The next morning, Rhoden awoke early and made his way through the quiet palace, out into the barracks of the King’s Guard. Although the sky was still dark, the barracks were full of the bustle of a new day. A few of the guards nodded at Rhoden as he passed. Others stared, which he did his best to ignore. Though he was, as his uncle continually told him, a royal prince, he was rarely at the palace. He and his uncle visited only once a year, and then usually a fortnight or less. He was not unaccustomed to the stares, but he wished they would stop. He was not some museum exhibit to be studied, and besides, he was late for his sparring lesson.

In the center of the guard barracks sat the training hall, long and squat. A group of soldiers moved aside and respectfully opened the door as Rhoden approached. His face grew warm at the treatment. The scholars never gave him such deference at the college. He wished he were back there, but he and Horst would not be leaving until after the wedding, which was still weeks away.

Steeling himself, he walked into the training hall.

The interior of the building was open, a large room supported by solid wooden pillars. A space in the middle had been kept clear and filled with sand. Around the sides of the room were racks filled with various armor and weapons.

The center was filled with various pairs of sparring soldiers. The clang of their weapons rang around the hall. Dust hung, suspended and swirling, in midair. Rhoden kept to the edges of the hall as he approached a particular pair. He tried to push away his annoyance and anxiety. His brother had asked for him specifically this morning, though Rhoden had wanted to spend the early morning hours in the library before it became occupied. True, he would still be at the palace for a while yet, but each day that brought them closer to the royal wedding also brought a host of guests into the halls of the palace.

As much as Rhoden dreaded the stares those eyes would bring, he dreaded this practice even more. He wished he were back in his bed. There was less of a chance anyone would be hit in the head with a blunt object. He looked around the sparring ring, taking in the various pairs. Sword fighting. There was a reason soldiers made poor scholars. Broken limbs and cracked skulls were only the beginning.

Besides, he had his brother to worry about. Cael had been so serious at dinner the night before, Rhoden didn’t have to wonder what the true reason behind his request to join in sparring practice could be. Cael knew what had happened at Hestran’s manor yesterday, and he wanted to talk with him about it. But Rhoden had awoken that morning with a clear thought in his head: Not that. Anything but that.

He stopped near where his brother fought, but did not announce himself, not wanting to interrupt. In the shadows at the edge of the hall, he was practically invisible.

The two men circled around one another, intent in their task. Cael held a broad sword in his hand, his eyes fixed unblinkingly upon his opponent. His golden hair glinted in the light from the several torches around the room and his face was hard set.

His opponent was a tall, red-haired and bearded man, whom Rhoden recognized as the new swords master, Derrick Soraldson. Although he did not know much about the man, he remembered having heard that the man was Mesian. With the approach of the wedding and the sealing of the treaty between Aleria and Mesia, it was now not uncommon for citizens to move between countries.

Even knowing that the aggression between the two countries had ceased, Rhoden kept a close eye on the swords master. Everyone knew that Mesians were trouble. Though his brother was about to marry one, Rhoden was still skeptical. It seemed that Mesia was receiving more out of the treaty, and Rhoden suspected a ploy. But, Cael trusted this man, and Rhoden wanted to observe why.

Clearly, Derrick was a skilled fighter. He moved carefully, deliberately, placing each step firmly into the sandy floor. He held his sword loosely at his side, as though it were an extension of his arm. The pair exchanged blows and Rhoden watched carefully.

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Clangs of steel filled the air, then silence. The two men retreated, panting.

Cael grinned. “Mountains above, Derrick, I thought I had you that time!”

Derrick chuckled. “Not quite,” he said. He paused, then said, “If you didn’t insist upon waking so early, perhaps you wouldn’t be so sluggish.”

“Oh, sluggish, am I?” Cael laughed and massaged his shoulder. “I could have you dismissed for that kind of talk, you know.”

“So you’ve said,” Derrick pointed out. “Every day.”

“And yet, you remain.”

“Odd, isn’t it?”

Cael laughed, and again they fought. Rhoden remained in the shadows, hidden, as he watched the exchange. It was not difficult to see that the pair was well-matched. Cael had always thrown himself into swordplay, with as much zeal as Rhoden had in reading. He fought with energy and passion, his swings heavy and solid. Derrick, on the other hand, was quick to parry and return thrusts, twisting on his toes as though he were a dancer. Although Rhoden knew practically nothing about the art, he could tell that this man was remarkable. His sword was a blur in the dim light.

After another moment, they paused. Cael massaged his arm, then spoke loudly over the clang of the other weapons.

“You know, Brother, it’s considered rude manners to lurk in shadows.”

Rhoden smirked and stepped forward into the light.

“How did you know I was there?” he asked.

Cael rammed his sword into the ground, where it stuck, quivering.

“It was simple,” he said. “There truly is no shadow that broods like you do.”

As Rhoden let out a laugh, Cael embraced him, a smile as wide as the room splitting his face. The gloom Rhoden carried with him lifted in the warmth. He and Cael were nearly the same height, Rhoden taller by just a finger’s width, but Cael was by far the stronger. Rhoden felt as though his ribs might crack under his brother’s arms. He would never tell him, though.

Cael finally pulled away, holding him at arm’s length. “You’re thinner,” he commented.

Rhoden shrugged. “The meals at Tellegar certainly aren’t the most lavish. The scholars do what they can.”

“And you only eat when reminded,” Cael laughed. “Little wonder you’ve slimmed out.” Then, he straightened and put on a pompous tone. “What you need is less time among dusty books—”

“Not likely,” Rhoden said with a droll smile.

“—more time outdoors—”

“Which would take me away from matters of great importance.”

“—and social interaction,” Cael finished, his eyes twinkling.

Rhoden pulled a face. “What’s that?”

Cael laughed. “A necessary evil. One we must all bear.” Then, he turned. “You know Derrick, don’t you? Derrick, my brother Rhoden.”

The red-haired man, who had been waiting quietly in the background, stepped forward.

“It is good to see you again, Prince Rhoden,” he said, giving a small bow. “Your brother speaks of you often.”

“I hope not,” Rhoden said, somewhat stiffly.

Cael thumped Rhoden on the shoulder. “Oh, calm yourself, Brother. I never shared anything you would protest to. Just friendly banter between friends.”

Derrick’s smile seemed forced. Even Cael’s grin faltered as a grim expression flitted across his face. Despite his brother’s words, Rhoden kept a cautious distance from the swords master. He was Mesian. What was his motive in becoming close to the crown prince, and in a position to clearly cause potential danger? Cael obviously liked the man, and he would not have been instated if there was any doubt as to his loyalty, but Rhoden was not content merely to take anyone’s word. He needed to see for himself.

“Well, shall we?” Cael said, clapping his hands and breaking the tension. “The day won’t wait for us.”