He retreated a fraction, sleeve dragging across his brow. I surged forward, my weapon slipping past his guard toward his throat. He bared his teeth, twisted aside, and drove into me. My chest slammed into his. My blade rested against his neck.
The flat of his sword tapped my ribs.
Snorting, I backed away, wiped sweat from my brow, and shoved damp hair off my face.
Approval drifted through the night in low grunts and murmured respect. I scanned the circle.
“Where did you learn to fight like that, Your Majesty?”
“War, son.” I sheathed my blade. “A swordmaster can teach you form. Those trying to kill you teach you far more.”
The lad stood tall as a sapling, thin as a twig, dark hair flopping into his eyes. A boyish, lopsided grin clung to his lips. He belonged behind a plow or at a sawmill, sweat earned by honest work to feed a family. Instead, he marched to face his own countrymen for my sake.
“I never thought I’d see you this close,” he said, breathless. “Let alone fighting. Could you teach me something?”
“He’s the king,” a thick-armed older man scoffed.
I frowned. Nothing mattered more than the next generation. The boy romanticized battle. That fantasy needed breaking.
“I will grant you one lesson.” I jerked my head. Greaves followed my cue and tossed him his sword.
He caught it with jerky eagerness and stepped into the ring, swaggering. A faint hitch marked his right ankle. Barely there, but real. His gaze skittered across the bystanders, giddy at being chosen.
My mind cataloged his weaknesses without effort. Years of bloodshed made the study instinctive.
“You’ve fought?” I asked, drawing my blade again.Elohios, guide my words. Let me show them truth.
“Sparred with the men, Your Majesty. Never formally trained.” He flipped the sword and caught it, fingers fumbling on the hilt.
“Brace yourself.”
I struck.
I slowed my swing enough for him to raise a block. Steel met steel. I leaned into it, testing his strength. His parry shuddered within two blows. I pressed harder, crowding his space.
“Learn to fight,” I growled, driving him back a step. “Carry your sword.” I shoved him aside and tapped his collarbone. “But those muscles belong in the fields.”
His blade sagged. Breath tore from his chest, already spent.
“We fight to protect what is ours.” I lifted my voice, meeting guarded faces around the ring. “When enemies attack, we raise shields. When traitors rise, we draw steel. That is necessity, not destiny.”
Their silence thickened the air.
“The next generation will farm this land,” I continued. “They shall know peace because of our battles.”
I turned back to the boy. “War is brutal. While it’s necessary, it is never something to crave. We march to confront a traitorclaiming kingship. If blades cross, someone dies. Who will it be? A friend? Loved one?”
A breeze swept through the clearing, cool against my skin, a quiet benediction.
“You might leave another family without a father, without a man to support them.” My words softened. “Pray, men.”
Grief stirred deep in my chest for every life I’d taken, even those of the Velli. I had seen their bodies. They looked like us. They had families as we did. Their cruelty and brutality made them monsters, but if we lost our compassion, we would be no better.
“Pray to your gods,” I said, voice steady, “that we will not have to slaughter our own kindred.”
The days passed, and my body reminded me I was no longer young. Nienna paid for the brutal pace as well, though there was a greater chance I would bond a dragon than ever leave her behind.
Sun glare hammered the plains as we marched. We skirted the outer villages and hamlets. Fallione sent riders ahead to rally support, and the response swelled our ranks.
