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The clang of metal against metal reverberates through the air. Our swords meet again. Again. Again. The boys take a step back from where they have gathered around us, realizing these aren’t the sticks that will simply leave a bruise. Many have ended up in the infirmary during training exercises. Mostly those who can’t leave their ego at the door, or are trying to show off unhoned skills. I’m not stupid enough to think my talent alone is enough to beat the old man. But if I play it right I might just have a chance.
Someone steps in a puddle close by. The gurgling plop of water reaches my ears. Blood swirls around me as my fingers brush through dull wet hair while cold lifeless eyes look past me, a scream curdling the air. My legs buckle beneath me, but the strength of my sword gives me the leverage I need to stop myself before my knees hit the ground.
A cool sweat breaks out above my lip as I try to shake away the memory. My heart thunders as I attempt to catch my breath and reorient myself back to the training yard and my match with Otto. I wipe away the dripping perspiration, turning to face my opponent and charge forward once again.
I hold back nothing. Our weapons twist through the air, and I successfully land the tip of Otto’s weapon in the dirt, giving me time to grab my sword with my left hand and swing my fist to meet his jaw with my right. He glances back, leaving the majority of my blow gliding through air. He successfully dislodges his sword just as I get both hands back around my own to bring it up in front of me, catching his oncoming barrage.
I’ve never met someone as quick on his feet and just as quick with his blows. I block one, two, three. He catches me off balance, and I duck and roll off to the side, giving me time and room to get back on my feet. There’s no rest with him, which is why I prefer our matches. As close to the real thing as you’ll ever get without getting your throat slit or losing an arm.And the best diversion in the entire city.
Even when taking a much needed breath, the smile hasn’t left Otto’s face. He enjoys this as much as I do, even knowing my ulterior motives.
“You can give up whenever you’re done,” he mumbles to me. My brows knit together in mock surprise.
He’s taunting me. Of course I’m used to it from this cocky old man. And it’s to be expected, obviously. It’s important to get inside the opponent’s head, messing with their thoughts and creating enough disbelief that they begin making small mistakes— landing me the win.
Otto knows what today is. I could tell from the way he approached me earlier, as if I would shatter at any moment like a glass tipped off the table. A tiny ray of gratitude simmers underneath the physical exertion. My friend, my mentor, is helping me escape.
Sensing my understanding, he opens his mouth, whispering so only I can hear, “You’re not a child anymore, Roan. You will be king consort soon, ruling alongside Princess Adalena. It’s time I treat you as such.” I know he means no disrespect, but his words trigger something deep inside me. I am to be married to Lena in only a few short months, and it still doesn't seem real.
I bare my teeth. “I never asked for, nor need, your coddling old man.” For the briefest moment his eyes go wide, and he shifts his feet on the soft ground. I’m not a child, and I won’t apologize for my remark. Instead, I layer the bricks in my mental shield.
His arm flexes before he closes a fist to strike. I raise my arm to block, turning my sword so his blow lands on the hilt instead of my face. Distracted by his words, I miss his other arm going in for my side. I double over to the left, ducking and barely missing another swing of his sword. I shimmy my feet away, catching myself with one hand on the ground as I hit uneven terrain.
The sun is getting higher in the sky, and I wipe a layer of sweat from my brow, staring toward my opponent. My emotions have made me sloppy. I need to use them as I have in the past— harnessing the intensity to propel me into victory.
In the corner of my consciousness, chanting has erupted from the onlookers.
“Otto! Otto! Otto!”
“Captain! Captain! Captain!”
One side cheering the master in front of me, the other for their leader. I almost don’t even register that they are referring to me. Maybe one day I’ll finally get used to it.
A rush from my opponent has me throwing up my sword to protect my face and neck from his full force. The leathers wrapped around my arm and down to my wrist help me use both arms to keep my sword from falling back on me, the top of my weapon digging in to the thick material, but not breaking through. His strength has always astounded me, and the sheer weight of him has me dropping to one knee.
Otto holds his weight in his front leg, keeping him steady as he pushes down against my sword with all his strength. My arms and legs burn in response, and my mouth goes dry. He’s going to win. A bead of sweat drips down the side of my face as I strain against him. I can count the times I’ve bested him on one hand, while he could notch out a large stick with the times the match was called in his favor.
No. Not this time.Not today.
I push up with the hilt of my sword, while ever-so-slightly lowering the arm with my blade resting on the leather. Otto ticks his face to the side before I kick my leg out against his, knocking away his steadiness just enough to use the last of my strength to push him off me and onto the ground. He lands with a hardthud.
I drop my sword, jumping to where he lies on his back. One leg lands across his torso, and I pull my other leg to pin his arm. I reach for the knife tucked underneath the side of my belt, pulling it up to his throat.
“I win,” I say through heaving breaths.
Otto winks at me. “Aye. You got me, boy,” he whispers, more from lack of breath than trying to be quiet. Cheers erupt all around. A rare win against their master has the recruits in an uproar. I may be captain, but the respect they all have for Otto trumps any deference for me.
Perhaps he let me win to help gain esteem in the eyes of the recruits. Haythen knows I’ve had my work cut out for me in that regard.
It was not what I had planned for at only nineteen years old, the king appointing me Captain of the Guard. It was not the future I had intended. But as I’ve learned the hard way, nothing goes as planned.
I was to study at the palace alongside the prince and princess, building those ties between my family, House Montgomery, and those of the king and queen, House Chattan, and House Sinclair. It’s an honored position— a tradition saved for one or two lucky children in Felshan. Although I’ve come to learn luck has nothing to do with it. The family with the strongest wealth, military advantage, agricultural, or economic dominance within the country with children of age are all put in the hat of choosing. My family is certainly wealthy, and Port Riga could, in theory, be its own country.
My ancestral home of Port Riga produces many of the kingdom's seasonal crops, vast orchards line the hills on the western border, strong fishing waters to the eastern shoreline, and strong trade with Jadeya who borders less than fifty miles north of the port. And from what I’ve heard, my father has started several dozen pens of livestock. It’s expected the herds will triple by next year. Port Riga is almost completely self-sustaining, and growing by the day. People flock to our prosperous shores, especially now.
It’s still habit to sayweandour, one I have yet to break. Even after learning three years ago that I’ll never be returning home, at least not to stay. It still seems second nature to refer to my fate as the future of Port Riga. My shoulders stiffen as I bring myself back to the reality of what my future now holds.
No one knows more than me that I am an imposter. Training as a recruit. Becoming Captain. Being betrothed to Lena. None of this was in the future I had planned. That anybody had planned.
