Page 9 of Embrace of Dragons

But that didn’t deter Arthur from doing whatever the hell he pleased. And because he had yet to embarrass the Pendragon name, Uther turned a blind eye to his escapades.

At eighteen summers, Arthur already held the position of Commander of Uther’s army of elite knights, his cavalry. He’d fought and won many battles, always leading the charge himself at the head of the army.

He was no green boy. He’d been a full-bloodedmanfrom the first time he bedded a woman and slain his first foe many years ago.

He’d also participated in every tournament he could off the battlefield. The only reason he didn’t was when he was away at war.

In his first tournament, the other contestants had been wary. No one wanted to accidentally wound or kill the prince. By now, everyone knew him. Many of the knights fought under him.

Now, they made it a game to see who could draw first blood from the mighty Bear Prince. And if anyone defeated him in one of the competitions, they celebrated the victory with boisterous pride.

“What’s first?” Arthur asked, donning his tunic and belt.

“Fist fight, no holds barred.”

“Of course.”

“Followed by the hunt and horseback race. Then the melee.”

Arthur grunted in acknowledgement, indicating his approval.

It would be good to knock some heads around and put his warhorse through the obstacle course. The chestnut stallion had been chomping at the bit to stretch his legs and release some restless energy.

Just like his master.

“Foot race, swimming and dueling are on the agenda for day two. Archery, jousting, and of course, the victory ceremony and feast at the end for the third and final day,” Gawain finished just as Arthur secured his leather wrist guards.

“Will the King be present?” he asked.

He never referred to Uther as “father” or “sire.” Others might, but never he. To Arthur, Uther was a stern, distant figure who had never shown any attachment to his one and only legitimate son.

Arthur wasn’t particularly bothered by it. He’d witnessed many such relationships between fathers and sons.

After all, it was tradition for a warrior to send away his sons early on in life to train with experienced knights starting from the lowest level, to become inured to a hard life, and quickly grow into battle-honed manhood. It was the best way to ensure that boys survived into adulthood in a war-ridden world.

To be fair, he didn’t feel much toward Uther either, save a tenuous sort of loyalty. However, he did care for the kingdom. He cared mightily for the people. And he lived and died for his men. As such, he excelled at all of his princely duties, especially the martial ones. The King never had cause for complaint.

“Who do I have to look forward to in the lists?” he asked, hoping the best warriors across the realm were in attendance.

“Besides yours truly?” Gawain quipped.

Arthur shook his head and declared, “I’ll beat you into the ground within minutes in the fist fight. Hardly a challenge to anticipate.”

“Naught but fantasy,” Gawain huffed.

The truth was that Gawain was Arthur’s best warrior. His height, build and muscle mass matched the prince equally. He was also battle-hardened, and because they trained and fought together, they knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses like their own. Seven times out of ten, Arthur bested Gawain. But it was always close, and victory was never guaranteed.

“Kay and Bedivere are here, of course.”

Arthur was pleased. He’d been raised as a boy in Sir Kay’s household, under his father’s tutelage. Kay was a mighty warrior and a good match. He would never pull his punches against Arthur. Bedivere was a fine warrior as well, though he excelled more on horseback than on foot or in water.

Gawain rattled off the names of lesser-known knights, including a few that Arthur didn’t recognize. He dismissed those off-handedly, for they were most likely men who’d neverseen real battle, who only strutted around like extravagant peacocks in tournaments like these to impress the ladies.

Idiots.

“There’s one anomaly I don’t know what to make of,” Gawain offered as they walked to the fighting grounds.

Arthur simply waited for him to continue, his long-legged strides brisk. He was eager to get to where he’s going.

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