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“No. You will nottry. You are being personally trained by the Supreme Commander of the White Queen’s army. You willsucceed.”
I swallowed hard as I fought against the lightheaded sensation that had suddenly taken hold of me. He was the Supreme Commander of the White Queen’s army? And I’d blown him off like he was some dinner theater wannabe version of an Arthurian knight of the Round Table?
Fuck.
No wonder he hated me.
Somehow, I needed to make it up to him.
“Alright. I won’t try. I’ll succeed. Where do we start?”
“I need to know what you know,” he said simply. “Have you ever used a sword?”
Forgetting that I was covered in my own dried puke, I puffed up my chest with pride.
“For your information, I was on the fencing team back in middle school and junior high. I took second place in the state championship.”
Again, Jack raised an eyebrow, this time skeptical. “Well, that’s not nothing, but we’re not dealing with foils here. This is real combat, with real blades, and real consequences.”
“Trust me, I know what I’m doing,” I insisted, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in my hand, in my legs, and throughout my entire body.
“We’ll see soon enough.”
Jack unsheathed the Vorpal Sword with a swift motion, the silver blade gleaming in the pale blue light of the private courtyard. The intricate engravings on its surface seemed to come alive as he held it, giving off an aura of power that made it look like a living, breathing thing.
“Here.” He pulled a heavy, cumbersome practice sword off the wall and handed it to me. “You’ll start with this. It’ll help you get used to the weight and feel of a real weapon.”
I took the sword awkwardly into my numb fingers, wincing at the unexpected strain it put on my muscles. It was a far cry from the finesse of a delicate fencing foil.
This thing weighed a ton, dragging my arm down with each attempt to lift it. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of resentment towards Jack for giving me such a heavy weapon when the elegant Vorpal Sword looked light as a feather.
“Come at me,” Jack ordered, taking a defensive stance. “Let’s see what your years of fencing have taught you.”
I motioned to his armor that was now lying on the ground.
“Shouldn’t you put your armor back on?”
Jack shot me a bored expression.
“Why? You won’t make contact with me.”
Arrogant prick.
Didn’t he hear me say that I won second place at my fencing team’s finals?
Gritting my teeth, I lunged at Jack with all my strength, trying to strike him with the tip of my practice sword. My movements were slow and clumsy compared to the gracefulness of his own. He easily sidestepped my attack, clearly unimpressed by what he saw.
“You are painfully predictable, Alice.” He circled around me like he was part abyssal hound. “You need to learn how to adapt and think on your feet. Fencing has taught you basic movements, but you lack imagination.”
I growled and made another attempt to land a hit, only to be met with a yawn as Jack effortlessly dodged my strike once again.
“Your form is sloppy. And your footwork is a mess,” he observed while dodging my attacks with ease. The icy air bit at my exposed skin as I lunged, parried, and dodged under Jack’s watchful eye. My cheeks flushed with a mixture of anger and embarrassment as he continued to criticize my technique and my abilities.
I silently cursed him, unable to ignore the smell of my own vomit or the soreness that radiated through my body after running from abyssal hounds. My long night with Chess only made my body hurt worse. My muscles screamed in protest, but I stubbornly pushed myself harder, refusing to give in to exhaustion.
But as we continued practicing, I couldn’t help feeling more and more disheartened. Every swing of the practice sword felt slow and clumsy in comparison to Jack’s effortless movements. The more I struggled, the more I realized just how far I had to go
I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to scream at him, to cry, to give up.
