gym. The familiar scent of clean rubber mats and the metallic tang of weights centered her thoughts. Early morning light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long rectangles across the polished hardwood floor.

She wore a sleek black sports bra that barely contained the swell of her breasts, paired with high-waisted yoga pants that showcased the curve of her ass.

Time to reclaim what’s mine.

The empty gym was her sanctuary, her domain. Here, she wasn’t Luka Kuzmina’s daughter or Satori’s lover—she was simply Natalia, mistress of her own body and mind.

She positioned herself in the center of the room, feet shoulder-width apart. The morning air felt cool against her skin as she closed her eyes and began to breathe rhythmically.

Inhale through the nose, fill the lungs completely, exhale through the mouth.

The stretching routine began as it always did—a ritual she’d performed thousands of times. Natalia dropped to all fours on her mat, palms flat, spine neutral. She arched her back slowly, lifting her face to the ceiling as she pushed her chest forward, feeling the stretch across her shoulders and the slight pull in her abdomen.

"Mmm," she sighed, holding the position. The cat stretch always revealed how tense she truly was.

She reversed the motion, drawing her spine upward like a frightened cat, tucking her chin to her chest. The fabric of her sports bra shifted as her body moved, the sensation of cotton against her sensitive skin a reminder of how raw she felt after last night.

His hands had been everywhere. His lips had claimed every inch.

Natalia pushed the thought away. This was her time.

She transitioned smoothly into downward dog, lifting her hips high, pressing her heels toward the floor. The position stretched her hamstrings and calves, creating a burning sensation that she welcomed. Her palms pressed firmly into the mat as she breathed through the discomfort.

From her inverted view, she could see the defined muscles of her arms trembling slightly with the effort of holding her body weight. She focused on that tremor, on the physical sensation rather than the emotional tempest that had driven her here.

Natalia moved into a low lunge, extending one leg behind her while bending the other at a ninety-degree angle. She raised her arms overhead, stretching her torso and feeling the pull along her hip flexors.

I am not weak. I am not jealous. I am his equal.

She repeated the mantra with each position change, flowing through the sequence. By the time she finished her warm-up, a light sheen of sweat covered her skin, catching the sunlight as she moved toward the squat rack.

Natalia added plates to each end—not her maximum weight, but enough to demand respect. She positioned herself under the bar, feeling its weight settle across her shoulders as she unracked it.

The first squat was always a negotiation between mind and body. She inhaled deeply as she descended, keeping her chest up, her spine neutral, her knees tracking over her toes.

Am I weak?

The question burned in her mind as she reached the bottom of the squat, thighs parallel to the floor. Her muscles screamed in protest.

No.

She drove upward, pushing through her heels, the power in her legs translating into upward motion.

Am I just his toy?

Down again, the weight threatening to crush her. Sweat dripped down her temples, between her breasts.

Never.

Up again, exhaling forcefully as she locked out at the top.

Natalia completed ten perfect repetitions before reracking the barbell. Her breathing was heavy now, her heart rate elevated.

She moved through the rest of her strength routine with the same intensity—deadlifts that made her grunt with effort, pull-ups that burned her lats and biceps, core exercises that left her abdominals quivering.

After forty-five minutes, she grabbed her water bottle and took several long swallows, watching a droplet trace its way down her throat and disappear into her cleavage.

But the most important part of her training remained.

Natalia settled cross-legged in the center of the room, placing her hands palm-up on her knees. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, feeling for the familiar current of energy that lived within her.

Her Aspect was both a blessing and a curse. Telekinesis required not just power but precision—a perfect balance of force and control.

Like relationships, she thought wryly.

She reached out with her mind, finding the nearest 100kg dumbbell. The first touch was always tentative, like dipping a toe into cold water. The dumbbell wobbled as she lifted it six inches off the rack.

Natalia frowned, concentrating harder. The wobbling stopped. The weight hung in the air, perfectly still.

Good. Now the second.

Another dumbbell joined the first, floating beside it at exactly the same height. Then a third. A fourth. A fifth.

Sweat beaded on her forehead as she arranged the weights in a perfect circle around her head. They orbited slowly, like planets around a sun.

The strain was intense. Natalia felt the familiar pressure building behind her eyes, the slight metallic taste in her mouth that warned of impending Aspect Overload.

Just a little longer. Push through it.

She made the weights spin faster, then change direction. She lifted some higher while lowering others.

The Cryo-Lich Ring on her finger pulsed with cool energy, helping to regulate her output. Without it, she would have collapsed already. The ring was more than just a tool, it was a symbol of how far she would go to perfect her craft.

Just like I’ll do whatever it takes to be the queen he needs.

The thought momentarily broke her concentration. One of the dumbbells dipped dangerously before she caught it again.

Focus, Natalia. Control.

She drew the weights in closer, then pushed them out again. Up, down, clockwise, counterclockwise. Each motion was a test of will, a demonstration of mastery.

Finally, when her head pounded and her vision began to blur at the edges, Natalia gently returned each weight to its proper place. As the last dumbbell settled onto the rack, she exhaled deeply, feeling the tension drain from her body.

She opened her eyes to find Satori leaning against the doorframe, watching her with an expression of mingled admiration and hunger.

"How long have you been standing there?" Natalia asked, her voice steadier than she expected.

Satori pushed off from the doorframe and approached her, moving with that new confidence that still startled her sometimes. "Long enough to know I’m the luckiest man alive."

Natalia rose to her feet, acutely aware of how she must look—sweat-soaked, flushed, her sports bra clinging to her curves. "I needed to clear my head."

"And did you?" His eyes traveled over her body appreciatively, lingering on the places where her skin glistened with exertion.

"Yes." She met his gaze without flinching.

Satori raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"And I’ve decided last night was a waste of my energy. A queen has better things to focus on than petty insecurities."

A slow smile spread across Satori’s face, his eyes darkening with something that made Natalia’s pulse quicken despite her exhaustion. "And what should a queen be focused on exactly?"

"Protecting her king’s interests." Natalia reached up to trace his jawline with her fingertips. "She helps him build his empire. She fights at his side." She paused, letting her hand drop to his chest. "I texted Emi. We’re meeting for coffee later."

Understanding dawned in Satori’s eyes. "You’re taking this seriously."

"Did you think I wouldn’t?" Natalia challenged. "You told me about your Sovereign’s Covenant. You made me your Keystone Pillar. I don’t do things halfway, Satori."

He caught her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. "You never cease to amaze me, Princess."

"Not Princess anymore," she corrected him. "Queen."

His laugh was low and appreciative. "My Queen, then."

Natalia felt a surge of satisfaction at the title. This was what she wanted—to be valued, to be essential, to be powerful in her own right. Not just his lover or his stepsister, but his partner in this strange, dangerous game they were playing.

"I need a shower," she said, pulling her hand away reluctantly. "And we need to discuss strategy before I meet with Emi."

Satori nodded, his expression shifting to something more calculating. "You’re right. If we’re going to bring her in, we need to be smart about it."

"She already likes you," Natalia said, gathering her water bottle and towel. "She couldn’t stop talking about you after we met at the training facility."

"Attraction is only the first step," Satori cautioned. "Emi is innocent, optimistic. Nothing like you or me."

Natalia paused at the door, looking back at him over her shoulder. "That’s exactly why we need her. Your darkness. My ambition. Her light." She smiled. "Balance, Satori. Every court needs balance."

As she walked away, Natalia felt his eyes on her, studying her like a fascinating new specimen. She wasn’t the same girl who had jealously accused him last night.

The workout had burned away her doubts and insecurities, leaving behind something harder, sharper, more dangerous. The forge of exertion had transformed her, just as Satori had transformed her.

She would not disappoint her king.