Prince of Shadow and Ash

by Selina R. Gonzalez

  Minerva looked up, but her smile faded. “Is everything all right? You look...upset.”

  “I’m fine.”

  The mockery wasn’t new. I don’t care. Their opinion doesn’t matter. But it still hurt. However, the fact that some people thought she and Nolan were courting... It both embarrassed her and made her furious. People talked too much. Angry tears threatened to well up, so she shook her head and focused on the competition.

  Chapter 23

  REGULUS SIGHED AS ADELAIDE wove away through the crowd. A man’s voice intruded on his bliss. “Lord Hargreaves?”

  He looked over as Sir MacCombe approached. “Yes, Sir MacCombe?”

  MacCombe nodded toward Adelaide. “That was Lady Adelaide Belanger, wasn’t it?” Regulus nodded. MacCombe looked thoughtful. “That’s her token?”

  “Yes.”

  Something dark and dangerous sparked behind MacCombe’s eyes. “I was under the impression Nolan Carrick was courting her. There were rumors of a pending engagement.”

  Dresden snorted, but said nothing.

  Regulus tried not to sound too riled. “No.”

  MacCombe stepped closer, his voice low. “I’m pleased to hear it. I’ve had the pleasure of speaking with Lady Adelaide. She’s a lovely woman. Too good for Nolan Carrick. You fight with honor, Lord Hargreaves of Arrano, and were gracious in victory, so I will offer a word of warning. Nolan Carrick is not lightly trifled with, and there are many who blindly trust the Carrick name. If you have stolen his object of desire, you should watch your back.” MacCombe grimaced. “And your love. Especially your love.”

  Regulus nodded, wanting to ask for clarification but not daring to be rude. “Thank you.”

  “And one more thing.” MacCombe’s eyes flashed. “Since you defeated me, I cannot do what I came here to do. If you get the chance—give Nolan Carrick a sound beating. He deserves it more than you know.” He walked away.

  If Dresden was right about Carrick offending Baron Gaveston and the reason Baron Esmil’s daughter joined a convent, that made three baronial families with a grudge against Nolan Carrick. Regulus relished the information. A man made that many enemies, eventually, he’d be ruined.

  The herald called the winners and runner-up back onto the field, then announced the eight pairs for the second round. Regulus would go second against Sir Luke Arthur. Arthur had done well in the first round, but he leaned into his right side, making his strikes unbalanced. A small flaw that would be easily exploited.

  He had to admit, he was enjoying the tournament. The competition provided more excitement than practicing with his knights. Winning felt more satisfying in a competition, even if he had an unfair advantage. But he held back and tried to keep the playing field as level as he could. He also much preferred this to fighting for the sorcerer.

  After watching the first pair of contestants, Regulus reentered the arena. He shook hands with Sir Arthur, a bald man in his early forties built of lean muscle, before putting on his helm. Regulus attacked first, and Arthur parried with expert ease. Regulus half-smiled under his helm. This would be a good duel.

  They moved back and forth across the arena, attacking and parrying, thrusting and blocking, swinging and dodging. Regulus kept positioning himself on Arthur’s right, causing him to lean more and more onto his dominant side. As Regulus dodged a thrust of Arthur’s sword, he moved toward the left and let Arthur continue to attack. The swing from left to right finally came. Regulus stepped back, not blocking or parrying. He had to lean away to avoid the tip of Arthur’s blade. Right as Arthur’s center of balance shifted a little too far to the right, Regulus swung his sword.

  Arthur was too far off center to block the attack, and Regulus’ blade slammed into Arthur’s back. Arthur stumbled and Regulus landed hits on Arthur’s chest and back. As Arthur blocked, Regulus pushed toward Arthur’s right. Arthur tripped. Regulus slammed his shoulder into Arthur’s left side, and his opponent fell onto his right knee. With a mighty swing of his sword, Regulus knocked Arthur’s sword out of his hands. The sword hit the ground a couple feet away. Arthur held up his hands.

  The crowd of spectators cheered. The sound filled Regulus to his core. He could imagine a different life, a version of himself that the nobles didn’t mistrust or resent. He offered Arthur his hand. Arthur ignored him as he stood and fetched his sword. The rejection tore the illusion away. Regulus sighed, removed his helm, and bowed to the spectators. Adelaide beamed, but her smile seemed dimmed.

  Maybe she noticed Sir Arthur’s snub. Does she wonder now about giving her token to the son of a servant? Or maybe I’m so convinced this is too good to be true I’m looking for negatives. He smiled and clapped his hand over her token on his arm. She blushed. I’m overthinking it. He walked out of the arena.

  Carrick won his match, which on the one hand irritated Regulus. He showed no grace in victory, only smug conceit. He entered the arena with the laidback carriage and playful, crowd-winning smile of a man entering a party and left with a kiss for the spectators, a swagger in his step, and a smirk on his face. On the other hand, Regulus now had a one in four chance of facing Carrick in the next round. Never had Regulus so strongly wished to cross steel with a particular person. He forced aside the mental image of knocking Carrick to the ground and focused on the next contestants. He had a one in four chance of dueling Carrick but had equal chances of fighting the other winners. So he studied his potential opponents.

  A fifteen-minute recess was called to give the winners time to catch their breath and adjust their armor. Perceval leaned back, his elbows resting on top of the fence.

  “Got some decent competition there, Captain.” Perceval nodded thoughtfully. “A few of ‘em might even make good mercenaries.”

  Regulus laughed. “Don’t let them hear you. Pretty sure you’ll offend them.”

  “Eh, I can take any of ‘em.” Perceval shrugged. None of them argued. Perce was the best swordsman Regulus knew. He’d even beaten Regulus once.

  After the break, the herald announced the last four pairs. Carrick would face Sir Bartley. Regulus would face Lord Barden. Based on their fighting styles, Regulus predicted a win for Carrick. Lord Barden wouldn’t be difficult. His aggressive style counted on beating down his opponent so he couldn’t strike back. Accordingly, Barden left himself open for counterattack. All Regulus had to do was accept a couple blows rather than blocking them.

  ADELAIDE WINCED AS Lord Barden landed two powerful blows in quick succession on Regulus’ chest. Was he even trying to block them? Barden swung again, and Adelaide flinched as the blow landed on Regulus’ shoulder. Regulus slammed his sword across Barden’s abdomen. Barden stumbled back. The crowd gasped. Regulus attacked without pause. Barden tried to block and parry, but his defense was weak. Regulus swung and Barden’s sword flew out of his grasp. Adelaide held her breath. Barden raised his hands, yielding the fight. Adelaide applauded, feeling an inordinate amount of pride.

  Still, nerves made her twitchy. Nolan had won his match, with a good show of skill, at that. Regulus had a fifty-fifty chance of facing Nolan in the semi-final round. She had confidence Regulus would best Nolan. And yet... She knew Nolan’s type. If Regulus lost, Nolan would interpret that as a clear sign of his superiority and Regulus’ unworthiness. That was how chivalry worked in romances, wasn’t it? Disputes were decided by arms. Suffering defeat while wearing a lady’s token dishonored the lady. To the victor go the spoils.

  Nonsense. Love isn’t won on the battlefield. A heart is not a trophy. But Nolan would see a victory in the field as proof Regulus wasn’t worthy of her. Before and after each duel, Nolan made eye contact with her. He winked as he bowed. Mouthed for you as he held up his sword in celebration. He blew a kiss to the crowd after each victory, but the look in his eyes said the kiss was for her.

  I don’t want your victories and I don’t want your kisses! If Regulus won, perhaps Nolan would be too ashamed to approach her again. Please win, Regulus.

  The herald announced the ro
und. First up, Regulus and Sir Morrigan, not Nolan. Then Nolan and Lord Thealane. Regulus won his round with ease. He seemed to have found his rhythm.

  A nobleman nearby said, “That mercenary is unstoppable.” Adelaide found the speaker and watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was pudgy and balding.

  “Seems unfair,” said a man with a thick silvery blond beard. “Over half these men haven’t seen real battle. We’ve been playing war at tournaments for over twenty-five years. The mercenary, though...”

  “True,” Balding said. “He’s probably killed more men than some of these competitors have sparred with. But can’t refuse him entry because he has more experience.”

  “Probably should have based on his bastardy, though,” said a third man she couldn’t see around the other two.

  Minerva put a hand on hers and whispered, “Ignore them.”

  “He has a name,” she muttered. “A title. He’s not the mercenary.”

  “People are selfish and cruel, Ad.” Minerva leaned forward, forcing Adelaide to look into her eyes.

  “Why can’t they get over themselves?” Adelaide gripped her skirt in her hands.

  “You know why. The nobles think what is different taints their carefully constructed superiority. Lord Hargreaves is very different. They aren’t likely to accept him easily.” Minerva pushed Adelaide’s hair over her shoulder. “Adelaide, if talk like that is going to bother you, you can’t court him.”

  Adelaide stiffened.

  “If you marry him, that won’t stop the whispers. It may make them worse.” Minerva bit her lip. “We have both heard the things people have said about Mother and Father. I know some nobles are less than thrilled about me and Gaius. If you can’t have thick skin, your relationship with Regulus will fall apart.” She squeezed Adelaide’s hand. “You will have to be certain you love him more than you need acceptance.”

  Adelaide shifted on the bench. “You don’t have to be right all the time, you know.”

  “That’s why I’m here, don’t you know.” They laughed.

  Adelaide looked across the field. Nolan and Lord Thealane had started their match. Regulus watched, his brow furrowed, eyes narrowed. His mouth cocked to the right, making the skin pucker around his scar. As he observed, his arm would twitch or he would duck slightly, or he would move a foot forward or back. As if doing in miniature what he would do if he were one of the combatants. She chuckled to herself. Why was that so...endearing?

  She wouldn’t say she loved him. Not yet. But like? Oh, heavens yes. Find attractive? She recalled Regulus standing in front of his tent in loose linen trousers and a thin linen shirt that hung asymmetrically on his shoulders. Her entire body grew hot. Double-yes. Even with the scar low on the side of his neck she hadn’t seen before and the faint scars on his shoulders.

  No, she didn’t know if she could claim her affection toward Regulus Hargreaves of Arrano as love yet. But she could handle gossip and condescension at least long enough to find out if she loved him.

  Cheers pulled her out of her thoughts and back to the field. She tore her gaze away from Regulus. Lord Thealane staggered off the field. Nolan thrust his sword into the air, looking right at her. For you, he mouthed. He bowed deeply, winking as he straightened. He sheathed his sword, put his right fist over his heart, and made another bow toward her with a simper. Before leaving the field, he blew the crowd a kiss.

  Regulus and Nolan would face each other for the final victory.

  Adelaide wiped sweat off her palms on her skirt. Please, Regulus. For the love of Etiros, please win.

  Chapter 24

  SO, HE WOULD FIGHT Carrick after all. Regulus checked Adelaide’s token on his arm. He shouldn’t be so happy about it. But it would feel good to knock Carrick down. He had hardly kept himself from drawing his sword yesterday, when Carrick kept talking over Adelaide. The egotistical lowlife. But Adelaide had a fire in her and had proven she could and would defend herself. He wouldn’t assume she wanted or needed his help. He only stepped in because Carrick started acting aggressive, and he would not abide such behavior.

  Anticipation and tension hung in the air as they walked into the arena. A low monotone of whispered conversations buzzed in his ears, too far away and too quiet for him to hear specifics. Did any support him? He saw a couple noblemen shake hands, both with smug expressions. Well, people were betting on him at least. But people bet on horses, hounds, and dice, so that didn’t say much. Maybe he had changed some of their minds. Or perhaps some of them would be more open to him. Probably not. He pushed thoughts of the nobles’ acceptance away. They had never accepted him. Why would it matter now?

  He found Adelaide in the crowd. Maybe it did matter now. What if the other nobles turned her against him? She smiled and winked. “I don’t much care what they think,” her voice repeated in his mind. The tension in his shoulders dissipated. In the middle of the arena he bowed to the spectators, then turned toward his opponent.

  Carrick gave him a haughty smile as they shook hands. “This should be fun, mercenary. Try to last long enough you don’t completely embarrass her. I want to win, but I don’t want to make her angry. I want her to see which of us is the real man, and which is, well...whatever kind of mongrel you are.”

  Regulus clenched his jaw until his teeth hurt. He smiled. “You know what, Carrick? You’re right.”

  “What?”

  “This is going to be fun.” With that, Regulus pulled on his helm and drew his sword.

  Carrick scoffed and put on his plumed helm. He drew his sword and attacked, moving blade from scabbard to slicing toward Regulus’ chest in one fluid movement. Regulus blocked, the impact of their swords meeting jarring his bones. He shoved back on Carrick’s blade, pushing it aside. He reversed directions and aimed for Carrick’s side.

  Carrick recovered and parried with no difficulty. Regulus moved for another attack from above, adjusting his stance as he watched Carrick through the slit in his visor. Carrick inched his left foot back and drew back his right shoulder. Regulus adjusted, stepping to the right and pulling his sword around to swing from the left. Carrick couldn’t change course fast enough, and he blocked just as Regulus’ sword made contact with Carrick’s shoulder. Carrick parried with surprising force, then counter-attacked. Regulus blocked or dodged each blow. He countered with a flurry of combination cuts, thrusts, and swings. Carrick fell back but blocked or parried each attack.

  Sweat dripped into Regulus’ eyes and trickled down his neck. Every muscle in his body strained with energy. Sunlight glinted off of Carrick’s polished armor, making Regulus squint. Carrick blocked another cut, and Regulus grit his teeth. Some part of his brain whispered you could end this right now. Stop holding back. You could stop his blade with your hand and pull it right out of his grasp. He licked his dry lips, tasting salty sweat. No. He would win this fight as Regulus Hargreaves, not as the magically enhanced Black Knight.

  Move. Keep moving. He stepped into another stance reflexively as Carrick parried and swung for his head. Look for weaknesses. He leaned back as Carrick’s sword rushed past within a feather’s breadth of his visor. He aimed a blow at Carrick’s arm. Carrick’s grip faltered as Regulus’ sword bounced off Carrick’s bracer. Regulus pressed his advantage, landing several blows on Carrick’s chest and shoulders.

  Holding back got harder by the second. His concentration threatened to break as he tired. The rush of the combat seemed like fuel on the fire burning in his veins and muscles, demanding to be unleashed. Focus! No foolish risks. Carrick swung for his torso, and Regulus moved to block. At the last moment, Carrick adjusted, lunging around Regulus’ side. The edge of his sword sliced into the back of Regulus’ knee.

  A string of curse words rushed through Regulus’ mind as his knee smarted and blood seeped into his trouser leg. He would heal. This fight needed to end before anyone noticed. He spun and swung toward Carrick, who, as he expected, blocked the blow. Regulus pushed their swords to the side and slammed his shoulder into Carrick
. Carrick stumbled back and Regulus thrust toward the gap in Carrick’s armor under his pauldron. Carrick parried, but Regulus kept moving closer, forcing him to retreat backward.

  As they moved across the field, Regulus making attacks for speed, not accuracy, Carrick’s stance got weaker and less grounded. Regulus kept an eye on the terrain, and just before Carrick stepped onto an uneven patch of ground, he drew his sword back over his head, leaving himself open. Carrick did what he expected—he swung at Regulus’ shoulder. But as Carrick put his foot down and attempted to move forward into his attack, his boot caught. He faltered for the briefest moment as he regained his balance.

  With every ounce of control, Regulus brought his sword down. Carrick realized too late he needed to move or block and made an attempt, but Regulus’ blade hit the side of Carrick’s helm and continued down to his shoulder. Carrick reeled, his grip on his sword slipping. Regulus pulled back his sword and thrust toward Carrick’s neck. Carrick parried, but Regulus flicked his blade in a circular binding motion and pulled against Carrick’s blade. His grip already weakened, the sword ripped out of Carrick’s hands.

  Before Regulus raised his sword to Carrick’s chest, Carrick dove around him. Regulus turned as Carrick kicked the cut in the back of his knee and Regulus’ leg buckled. Pain shot up and down his leg. The cut had started to close, and the impact reopened the wound, making it feel like his flesh was sliced through all over again. He gasped and spun on Carrick, who snatched his sword off the ground. Regulus adjusted his grip on his sword and blocked a hastily thrown attack. Their swords clanged together, and Regulus moved forward, guiding his sword down Carrick’s blade. He slammed his head into Carrick’s helm.

  The impact rang in his ears, made his helm vibrate against his skull. Carrick teetered and lowered his sword. Regulus slammed the pommel of his sword into the side of Carrick’s helm. A blow across Carrick’s back, and Carrick fell to his knees. Regulus put the tip of his blade against Carrick’s neck below his helm. Carrick froze. He let go of his sword and raised his hands.