by Nana Prah
His concept of invincibility had worsened the injury. Three months of healing had passed when his father had had a severe heart attack. On the edge of death, the king had made him swear to protect the family at all cost. Without hesitation, he’d agreed.
Since he couldn’t do both with the passion that he applied to what he dedicated himself to, he’d given up any further dreams of attaining the gold in the next Olympic games. The pain and regret of losing what he loved loomed like a shadow in his heart. It perpetually reminded him that he'd never know how great he could’ve been.
And now, he was on the search for someone to train as a way of vicariously regaining his own personal glory. He had strong doubts that Sule would lead him down that path. How had he let his mother stronghold him into fighting this small boy? No matter. He’d wipe the floor with him and send him packing.
Out came his current source of annoyance from the locker room.
“Are you familiar with wireless fencing?” he asked when Sule had reached him.
A muscle twitched in the young man’s jaw, but his calm tone belied his apparent irritation. “I am. It’s the technology we used at my training facility. We can see if my gear is compatible with your equipment.”
Impressed, he nodded, narrowing his eyes into a stern glower. “Good. We’re going to use it to do the scoring.”
His attempt at intimidating his opponent seemed to fail when Sule didn’t look away.
“After all,” he continued. “We want this to be fair. Completely objective and impartial.”
Sule’s minuscule head bow seemed more of a taunt than a sign of acknowledgement. “Of course, Your Highness. Is it okay if I take a moment to warm up?”
“Go ahead.” He wouldn’t want the boy to use it as an excuse when he trounced him.
Zareb had arranged for one of the coaches to referee and another to monitor the scoring. After being programmed into the computer, the system would register when the opponent’s uniform was hit, garnering a point. One of his coaches connected Sule’s blade to the equipment and found it successful at capturing a touch.
From the opposite end of the strip, Zareb observed the young man preparing for the match with active stretches and various practice techniques. Although the adept movements demonstrated Sule’s familiarity with the sport, it didn’t mean he could fence well.
Mask on and épée in hand, the boy stepped forward until he reached the en garde line.
Zareb followed suit. They each raised their sword in salute, slid their masks on, and got into position, ready to fight.
Although he didn’t consider this a real match, his muscles flexed with the anticipation of competing. As they waited for the referee to start the bout, he strategized how he’d quickly get the points so he could shut down the nonsense idea of this young man training under his private tutelage.
Zareb assessed Sule’s stance and found no fault in it. The épée was steady in his hand.
When the referee told them to begin, Zareb advanced. Sule retreated with two quick steps, keeping the distance between them. Then just as soon as Sule stopped his movement, he transitioned into the aggressor and advanced with the same two steps he’d shuffled backwards with. He added another before lunging in an attempt to strike Zareb in the thigh.
If he hadn’t been quick in blocking with his épée as he shuffled out of the way, Sule would’ve scored a point.
Notable, but probably just luck.
When Zareb had first been introduced to fencing in junior high school, he’d attempted all three styles. Although he excelled at foil and sabre, he enjoyed épée most. He found a thrill in defending his whole body from head to toe from getting struck by an opponent’s blade.
Being a larger man than Sule, he had the advantage of distance which he now utilized to drive the boy back before landing a strike on his shoulder. The scoring machine beeped, indicating a solid hit. The crowd clapped.
Returning to the en garde line, he took notice of the motionless spectators. The show would be over soon, and he’d be able to tell his mother that Sule didn’t have what it took to work with him. He’d be sure to offer him a chance to train in his facility.
Zareb once again took the offensive, this time going in for the kill. The boy stepped forward, shortening the distance between them, blocking Zareb’s strike. Sule exploded into a lunge and struck Zareb’s rib. The loud shrill noise went off.
He’d been scored. A clean, swift, honest point that it took far too long for him to mentally register.
Not a sound could be heard in the building. Perhaps because his ears had filled with the blood rushing to his head. Or the crowd was just as shocked as him by his opponent’s victorious strike. The stunning moment over, they let out a wild roar of applause.
Sule had utilized the tactic of infighting. An excellent way for a shorter individual to score, although it increased his chances of being hit.
Back to each of their respective start lines, they faced off again. Perhaps it was cockiness that made Sule advance first this time. Zareb easily took himself out of the boy’s striking range. He’d only needed to learn that lesson once. Careful not to underestimate him again, he shifted forward. Sule retreated with a speed that could only come from both skill and excessive practice.
Zareb attacked Sule’s abdomen. The young man parried, depriving him of a point. Advancing again, this time, he lunged before his opponent could step back, striking him in the arm. The buzzer sounded.
Fast and light-footed, Sule came close to scoring once more as they sparred. The underestimation of the boy’s talent was what had won the one strike that had gotten past Zareb. Elevating his game to competition level for the rest of the three-minute round, he made quick work of gaining the winning points.
Victory was his. But he couldn’t overlook how good Sule was. To score against an Olympic medallist was no small feat. Yet, it had been accomplished on this day by a yet-to-fully mature young man.
Chapter Four
Malika wrestled with her energetic spirit to keep from running around the locker room, leaping on and over benches. She didn’t have the time, so she appeased the celebration of her scoring against the great Zareb Saene with a short dance in the empty space before jogging to the stall, peeling out of her sweaty fencing uniform and taking a quick shower.
The nastiness of sitting in Zareb’s office funky and uncomfortable outweighed the risk of being discovered as a woman. After towelling dry, she bound her breasts by wiggling into the black vest-style binder, which gave her a flat-chested look while allowing her flexibility of movement. It helped that she just filled a size A cup.
She shoved the T-shirt and smock over her head and rushed out to verify the news that he’d accepted her as his student. He couldn’t say no after her aggressive score. So, what if he’d trounced her for the rest of the match?
The moment he’d found her to be an actual threat, lightning couldn’t have struck faster, as unexpectedly, or with more force than Zareb during the rest of their duel. The beatdown had been the best experience of her fencing career.
She’d gain so much from him. She couldn’t wait to be on the giving end of some of the moves he’d whipped her with. For such a large man, he had the speed and agility of someone her size. This shouldn’t have been a surprise after how often she’d watched videos of him fencing. Experiencing it first-hand had been the most extraordinary experience of her life.
Was she getting ahead of herself by presuming Zareb would train her? How could he not? She wasn’t as good as him yet. But under his guidance, she could bring more prestige to Africa in the name of fencing.
All she had to do was work her behind off and keep the aspect of being a female hidden. She packed her gear in the gym bag, making sure to place the chest protector at the bottom. Tempted to let the jock strap hang outside of the bag, she laughed as she stuffed it in.
Now that she was embroiled in the deception, she had no choice but to keep up the masculine façade. The guilt was ever-
present, but everything would work out. Attaining her dreams relied heavily on her acting skills. Six weeks would pass by in a blink. Behaving like a teenage boy had to be easier than being a twenty-five-year-old woman.
***
Zareb stiffened at the knock on his office door.
“Come in,” he barked.
Expecting the young man to strut into the room, he was surprised that Sule maintained the same stride he’d had when entering the gym. No arrogance touched him.
The flick of his hand indicated that Sule should sit. The younger man dropped into a chair and slid down with his legs spread as if he were in his living room.
Sule’s face was familiar. Perhaps it came from the fact that he’d played with the boy’s older siblings when he’d been younger.
“Sit up straight.”
Insolence flashed in the boy’s eyes before he took his time to raise his body.
Zareb attempted to infuse some intimidation into the conversation by glowering. “How did you find the session?”
“It was cool. Getting to spar with you was a privilege. Thank you for the audition.”
No mention of his scored point. “What’s one thing you learned?”
Sule leaned forward. “It’s not something new, but because I’m on the shorter side, if I’m to be a champion, I have to be able to do more infighting, which would help even if my opponent is my own height.”
The slight hair growth on Zareb’s cheeks released a rasping sound as he rubbed it. “Getting inside your competitor’s guard would be the best way for you to earn points. You’d have to increase your speed, defence and add more agility. Your endurance declined after the first minute. It must be rectified.”
He searched the young man for a reaction. Other than the look of boredom, which he’d found to be a natural occurrence in the teenagers he’d encountered, he detected nothing.
Now came the part that should elicit a response.
“You have a great deal of potential, but you’ve got a long way to go in order to consider yourself an Olympic hopeful.” He picked up a pen and pointed it at the still emotionless Sule. “You’ll train six days a week. A minimum of four hours in the early morning and four in the afternoon. Your day off will be Sunday. I’ll set a schedule, but I won’t be with you every minute. To survive this program, you must exhibit discipline, physical and mental strength, and determination.”
He glared at Sule, who maintained eye contact. No smile at the prospect of training under him to fulfil his dreams or groan of frustration about the work involved. The boy was like him in more than his skill and aptitude for greatness as a fencer. He might be the protégé he’d been waiting so long for.
“Do you agree with what I’ve just explained is expected of you?”
“Yes.” Sule paused and added, almost begrudgingly, “Your Highness. I’m ready to do anything to become a champion.”
Only time would tell how much Sule would be willing to sacrifice once training began.
“For the first two weeks, I’ll be your main coach in the early mornings. You’ll be under the care of Coach Olu and Coach Dorna for the afternoon sessions. If you miss one, I’ll kick you out.” He levelled a stern, narrow-eyed gaze. “Am I making myself clear?”
“Perfectly, Your Highness. Thank you for the opportunity to work with you and your team. I know I’ll learn a lot and go far. I won’t disappoint you.”
“Good. Meet me here at four in the morning. Wear running shoes because we’ll go for at least a five-mile jog to help increase your endurance. Make sure to bring your fencing gear, too.”
Zareb almost allowed himself to smile when Sule’s eyes widened. Not sure if it was the prospect of having to be up at four or the jog that caused the look of surprise to slip from his controlled demeanour. He’d find out tomorrow.
“And another thing. You’ll fill the time between sessions by continuing your education. Find an online course at one of the universities in Bagumi and report back to me so we can get you registered.”
Zareb rubbed his nose to hide the unsolicited grin at Sule’s dropped jaw. There was no idling at the palace. When the young man wasn’t fencing or learning about it, he’d elevate his educational status.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t be late,” he snapped before picking up his tablet and returning to work.
Chapter Five
The struggle to catch enough oxygen into her lungs to survive had been a supreme hardship as the sadist set a gruelling pace. Malika would rather have a foot severed than admit that their morning run would be the death of her. She’d stayed by Zareb’s side, although it didn’t take being a genius to realize that he’d slowed his pace for her.
Not that she wouldn’t mind falling back to scrutinize his tight behind and thick shredded legs emphasized by shorts that stopped mid-thigh. His black tank top showing off defined muscles under enticing chocolate-brown skin had her taking an extra drink of water at their four a.m. meet up.
She’d shaken off the need to ogle. Her mission took precedence over being tempted by a tall, fit, and unbelievably handsome man. Even his slightly off-centred nose appealed. She’d forced her determined hands to abstain from reaching out to touch his perfection every time she saw him. Nothing she could do about the belly flips, though.
She may not be a male, but she was supposed to be acting like one. Groping the prince wouldn’t be tolerated. The man brooked no nonsense. Malika doubted that inappropriate staring and touching would be accepted even if he knew she was a woman.
Day Four, and she hadn’t missed a single session. She’d undergone intense physical training all of her life. In her younger years, she’d taken gymnastics, ballet, and tennis. As a teenager, she’d gotten interested in football. Although she loved the sport, she didn’t excel at it. It wasn’t until she’d tried fencing that she’d learned how to push herself to the outer limits of what she knew she could achieve.
Due to the downpour of rain that morning, they’d run on the indoor track.
Just before the last lap, Zareb turned to her. “Sprint full out for this last round, and you’ll skip running tomorrow. If you don’t give it your all, you’ll have an extra mile in the morning.”
Challenge accepted because she really had no choice in the matter, she geared up for the sprint while waiting for him to give the signal. When he yelled, “Go!” she sped off.
She focused on pumping her arms, contracting her core, and putting one foot in front of the other with haste. Her legs stretched to the limit so that her sneakers barely touched the floor as she surged forward.
He’d joined the contest and sped past her. When she reached the finish point an eternity later, she shifted into a walk several metres after her legs had decided to reduce their speed. The binder felt as if it had tightened, and she struggled to breathe. Gulping in air, she closed her eyes and held her arms up to get rid of the cramp, making her wish she no longer had ribs. All she wanted to do was rip the binder off to ease the pressure. That would make a fine impression on her new coach.
When she opened her lids, Zareb was observing her. That glorious head of locs cocked to the side meant trouble.
She lowered her arms and looked down to see if everything was in place. A flat chest met her vision, and she sighed with relief. “Side cramp.”
“Are you okay?”
Her jaw dropped, and her feet stuck to the track. Was this an act of actual caring from the apathetic prince?
“Yeah. It’s getting better.”
“Keep moving.”
Able to inhale again without the sensation of a knife twisting in her ribs, she asked, “So, no run?”
The brisk nod set off her grin.
He did a double-take, and his gaze lingered. The stony expression relaxed the slightest bit. “It must make you happy not to have to run tomorrow. You never smile.”
Her sweaty skin became even hotter at the direct concentrated attention. She hated how she liked being close enough to see the minuscule mole unde
r his right eye. It was wrong to want to caress those sculpted muscles. To desire to be held in those powerful arms as she lost herself against his hard body.
Every once in a while, as they’d trained, she’d caught him staring at her. During those times, tingles sizzled down her spine. She’d gotten the sense that he was assessing her on a personal level rather than as a coach. Did he sense the electrical currents between them?
Of course, he didn’t!
To him, she was a young man. Not only that, but ten years his junior. Even if he liked being with men, he would never go for someone as young as he thought Sule was. Technically legal, yet still a teenager.
She ripped her eyes away and set her mouth into a straight line. “It’s not the reward that makes me happy, but the fact that I gave everything to that sprint, and you recognized it.”
“Down to the weight room. We’ll get some more muscle on you before the month is through.” He tossed her a quick look over his shoulder. “If you last that long.”
This prince certainly knew how to make a person feel deserving.
***
Every day for the past two weeks, Zareb had become more impressed with Sule’s endurance of the exhaustive training he’d put him through. Perhaps the young man’s dream was the most important thing in his life, after all. Sule had spent the time improving himself and had not only absorbed the information he was given but implemented and utilized it in the correct manner and at the right time.
Zareb had seen the raw talent when they’d first sparred, but now that it had been honed a little, he knew Sule would be as great a fencer as he’d been in his prime, if not better.
He wouldn’t hold the fact that the boy was a bit effeminate against him. To his trained eye, Sule’s walk would change to include more of a hip swing, especially when he was tired.
His skin had prickled on the couple of occasions he’d caught Sule fixated on him with those dark, angular eyes. Not as if amazed at a mentor, but almost as if in a state of longing. It made him query the boy’s sexuality. Which would make sense considering what he’d observed of the young man’s features and occasional mannerisms. Not that it was any of his business as long as the youngster maintained his respectful nature.