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“Neither,” he said calmly, bending to pick up his weapon. When he stood back up, his expression confused me. He looked... a little impressed. “That was a good hit.”
“Surely you're joking, Guard Draven.” My voice was snide. I couldn’t accept that he would actually give me praise. That was impossible. “A mere woman could never disarm a great hulking man like you. I must have blinded you with the sunbeams reflecting off my hair.”
"It’s ‘captain’ now, actually. They’ve promoted me. It is quite silvery. Does it gleam in the moonlight?"
I glowered. "Was that a real question?"
He grinned. "They say you're part fae. Do all the fae have hair like that?"
I couldn't handle this. I dove forward, my sword raised.
Our weapons clashed, the sound of steel echoing through the yard.
“Why–” I said, my teeth clenched. “Would–they–have–promoted–you–already?”
“Something about my incredible aptitude for the role,” Draven panted, his face as slick with sweat as mine. His black hair was damp and hung loose around his face. I could see the small glint of the silver hoop in his ear. “Oh, and I suspect saving the life of the king’s sister had something to do with it.”
“By the Three,” I exclaimed. “Must you brag of that every time you see me?”
“Every time?” He raised dark eyebrows. “I take it that means you aren't going to answer?”
“About the bloody fae? No, they don't have hair like this. Have you never read a fucking history book or seen a part-fae before? A real fae... A real part-fae...” I paused, suddenly realizing how few I actually had seen myself. Over a hundred years after the true fae had left Eskira, even the part-fae were becoming few and far between. “Their hair is beautiful. Luminous. Colorful. Not drab like mine.”
“There aren’t many part-fae where I’m from. So what's wrong with you?” He seemed genuinely, truly curious.
I stared. “Do you have any manners at all?”
“My apologies. Should I be more polite because you're royalty? Pardon me, Princess. And here I thought you enjoyed being treated as an equal.” He gave a mocking bow.
I roared, clenching my jaw, and lunged forward, but he parried, then deftly stepped back and before I could block him, brought his sword down in a swift arc, catching me on the shoulder.
I let out a yelp and gritted my teeth in pain.
He watched me rub my shoulder with interest, no sign of an apology.
Good. I didn't want one. Now it was my turn to be a little impressed. The squires had been fun to practice with but something of a letdown, too. They were frightened of me. Not because I was female–there were some girls amongst them, too–but because of who I was. Even the more skillful of them seemed to be holding back. Eventually I had lost all patience and resorted to treating them all like the last one and slamming the breath out of them until they scuttled away like rats from a sinking ship. Hopefully they'd learn for next time to give me their all and not hold anything back.
Just like Draven was doing now.
Giving me exactly what I thought I had wanted.
Except when he hit me, I felt a stab of pain, yes. But also... faintly betrayed. Which was ridiculous. He was my sparring partner, not my friend.
“So, what's wrong with you then, Princess? Why the weird hair? Why all the cloaks? I suppose you think you look more mysterious with them on.” He gave me a smartass grin, his wicked lips curving upwards.
“I’m not even going to honor that with a response,” I said, my chest heaving. I shook my head. “You know what, you’re evidently such a fucking yokel that youdon’tknow. Tell me, in the goddess-forsaken farm town you come from, do they really not speak of the half-fae princess who is cursed to resemble an old woman?” I was angry now. “Everywhere I go, my hair tells the story of what I am. That my father believed me unworthy to sit on the throne and only fit to serve in the temple as reparation for whatever sin had been committed that caused me to be born this way.” Not to mention the litany of my father’s own sins. Too many to ever make reparation for. “So, pardon me,CaptainDraven, if I would rather melt into the crowd sometimes by pulling a hood over my head rather than walk amongst you and be constantly recognized as the girl who was deemed unfit to be your queen.”
I moved back into position, seeing an opening while he was distracted and taking it.
But Draven was too quick. He refocused. Blocked my blow, countering with a quick thrust, which I barely managed to avoid.
I stepped back, grinding my teeth in frustration, feeling my cheeks blaze with anger, and charged forward again, my sword flashing in the fading sunlight.
I aimed for his chest. Draven parried, his own sword coming down hard against mine. The force of the impact sent a jolt through my arms, but I pushed back with all my strength.
We stood there, locked in a deadly dance, steel kissing steel, sweat pouring down our faces.
“You said you weren't real,” Draven grunted, looking at me hard from behind those deep green eyes.
