“Why can’t we work with edged weapons? I can’t see how these,” he held up his wooden practice sword, sparing a disgusted glance at it when he said, “are sufficient to prepare a fighter for a true battle.”
Serena shook her head and laid her wooden sword on the table beside a goblet. I’ve expected this for quite some time. Whenever any student feels as though they’re not improving, they blame practice swords. She knew she had done the same not too long ago. Then, she let Killian wait, something she knew he wasn’t subjected to often. As second in line to rule Illedria, no one but his grandmother and father had the right to make him wait. Because of their long friendship, she was accorded as much latitude as he allowed. So, Serena took every opportunity to make Killian practice patience. She poured herself a goblet of wine and took a sip before turning her attention back to the young man. “These practice swords approximate the weight and balance of an actual weapon. They are meant to train fighters with less risk of lethal injury. More experienced students sometimes use blunted steel or edged weapons to add an element of realism to their bouts, but it is risky. Several students have been injured while working with edged blades,” she answered as the healing wound on her arm gave a slight twinge, reminding her that she could count herself among the mentioned wounded.
She watched Killian pace. His eyes narrowed as he chewed on his bottom lip, deep in thought. He stopped and faced her. “I am ready.”
Serena leaned against the table, crossed her arms over her torso and shook her head. “No, you are not. I’ve landed an easy kill point on you three times in the past week, your Highness.”
“I’ve been distracted.” Killian’s voice held a note of teasing, and Serena noted a familiar wicked twinkle in his eyes. His heated gaze roamed over her body, appreciating the way her bodice and breeches hugged her curves and the way the billowy sleeves framed the hourglass shape of her waist. The red-gold waves he loved to run his fingers through were pulled back in a braid, which started at her hairline and fell to just below her shoulder blades. He even liked the way her eyes narrowed and the right brow lifted as his gaze lingered.
“Then perhaps I should inquire with the other members of the guard and seek out a less… distracting, sparring partner for you, your Highness.” Her green gold-flecked eyes sparkled, teasing, even though she tried to resist his flirtation.
“I see no reason for you to do that, Lieutenant Harlowe.” Killian tossed his wooden sword on the table beside Serena’s and poured himself a goblet of wine. Servants weren’t allowed on the practice field, not even for a prince. “Even Arms Master Hayes admits that, up until recently, I have been improving under your,” he paused, a half-smile curling his lips, “expert tutelage.”
She smiled and nodded, “Then perhaps you will leave the question of your progression to me, as Arms Master Hayes has?”
Killian frowned, his blue eyes narrowing. “I thought you might be easier to convince.”
Serena nodded, and her lips quirked up in a wry half-smile. “Because I am a weak-willed woman?”
“If your will was weak, I doubt we would be having this conversation.”
She smiled. “You have a point, Highness.”
“So.” He toed the ground and ran a hand through his raven hair. “We can begin working with edged weapons?”
“Are you trying to have me executed?” A note of laughter was obvious in her voice though the question she asked was deadly serious. “If you are, there are simpler ways to go about it.”
“Such as?”
She shrugged. “Simply ordering it.”
“I am not trying to get you hanged.” Killian laid his hand over hers for a moment before pulling it away and facing the practice ring again. “I really think I am ready to try practice with edged weapons.”
Serena took a deep breath and let out a soft laugh while shaking her head. “I will make a bargain with you, my prince.” A slight smile curled her lips. “If you can best me in a bout, then we will begin working with edged weapons… tomorrow.”
Killian’s eyes narrowed, and she could see him turning the offer over in his mind. Serena picked up the goblet and sipped the wine while waiting for his answer. “If I win, we will begin working with edged weapons?”
She nodded and met his eyes before answering. “Yes.”
He looked her up and down, wary, certain there was a catch. “I don’t have to do anything else?”
“No.” Her smile was confident. “Just best me.”
“And, if you win?”
“You trust my judgment. You trust that when you are ready,” she said and shrugged, “we will begin practicing with edged blades.”
“Done.” He held out his hand, a slight smile curling his lips.
“As you wish, my prince,” Serena said, setting her goblet down. She turned and picked up a pair of blunted long swords, handing one to Killian. “Are you ready?”
He took the sword from her and tested its weight in his grip before walking back into the practice ring. Out of habit, Serena scanned the area, noting they had attracted a crowd. She caught sight of Ryan and the three additional members of the Royal Guard, all watching for threats. Other spectators included ladies of the court, who hid their faces behind fans or shielded their delicate skin from the rays of the sun with a parasol.
One lady, in particular, caught Serena’s eye. She was new to the court, but in the few short months since her arrival, Katia Dennsmore had almost every eligible young man falling over himself to win her hand. Rumors about the offer her father had made to the crown ranged from the ridiculous to the outright obscene. She was a stunning beauty with pale blue-green eyes, porcelain skin and chestnut hair, and her petite frame was always covered with opulent gowns at the height of fashion for proper ladies. With the right family name and fortune to match, Katia was everything the royal family could want in a bride for the second in line to the throne. Her active pursuit of Killian was a favorite topic among the court gossips.
Serena’s throat tightened and poisoned words drifted through her mind. The voices of court harpies and gossips assured her that Killian’s declarations were false, that the prince was simply indulging in a dalliance with a commoner before settling into marriage with a proper lady. As if she knew what Serena was thinking, Katia lifted her hand and gave a dainty wave. To other onlookers, it would appear as though she was trying to catch the prince’s attention, but Serena sensed the other woman’s eyes on her. She took a deep breath, turned and was about to walk into the practice ring when a man’s voice broke the silence.
“Are you going to show our princeling how it’s done?” one of her fellow trainees asked, the sneer evident in his voice.
Serena glanced over her shoulder, looking the hulking brute of a man up and down before she said, “You’re Roberts, right?”
“Yes.” He puffed up and threw his chest out, eyeing her like a hunter going in for the kill.
“I’ll remember that.” She turned and made her way to the center of the practice ring.
“Is there anything wrong?” Killian asked. He’d known Serena long enough to spot the tightness around her eyes that wasn’t always there. She walked a little faster than normal, her glossy black boots kicking up dust with each step.
She took a deep breath and let it out. Insults directed at the heir to the throne coming from a Royal Guard candidate? That is not acceptable. I will speak with Captain Donnavon. She considered mentioning it to Killian, but thought better of it and shrugged. “The usual.”
He nodded and because he knew it would help calm her, he asked, “Directed at you or me?”
“You,” Serena answered and without thinking added, “and treating me as if I were a tavern wench, not an officer who outranks him.”
Anger flashed in Killian’s eyes and his grip on the sword tightened. “Would you like me to take care of him for you?”
“No. I can handle him”—Serena flashed a wicked smile, eyeing his sword hand, making sure he relaxed its grip some befor
e she finished—”when the time comes.”
“Once again.” He shook his head. “Please remind me never to get on your bad side.”
Serena chuckled and offered him a quick bow. “Consider it done.” She stepped back and settled into a ready stance. “My prince?”
“I love it when you call me that,” Killian said in a low whisper as he prepared himself.
“And here I thought you hated it with all the complaints I hear about your title,” Serena teased before they touched swords and the conversation stopped.
She deflected his first testing blows, getting a feel for the differences in the power of his attacks caused by the change in weapon. Settling into the rhythm, she let Killian lead the dance while she watched for an opening.
He dropped his guard. Serena took advantage, feinting to the left before trying to slip in on the right. Killian managed to make a messy block, deflecting her attack, though he was off balance. Serena pressed her advantage, raining a flurry of blows down on him, not giving him a chance to rest or think.
Killian fell back, the heavier blade flashing in the sun as he tried to fend off Serena’s attacks. He let muscle memory take over and, on instinct, acted to keep her sword at bay. Several minutes later, her attacks eased. He pressed the advantage, going on the offensive. Killian feinted, trying to get past her defenses, but she didn’t let her guard down. He watched, waiting for an opening while keeping the pressure on. When he saw Serena’s left shoulder dip lower than her right, without thinking, he reacted, his blade lashed out to tap her arm. As the blade connected, something smacked hard against his upper inner thigh. He froze and looked down. Serena’s blade lay across his leg. His own rested against her forearm just below where her sleeve disappeared underneath her leather arm guard.
Her lips curled into a wry smile, and one eyebrow rose higher than the other. “You’re dead, my prince,” she whispered so it wouldn’t be overhead by the spectators.
“So, it would seem, my lady.”
“Would you care to know your mistake?”
Killian took a step back and bowed low. When he spoke again, his words were a promise-filled whisper. “I would. However, I have a previous engagement with a lady, who will not be put off.”
Serena stepped forward and held out her hand. “One of your many admirers?” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the retreating gaggle of giggling female courtiers with Katia leading the way, her black parasol standing out among its paler counterparts.
“She’s an older woman,” he sucked in a deep hissing breath and said, “very powerful.”
Serena laughed and closed her hand around the hilt of his sword. “Even I am not foolish enough to tangle with Her Majesty.”
“My love,” Killian breathed, as their fingers brushed when he released his grip.
“Your Highness.” She offered him a deep curtsy, turned and strode away, leaving Killian alone.
Good Gods, how does she manage to do that? Leave me so off balance and yet yearning for her company?
He watched her leave, fighting to keep a stupid grin from appearing on his face. He didn’t notice when Ryan stepped up beside him until the captain of his personal guard cleared his throat. Killian shook himself and turned to face him.
“Captain?”
“You are starting to garner more than the usual amount of attention that follows a prince of the realm. Your grandmother is expecting you.”
Killian sighed and felt his mood turn dark. I’d rather not discuss my impending betrothal to one of these hounding harpies. The discussions were never pleasant, especially since the one woman he had any inclination toward marrying had just walked away, held no land or title and was not from one of the proper families.
In a foul mood, Killian Rhys strode through the halls of the castle, taking little notice of the men and women from well-dressed courtiers to servants in royal livery who bowed and moved out of his path. He offered polite acknowledgment of their presence and greetings when required, but stopped for nothing. His thigh still smarted from where Serena had landed a good hit during their bout. A shudder ran through him as Killian’s mind turned dark. Had Serena and I had been using edged weapons today, I wouldn’t be walking to see the queen. Serena would be heading to the gallows. What remained of me would be laid out on a slab waiting for the death’s handmaidens to do their work.
The sun was high in the sky as he passed Lord Jeffery Dennsmore in the antechamber off the entrance to the queen’s personal study. Killian frowned. There is only one reason he would be petitioning my grandmother in private. The lord is pressing the queen to accept Katia as my betrothed. The last offer was so extravagant I wonder what he has done to make it more agreeable to my grandmother.
At seventeen years of age, Killian had not yet reached the age of majority, but the offers from the nobles, both in and out of Illedria, began a short time after his fifteenth birthday. These brief conversations with his grandmother started more than a year and a half ago, when he’d let it slip that he was falling for Serena.
Squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath, he stepped into the study through the already open door and bowed to his grandmother. Anastasia Rhys had an air of quiet dignity about her, and the delicate silver and gold crown she wore added to the feeling of understated power. She glanced up from her reading and motioned for him to sit across from her before turning her attention back to the papers. Killian took a seat in one of the high-backed chairs and tried not to get too comfortable on the soft cushions, knowing one of her tactics was to lull her opponent into a false sense of security. He took quick stock of the area around the study, the bookcases lining the walls, and the small sculptures and keepsakes placed on their shelves.
After a short silence, the High Queen of Illedria met the young prince’s gaze and frowned before removing her delicate silver crown. “Why that girl?” The queen’s question was straightforward, blunt, much like the woman was known to be at times.
“Because, in spite of everything she knows about me, including my station, and she doesn’t mind. All those years ago, she was the only one who didn’t care that I was the prince. Serena was the only trainee willing to spar with me for years. The rest were all too frightened of the consequences if I were to get injured.” He paused and waited for the queen to say something. When she remained silent, he continued, “When we spar, she doesn’t take it easy on me because of my title. She’s knocked me to the ground more than once.” He smiled, remembering the shocked expression on her face and those of the gathered crowd the first time it had happened. The smile widened, as he thought about the bruises she’d given him in subsequent bouts. His upward-turned lips retreated when he remembered bruises he’d given her. “We have known each other for years. I can talk to her about anything.”
“But she is a commoner and,” the queen took a deep breath as if steeling herself before continuing, “if what Arms Master Hayes tells me is true, has aspirations to join the Royal Guard.”
We’ve done this dance more than one time, grandmother, and yet here we are again, Killian thought before he responded with the expected question. “Why should either of those things matter?”
“You will be the king.”
Ahh and there’s the expected answer, he thought.
“You will follow your father on my throne and will need a strong queen at your side.” Anastasia sought to make her grandson see reason. Of course, other issues were at work, factions in play, but attacking the girl’s low birth station was the simple answer.
“Who do you believe will be a stronger queen?” he asked, a change in tactic. “A woman who, while a commoner, is a weapons master and doesn’t back down, who challenges me, who helps me consider all options before making a decision and does not have her own agenda beyond committing herself to king and country?” He leaned back and made a gesture to indicate openness. “Or would you prefer the woman who is from a noble family, with their own agenda, who won’t challenge her king’s decisions and could put loyalty
to her family and province over what is best for Illedria?”
“Killian, you will have nobles to contend with and will need their support in order to be a strong monarch. They will not think kindly about their king being married to a woman with no land, no title, and worse, is a soldier.”
“But she will not be a common soldier,” Killian insisted though he knew better, the nobles would never see Serena as more than a peasant. One who had reached far above her station and captured the heart of a royal, but still beneath them, and him. “She will be a sword master and perhaps one of the Royal Guard, the elite.”
“It is simply not done”—the queen’s tone was firm—”you are second in line to rule. I will not have this insolence, and that is the end of the discussion, young man.”
“As you wish, Majesty,” Killian stood and offered a deep, respectful bow. I pushed too far. I pray she doesn’t use this talk as an excuse to accept one of the marriage contracts. There must be a way to follow my heart and still serve my people.
“I wish my grandson would be more compliant to my wishes and tradition.”
“I am your grandson. Would you expect less of me?” The prince turned and walked out of the study with two black-clad guards falling in behind him as he made his way back to his chambers. When he crossed the threshold into the sitting room, Killian sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands. It was times like this when he felt the burden of his birth weighing against his heart’s desire and wished the gulf between their stations didn’t exist.
The beautiful noblewoman drew the guard forward, pulling his body against hers and into a shadowed alcove, away from prying eyes. He ran his hands over her soft, alabaster skin. Her fingers tangled in the dark hair that curled over his collar. Pressing his lips to hers, he plundered the riches there.
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