PRIZED PIGLETS
CEDRIC
The soundsof clashing steel rang through the training yard, sharp and clean in the cool morning air. Cedric reveled in it. Compared to the echoes of the incessant political drivel he had been forced to listen to for days on end, finally being out here was a much-needed balm. He could barely remember the last time he?—
The flat edge of Tristan’s practice blade slapped against Cedric’s shoulder with athwack.
“Gaia’s tits, Thorne,” Tristan muttered, lowering the weapon. “That’s the third time this morning. Are you here with me or not?”
“Sorry.” Cedric blinked, rubbing at the spot where the hit had landed. “I’m here. I’m focusing.”
Tristan shook his head, loosing an exasperatedbreath.
“ ‘Gaia’s tits,’ eh?” said Cedric, flipping the hilt of his practice sword in his hand. “Been spending a lot of time with our dwarven friend these days, have you?”
“Well, as you’ve been rather preoccupied lately, I’ve had to widen my social circle.” Tristan grinned. “And Thraigg’s a damn good drinking companion. Better than you, I daresay.”
“Mmm, I don’t doubt it.”
“Oh, jealousy isn’t your color, Ric.” He moved one foot back, shifting his weight as he lifted his sword. “Fear not, Lord Victor, you’ll always be first in my heart.”
Cedric laughed, digging his boots into the dirt of the training ring, readying his own blade once more. “We both know that to be a grievous lie, sir. Your first and truest love will always be yourself.”
He lunged at his friend, who spun fluidly to avoid the blow. Cedric thrust his blade forward, but his strikes were sluggish, and it was all too easy for Tristan to dodge and parry each and every one.
There was a sudden pang in Cedric’s chest, atugthat pulled his attention entirely to the palace at the top of the hill. Though he’d only looked away for a second, it was long enough for Tristan to get a boot behind Cedric’s foot and sweep it forward, tipping him off-balance.
His armor sang an embarrassing chorus when his ass hit the ground.
“Stars above,” Tristan said, tossing his sword aside with a roll of his blue eyes before extending a hand to Cedric. “It’s not even satisfying when you’re like this.”
Cedric let Tristan haul him back to his feet, then rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck to one side. “It’s been a long week.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Tristan muttered, stretching one arm over his head. “Strategy meetings with no strategy. Diplomacy without action. I don’t know how you put up with it, Ric.”
Cedric scoffed. “It’s not me you have to be worried about putting up with anything. Every single day, I sit in that council chamber and watch Kit and Dentarius choke back their protestations.” He saw the way every renewed attempt to stall, every reminder that the rest of the Arcanian delegation was still en route, fed the anger in their eyes. “Eventually, their patiencewillrun out.”
“We’re all running out of patience.” Tristan unstrapped hisvambraces as he stalked toward a water basin set up to one side. “How long does Lord Church and His Majesty expect them to wait—expect usallto wait—while Malchior is fuck knows where with half the damned crown?”
What Cedric wantedto say was,“Until they run out of sycophantic excuses to parade Elyria and me about.”Or, perhaps,“Until we’re all so exhausted from this circus that we forget about Malchior entirely.”
But even though no one was close enough to be listening, even though it was just Tristan and him, Cedric still couldn’t quite bring himself to be so openly—so brazenly—insolent. So he said nothing, only moved to place his training sword back on the weapons rack with a heavy sigh.
“You’ve another ceremony to attend this morning, haven’t you?” Tristan asked as he followed Cedric.
“Two,” Cedric replied, resisting the urge to physically grimace. He hadn’t even known it waspossibleto cram so many events into each day. The king had certainly made good on his brilliant idea to offer both Cedric and Elyria as beacons of unity to the city. They’d made appearances at three additional welcome receptions, two formal luncheons, and a royal commendation ceremony that Cedric was almost positive had been invented entirely this very week.
He was, to be fair, used to it by now. This was hardly the first time he’d been paraded around as the Victor of Havensreach. But there was a difference in the sheeramountof parading happening now. And the most bizarre part of it was the fact that Elyria was going along with it.
She showed up on time, every time, wings hidden from view, a pleasant mask already in place. She graciously smiled and waved and greeted and laughed...and damn it all if it wasn’t working. In the week that had passed since the ball, she had managed to foster more goodwill with the people of Kingshelm than Cedric honestly thought possible, given the shared history of Havensreach and Nyrundelle—and given Elyria’s personal reputation.
It was a testament to her ability to tame that wildness he knew simmered just under her skin, roared in her veins. Truly impressive.
And so, so regrettable.
Because this obsequious, diplomatic creature was not ElyriaLightbreaker. Cedric suspected she was even permitting the palace staff todressher, having swapped out her typical tight-fitting leathers for floaty gowns in a rainbow of pastels.
They were, of course, beautiful—she was beautiful, always.
