Page 58 of The Masked Princess

Soren ran his tongue over his teeth. As much as he wanted to glance at Annalise and see what she thought of the whole ordeal, he kept his gaze fixed firmly on King Nelan. “Lord Wethernon has insulted my honor with the implication that I would do anything inappropriate with his daughter. If I win the duel, my only desire is for an apology, and that in the eyes of the court the reputations of both myself and Lady Dakoa Wethernon are fully restored, and this entire matter is considered closed and acknowledged as what it is—a misunderstanding.”

Once both parties had agreed to the terms, servants cleared the area in front of the high table for the match.

At one end of the space stood Soren. Next to him was Matheus, who’d volunteered to act as his second.

“This won’t impact your standing among your men, will it?” Soren asked.

“It shouldn’t. I just got back from a mission a few hours ago and found out that I’ve been assigned as your personal near-permanent guard. Apparently, King Nelan wasn’t impressed with my predecessors and wanted someone well-acquainted with you sneaky Doveans.”

“In that case, I’m sorry about the time I hid old fish in your hammock on the ship.”

A grin played at the corner of Matheus’s mouth. “I suspected that was you, but to be honest I was just glad you resorted to pranks instead of trying to gut me while I slept. It’s a good thing I’m the forgiving sort. It’d be hard to guard your princess if your second tripped at an inopportune time during the duel and you ended up with a sword in your back and another in your front.”

“Is that a promise from you that you won’t do such a thing?” If Soren had been any less confident in his abilities or hadn’t spent years under the service of Matheus, he would have insisted on one of his own men seconding him—he didn’t trust any of the other Rhinneans to have his back if things went foul.

“Let’s just say I grew quite fond of Cabin Boy Kierson; in the absence of a ship puppy, he was the next best thing, and I’d much rather see what kind of man he grew up to be than do something that might cause old Captain Earon to rise from his watery grave and strangle me.” Matheus’s eyes danced in the firelight. “Plus, I have a reputation for being quite steady on my feet. If I were to suddenly lose my balance and throw the match, I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Glad to hear you’re on board, then.” Soren nodded across the open space. On the other side stood Lord Wethernon and a rather hulking young fellow who hefted a greatsword like it was a stalk of wheat. “I take it that’s Wethernon’s champion?”

“Aye; that is Lord Grenlef’s son, who was betrothed to Lady Dakoa. The Grenlef’s are a wealthy and rather tight-laced bunch who don’t tolerate insult well, either real or imagined, and the rumor mill says that the discovery of the novel in the lady’s possession has thrown a wrench into their wedding plans. The match was a good one for Lady Dakoa, and the prevailing sentiment is that the Grenlef’s are using this as an excuse to break the betrothal and find a wife more suitable to their station.”

“I see. Well, I suppose I should count my blessings that my Rhinnean dueling debut doesn’t involve a tired old man who looks like he’s spent more time in a library than a sparring field,” Soren said as he placed his left hand on his sword hilt.

Matheus nodded at his hand. “The years have clouded my memory, but did no one ever teach you to fight with your right? My old sword master would have thrown a fit if I’d fought left-handed.”

Soren shrugged, a grin cracking his face. His adrenaline rose when he saw the Grenlef son shake Lord Wethernon’s hand. “My weapons teacher was rather unorthodox. He allowed me certain… liberties, I suppose you could call them, that others wouldn’t have. So far, it’s paid off, but we shall see if my luck holds,” he said over his shoulder as he walked forward to meet his opponent in the middle of the cleared space.

They both bowed to King Nelan and then to each other.

“I’m sorry for this misunderstanding, Lord Grenlef,” Soren said.

“Flimsy apologies won’t save you from the wrath of my house. You and that harlot have dishonored my family name, and now you will pay,” the other man replied with a growl, his deep voice like the rumbling of a mountain.

A quick glance at Annalise warmed Soren right to his toes. Her eyes were wide, lips were parted, and her fingers were toying with her napkin on the table. He wished he could tell her not to worry, and made a mental note to check on her after the fight. As he and Grenlef took three steps away from each other, Soren wasn’t sure how he felt about Annalise’s expression—she’d seen him fight the Muranan guards and should know that he was a skilled swordsman. Her obvious care for his wellbeing was quite touching, even if she was just concerned that her sworn protector had gotten himself caught up in such a mess.

It didn’t matter. He’d show her that he could handle anything the Rhinneans threw his way, even if it was a duel on a full stomach against an angry giant of a man. After he settled into a balanced stance, Soren glanced once more at Princess Annalise. When King Nelan hit his empty goblet on the table to signal the start of the fight, he shifted his focus back to Grenlef.

Instead of running at him head-on like a mad charging bull as Soren had initially expected, Grenlef had at least some brain to go with his brawn, and they circled each other slowly.

Soren charged in a quick attack to test Grenlef’s defenses, hoping to end the fight early if he saw an opening.

Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. Grenlef’s defense was impressive, especially considering the size of the greatsword he used.

“Well, isn’t this delightful?” Soren called out after a handful of darting attacks.

Grenlef grunted as he turned in a half-circle, keeping his eyes on Soren.

“Yes, quite delightful,” Soren repeated as he pushed his advantage, flowing through each form of his attack as smooth as a gurgling stream. “I must say, Lord Grenlef, as much as I abhor the circumstances that led to this fight, you are a worthy opponent; it would have been terribly unchivalrous of us if the fight to defend Lady Dakoa’s honor was of poor quality.”

“Don’t you dare speak her name with your filthy mouth. I’m going to gut you like a fish and feed your innards to my father’s pigs.”

“If only the innards are going to the pigs, where is the rest of me going? The hunting dogs?”

“I’ll skin you alive and turn your hide into a bag for our servants to carry night soil in when they clean out prisoner chamber pots.”

“As fun as that sounds, my skin is far too nice for such a dirty job, and using it as a bag for night soil would be wasteful. If you insist on skinning me alive, it’d be a shame to give such fine material a purpose so base. Do you mind if I make a suggestion for a more suitable alternative?”

Grenlef’s eyebrows drew together until they were a solid line, and he shifted his weight back half a step. Soren took advantage of his confusion and darted to the side, drawing a thin line of blood along Grenlef’s calf before jumping back as the greatsword whistled in front of his face.