Garrin barely registered the journey back to the castle. Iole followed behind Elonie’s horse dutifully, leaving Garrin to rehearse what he would say to Arya when they returned. I want you to have a choice. You have the right to determine your own destiny.

Arya, too, seemed lost in her own thoughts. The few times he looked back at her, her attention was wholly focused on her horse’s reins. A solemn, stern expression covered her face, drawing her brows low over the eyes she’d inherited from Anarya Ellysen.

He couldn’t believe how wrong he’d been about so many things. What else didn’t he know?

Two figures stood waiting for them in the center of the courtyard when the four trotted their horses through the castle gates. Garrin steeled himself for another lecture from Renton, but as they approached he realized that neither of the figures was the marshal. It was Senjay and Lliane.

“Out for a walk?” Garrin asked, frowning in confusion.

The Thiyaan prince folded his arms and planted himself in Garrin’s path. “At least I am exercising. Is this how you train? You work once and then never come back? Or have you lost your stomach for fighting me?”

“I’ve been busy,” Garrin hedged.

“You must make time if you want to improve,” Senjay scowled. “Now. We fight now, or you find yourself a new tutor.”

“The prince wants to learn to fight?” Elonie asked. Dellon clicked his tongue at her, and she colored under her helmet. “I’m sorry, sire, it’s none of my business.”

“It’s fine,” Garrin sighed. “There’s nothing wrong in asking. Yes, I’m learning to fight. The skills I learned during my training are a little more ceremonial than practical.”

“I could show you some of the soldiers’ drills,” Elonie said. “That is, if Your Highness would want another perspective. I’m sure Your Highness already has—”

Arya interrupted her with a smile. “How kind of you to offer, Elonie! Prince Garrin can use all the help he can get. I’m sure he would be very thankful for your help.”

“I would be,” Garrin said honestly. “If you can spare the time.”

Elonie looked both relieved and pleased. “Of course, sire. Anything you need.”

“And who says we need?” Senjay cut in. He narrowed his eyes and swept a critical look over Elonie, frowning. “You look the part, but big doesn’t always mean better. You would entrust your training to a mere soldier?”

“I would get as many perspectives as possible,” Garrin said.

Senjay shook his head. “Not without proof that this fighter is worthy. I will not train two students at once.”

“With all due respect,” Dellon said. “Elonie is one of the best soldiers in the castle. She can hold her own against even the captains. And once she disarmed Marshal Renton!”

“Then she should have no qualms about testing her skills,” Senjay answered.

Elonie glanced between Senjay and Garrin, then to Arya. “I’ve never held back in a fight. Is it... I mean, will I...?”

“You will not get in trouble,” Lliane assured her. “Not unless you kill him. But Senjay promises not to be a sore loser. Isn’t that right, Prince Senjay?”

Senjay snorted and drew his sword. “You will not be able to hold back, soldier. That you will see shortly.”

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

With one last look at Dellon, Elonie removed her helmet and drew her sword. She moved to meet Senjay, her footsteps light, her posture easy. Garrin backed toward the others, folding his arms and waiting for one of the fighters to strike. He felt a touch on his shoulder and turned his head without taking his eyes from the two.

“I hope you don’t mind that I tagged along,” Lliane said. “When Senjay told me he was going to find you for a fighting lesson, I just had to see it. What on earth are you doing, learning to fight like this?”

Garrin frowned at her. “Like what?”

“Like a brawler!” she said. “Like a common—”

“Elonie is not common,” Arya interrupted.

“Perhaps not in skill,” Lliane acknowledge. “Or even in determination. But in the sense of rank, she is only—”

“Watch,” Garrin said. He’d never seen Elonie fight, but he knew in his bones that she would triumph over Senjay. Maybe it was the spark that drove her, the desire to prove herself against the men who doubted her. Maybe it was just that it would make a better story for her to win, and Garrin’s sense of dramatic irony was always looking to be rewarded. Maybe he just really wanted Senjay to lose.

But he knew it was going to happen, and he wasn’t about to miss a moment of it.

The fight lasted about four minutes. Senjay was a graceful whip of movement, his sword a snaking, teasing extension of his arm, but Elonie parried each attack simply and quickly. Every move she used was simple—or at least, it seemed simple to Garrin, who had learned similar steps and thrusts during his limited training—but before long it was clear that Senjay had no answer to her style. The match ended with Elonie’s twisting step, a flicker of movement Garrin almost couldn’t follow, and Senjay’s sword on the ground.

Lliane and Arya burst in to applause. Dellon held a respectful silence, but his face glowed with pride, and Garrin couldn’t help grinning in response. “Well?” he called. “Are you satisfied?”

Elonie bent to retrieve Senjay’s sword and held it out to him, her head bowed in respect. He took it from her, laughing.

“Yes,” the Thiyaan prince said. “I am satisfied. If this is how your common soldiers fight, then it is no wonder your country enjoys such peace. You must learn from her!”

Garrin intended to.

***

They started with fists.

Since Garrin didn’t have his sword, Senjay insisted they fight with the weapon he could never leave behind. Elonie joined them, mostly listening to Senjay’s directions, but occasionally throwing out her own suggestions. They were hesitant at first, but when she realized that her input was appreciated, she grew bolder. To Garrin’s delight, she even corrected Senjay once.

Lliane, Arya, and Dellon found a bench at the edge of the yard and sat to watch them, which was far more distracting than it should have been. They were far enough that Garrin could only hear snippets of their conversation, but what he did hear kept him from focusing fully on the lesson. Most of it was banter between the two princesses, interspersed with a comment here or there from Dellon. Nothing that could explain the growing sense of unease in Garrin’s stomach. He should have been glad that they were getting along. He should have been happy to hear the peals of laughter that rang out throughout the fight.

But when he heard his name mentioned three times in as many minutes, what little attention he’d been paying to Senjay’s instructions fled.

“Don’t you think Garrin is working hard?” Lliane had said, her voice pitched so it would carry across the yard. It had to be intentional, given how quiet they’d been only moments before. Garrin did his best to listen while still appearing to pay attention to his tutors.

“He has a lifetime of lessons to learn,” Arya answered dismissively.

“Then you’d grab my elbow here,” Senjay said, holding out his arm for Elonie to demonstrate. “And twist. See?”

Garrin nodded. He couldn’t speak, or he’d risk talking over Lliane’s reply.

“I’ve never seen him work this hard,” she was saying. “Not at anything. He must really want to impress you.”

Impress Arya? He was doing this to make himself a better ruler—a better man. Not because of Arya.

She said the same to Lliane. “Besides,” she added. “I’m more interested in the scholarly types. Like Dellon here.”

“And then you flip,” Senjay said cheerfully. He punctuated his words by grabbing Garrin’s arm, twisting him across his body, and throwing him onto the ground. Garrin caught himself on his elbow, saving his ribs from a painful jarring, but the action still made him gasp.

Senjay crouched over him. “That’s why you pay attention to the fight and not to the girls,” he whispered.

“I’m flattered,” Dellon laughed across the yard. “But you outrank me, Your Highness.”

“Rank shouldn’t matter,” Arya said.

“But it does,” Lliane said. “Or do you mean... don’t you love Garrin?”

“Are you hurt, sire?” Elonie asked, moving over to stand above Garrin. He was still sprawled across the ground, half-raised on his elbow, staring stupidly at Senjay’s grinning face.

He didn’t want to hear Arya’s answer. He couldn’t—not with Senjay listening. Not with Elonie looking at him with concern, both over the bruises he’d suffered, and the words they could all clearly hear.

“Again,” Garrin said, pushing to his feet and shouldering Senjay aside as he went. “I’m ready now.”

He tuned out the women for the rest of the fight.