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Without answering, he began to climb over the fence wearing a sly grin.
I muttered a curse under my breath. I wanted to knock the grin right off his cocky face. Then rub those handsome features in the mud.
He faced me, raising his blunted practice sword.
"Ready?"
I didn't answer. I tossed my head, then charged forward.
He deflected me easily, as I'd known he would. He was stronger. More experienced. Whatever farm he’d come from, he’d clearly already learned his way around a sword and shield. I'd give him that.
But there were advantages to being a woman. Female knights might be smaller, but they were usually faster. I might not have had Lancelet's swiftness, but I was still faster than most of the male squires I'd faced off with.
Of course, I'd also been sparring for five hours. Though I would never have admitted it, I was a little tired.
But not too tired to stop before I'd shoved Draven into the dirt.
He was craftier than I'd expected. Dodging and deflecting my blows easily.
Time passed.
Neither of us had landed a blow yet, but I felt as if I was close.
Despite my fatigue, my movements were sure and fluid, my attacks strategic. I was furious, yes. At Draven, Arthur, Florian–at everything and everyone around me. I had left my room but the anger had followed me.
Now I was so filled with rage and fury I thought I would choke on it. I was so full of anger that I had no need of food.
But in the ring, with Draven looking at me as if he were just waiting for me to fail, waiting for me to prove myself weak, I leashed my rage and funneled it into my arm, my sword, the power of my strike.
“You’re healing well, I see, Princess,” Draven remarked as we circled each other.
“I told you there was nothing to be concerned with,” I said as haughtily as I could. “I can take care of myself.”
I feinted to the left, then swung low, hoping to catch him off guard. But Draven was too quick. He parried my blow with ease.
Flushed with frustration, I spun around and aimed my next blow at his shins.
He jumped back, laughing.
"You'll have to do better than that, Princess."
My hair, which had been braided tightly when I first began, was now threatening to come loose. Annoyed, I pushed a strand of gray off my face, sweat dripping down my brow, and caught Draven looking at me.
“What is it? My hair?” I said coldly. “Off-putting color on a young woman, isn’t it? I’ve been told.”
He shrugged. "Just wondering if you were trying to distract me."
I gaped. "By moving my hair from my eyes?"
“Wouldn't be the first time a woman's tried something of the sort to distract me.” His face warned that he was baiting me, but I still felt furious that he had compared me to such women. Was that what he was used to? Women batting their eyelashes and falling at his feet? If so, he had another thing coming.
I ran towards him, letting out a screech of fury, my sword slicing through the air.
I watched his eyes widen in surprise. He raised his arm to block but it was too late. My sword connected, knocking his own from his hand.
I stood back, my chest heaving with exertion, a smirk on my lips as I looked at his sword lying there in the dust.
“I'm sorry, did I distract you that time? Was it my hair? Or my rare female strength? I suppose both can be disarming when you’re not used to them.”
