A gleaming white carriage turned the corner of the castle, drawn by a pair of prancing white steeds. Stately, it wound around the stable, down the field, and finally drew to a halt at the edge of the stone platform.

Reginald kicked the door open and leaped out onto the platform. Frills exchanged for a dueling suit, he nevertheless looked dapper in fine linen, leather riding pants, and an ornamental breastplate. A plume stood high above a hat fashioned in the military style. He wore a sword at his hip, and wore it. It was the only word that fit the way he carried the sword. An ornamental red and gold sheath glittered at his hip, and gold wire twined in an elaborate basket around the sword’s hilt. Doubtless it was a deadly weapon, and yet, on Reginald’s hip, it became decoration.

A footman emerged and helped Sabelyn down from the carriage. She wore a crimson dress now, blue dress exchanged for something clean and more practical for watching a duel.

Mouse chuckled inwardly at the memory. Her face, when that glove hit her.

She caught his eye and narrowed hers. Mouse hid his amusement and gave her an innocent look instead, adding a note of grievance to his expression. I am the injured party here, after all.

Sabelyn scoffed and turned away.

Strutting into the center of the platform, Reginald struck a pose, one hip out, head turned aside, cocksure as a rooster in spring. “Didn’t run, eh? I was half expecting it, from a cowardly drow.”

The fops hooted and screeched, amused. More reserved, the noblewomen tittered behind fans.

Mouse stood. With even steps, he drew to his line. His skirt was hiked over his thigh on the left side and tied into the underside of the corset, exposing his shortsword. On his left arm, a bracer gleamed silver against the blue dress. His braid snapped on the wind after him, skirt swirling around his legs. “I’ve been waiting, Your Highness. Much longer, and I fear I might have lived up to your expectations out of boredom.”

Reginald narrowed his eyes. The watchers quieted. He reached for his sword.

The instant Reginald’s hand closed on the hilt, Mouse lunged. His sword leaped into his hand. He flicked his off-hand, and a small shield snapped out of the bracer and settled into place near his wrist.

Reginald flinched back. Out of instinct, he drew his sword and managed to put it between him and Mouse. It blocked the first blow, and then Mouse twisted his wrist. The sword flew away.

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Silence. The clink of metal on stone echoed over the dueling grounds as the slender blade tumbled over the stone, little more than decoration in the end.

Mouse whipped around, spinning into a high roundhouse kick. His heel slammed into the side of Reginald’s head. Lifted off his feet, Reginald flew back and smashed into the stone. Like his sword, he rolled over the ground, helpless.

Mouse chased him down. Reginald crawled back, panicked. He stretched out one hand desperately to fend Mouse off.

Expressionless, Mouse lifted his sword.

You aren’t Moss.

He froze, staring down Reginald. Frozen in midair, his sword trembled. This isn’t Moss’s anger. This isn’t anger for Moss. I’m angry for me. Angry because I’m powerless, because if Moss had come here, I could have done nothing to stop this man. I’m mad at myself. My own failings.

Twain narrowed his eyes. This man deserved his hatred. Deserved more punishment than this. But for the right reason. Not because he was angry at his own weakness.

I shouldn’t land the blow.

He swung. Reginald curled up, hands over his head, eyes squeezed shut.

The flat of the blade slapped across Reginald’s cheek. A sharp crack rang in the silence.

Reginald screamed, clutching his face. Blood poured from his nose. He rolled around, both hands covering his face, and gasped for air.

Mouse sheathed his blade. He looked down at Reginald, then walked away. He isn’t good enough for my hatred.

“You cur! You slut! How dare!” Sabelyn ran to the edge of the stone platform, only barely held back by a bodyguard. “The duel hasn’t started! No one sounded the start!”

Stiffly, Mouse bowed. “Apologies, princess. In my country, the duel starts as soon as a duelist touches a weapon. Us lowly drow aren’t used to such civilized folk.” He spat civilized like it was dirty, glaring at Reginald.

“Still, it is rude to attack without waiting for an explanation,” an older man said conversationally. Though he had a full head of silver hair, his back was straight and his stature, muscular. He wore a claymore at his hip casually, hilt and scabbard scarred from many battles.

Mouse eyed the man from the corner of his eye. Reginald had been a joke, but his intuition warned him that this man was different, a true warrior. He bowed again, less stiffly this time. “My apologies. In Soanna, the first moments in a duel can be the difference between life and death. I dared not hesitate.”

The warrior looked him over, then nodded. “If the contestants would come to the center.”

“You’re letting her go like that?” Sabelyn screeched. “She injured the Crown Prince!”

“The Crown Prince should not have challenged her to a duel if he was so afraid of injury,” the old man reasoned.

“Indeed,” Mouse agreed, already warming to him.

The man gave Mouse a look. “And you, you should have clarified the rules of human duels before you arrived here this afternoon.”

Mouse bowed again. The man scoffed, but didn’t press the issue.

Mouse stood at the center, patient. After a few moments, Reginald recovered and came to the center as well. Blood gushed down his face and stained his fine linen shirtHe glared at Mouse. Tears glistened in the corners of his eyes. "I will end you," he hissed.

"Just try," Mouse replied with a smirk.