Luca flew up and then back, landing in a heap, the wind and her name knocked out of him. Taking a tentative step toward her.įrom the ground, Amarande swung a leg hard, kicking his feet out from under him. Thus, it came far too close, snagging the leather of her shoulder guard and sending her flat on her back in the grass. He aimed to miss, of course, but it was a left-handed throw and not as accurate. In the space of a blink, he had the blade flipped in his palm and shot it right back at her. Luca moved just in time, sword useless and weak hand up, fingers quick enough to catch the last inch of the knife’s hilt. Blunt swords could bruise and hack, but this knife could split, slice, cut.
Lessons from King Sendoa’s soldiers had always been just as important as anything her tutors managed to teach her. It was real-the one she’d carried since before she’d learned her letters. He drew his sword back, high guard stance and ready to block-just as General Koldo had shown him in a moment of pity for the boy who dared tussle with the Warrior King’s daughter.īefore his sword was in place, Amarande had bent to her boot and in a lightning strike launched a small knife straight for his face. Who had as much a right to call the palace home as Amarande herself. She’d phrased it as a question, but Luca knew better. “Then let’s make things more exciting, shall we?” A warning of what could be done for real. His sword-blunt for practice but still hard-as-nails Basilican steel-tapped Amarande against the waist, right under the protection of her chest plate. “I think you want to win.”Īt this, Luca only grinned, dimples flashing as he lunged forward. The princess’s auburn hair had already begun to abandon her hasty braid, swirling in curled wisps about her face. They were dressed alike-training breeches, tunic, chest and wrist armor, but their heads bare. “Come, Luca, I think you want to do more than avoid injury.” She tilted her head as their swords met at chest height, their faces and flushed cheeks inches apart. “Simply trying to avoid a devastating injury.”
It hadn’t been anything to worry about until recently. It was an open secret within the castle that Princess Amarande of Ardenia spent far too much of her time here and with this boy.
But this patch of mostly flat earth surrounded on three sides by fragrant juniper trees was one they’d claimed long ago as children. The palace grounds of the Itspi had plenty of rolling land but not much that provided privacy. “You’ve been practicing,” the princess accused the boy with a laugh that played across the little meadow they called theirs. THE whisper and clang of steel rang out over the foothills of Ardenia, a princess and a pauper meeting swords.
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