Chapter 5

  Olivia Gendrel

  Her sister held up the dress for her to see. "How do you like it?" she asked.

  Gently running her fingers along its smooth, silky fabric, Olivia admired the way its beads and intricate embroidery glittered in the sunlight from the balcony. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “Where did you get this? You didn’t steal it from mother’s wardrobe, did you?” She glanced at her sister.

  Anna pulled the gown back at once, hugging it protectively. “No! Why would I steal it?”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Olivia quipped.

  Her sister scowled at her. “I didn’t steal it, Olivia!”

  “I’m kidding,” Olivia stressed. “Calm down.”

  Scoffing, Anna shook her head in disbelief. “You’re always assuming. I hate when you do that.”

  Olivia hesitated for a moment before apologizing. “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “It was just—it was a bad joke, okay? I’m sorry.”

  Anna sighed, shrugging. “It’s alright. Just keep that in mind, will you?”

  Olivia nodded. “I will.”

  “Thank you.” Anna’s sweet smile was met with an equally warm one from Olivia.

  “Where did you get that dress from?” she asked. Olivia leaned a bit closer to inspect it again.

  Anna stretched the gown out for her to see. “Father gave it to me. It’s for you.”

  “Did father get it as an early gift for my birthday?” Olivia couldn’t help but smile. How thoughtful of him.

  Anna shook her head. “No, it wasn’t father who got it for you.”

  What? This made Olivia recoil. She was confused. “From who, then?” she asked.

  “Jason Roost.”

  “…Jason Roost?” The name gave her pause.

  “Yes,” Anna confirmed, clearly unimpressed. “Don’t you know who he is?”

  Scoffing, Olivia crossed her arms as she frowned. “Of course I do!”

  Who didn’t? This was Jason Roost they were talking about. The firstborn son of Archduke Gerald Roost, and heir to Alyria. Jason the Tall, they would call him. Jason the Handsome! Jason, the finest bloody swordsman to walk the earth. Lords and ladies would even compliment the way he drank his wine.

  Blah, blah, blah. Olivia swore that all anyone ever talked about was Jason Roost. Couldn’t they just shut up about him for one moment? She sighed.

  “Why would Jason Roost send this to me, of all people?” Olivia asked. “Doesn’t he have plenty of other girls to fawn over him?”

  “Yes, he does,” said Anna, rather defensively. “But in his wisdom, he decided to gift this to you.” That last word of hers had a distinct bitterness to it.

  Olivia nearly laughed. In his wisdom? What is he, your god? She looked at her sister, who was frowning now, and whose face had reddened up like a fat tomato.

  “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

  The question seemed to baffle Anna. Tightly hugging the dress, she took a step back. “Jealous?” she shouted. “Heavens no!”

  Olivia let a sly smirk cross her lips. Fourteen years of sisterhood made Anna’s lies easy to discern.

  “You fancy him, don’t you?” Olivia asked, walking toward her.

  “So what if I did?”

  “Nothing,” said Olivia, smiling. “I’m not going to judge you.” She extended her hand. “Here, the dress. May I see it?”

  Speechless, Anna gave her the gown.

  “It truly is a beauty.” Olivia spun it around to inspect the front and rear. “…I’ve already got quite a bit of dresses, though.” She looked toward her wardrobe, which had already been filled to the brim with clothing.

  “You’re not going to wear it, then?” Anna asked.

  Olivia pondered the question. Would I wear it? It’d be a waste if she didn’t. She wasn’t lying about it being a beautiful gown. Had it been a gift from her father or mother, she would have worn it for sure. But… Jason Roost? It felt like this so-called “gift” from him was just a bribe, and nothing more. A precursor to begin trying to woo her over, and then propose. Oh, how Jason Roost would be so terribly disappointed! She could already picture his self-assured smile fading as soon as she had rejected him. The thought of it was amusing.

  “Here.” Olivia offered the gown to Anna. “You can have it.”

  Her sister warily took a step forward. “…You’re serious about this?” she asked.

  “Yes, I am.”

  Anna was still hesitant about taking it from her. “It doesn’t feel right… What if Jason Roost hears about this? He’ll be offended.”

  “Who cares what His Eminence, Lord Jason Roost, thinks?”

  “I do,” said Anna.

  Olivia could only sigh. “Yes, yes, of course you do,” she said. Her patience regarding Jason Roost was wearing thin. “Just take it, will you? If you’re scared about wearing it, maybe you can give it back to your beloved Jason Roost for me.”

  Anna shook her head. “No, I’ll just…” Slowly reaching for it, she gingerly took the gown from Olivia. After neatly furling it up into a ball, the dress was safely tucked between her armpit. “We best get going to Madam Ava’s.”

  Olivia groaned as she fell back onto her bed. She had forgotten about their lessons. The blankets, the mattress, all of it felt so comforting. She took a whiff of her pillow. Exhaling, she smiled. Sweet, sweet lavender.

  “Come on, isn’t reading and writing your favorite?” Anna pleaded with her mockingly as she tugged at her leg.

  Olivia flipped herself over so that she could give her sister a nasty glare. “You know how I feel about Madam Ava.”

  She hated calling that old hag a “madam.” She was nowhere near deserving of such a lovely title.

  “Yes, we both share such a great love for her,” Anna said, scoffing. She let go of Olivia’s foot.

  Well, that’s something we agree on. Olivia smiled.

  “But you do know that if we skip, we’ll get in trouble?”

  Sighing, Olivia rolled back onto her pillow and buried her face in it again. “What is she going to do about it? Tell father?”

  “Yes!” Anna shouted. “Now come on, let’s go!” Grabbing her by the foot, Anna started dragging her sister out of bed with a villainous grin. “We don’t want to keep the Madam waiting on us, do we?”

  “No, I don’t want to go!” Olivia cried. But it was too late. Failing miserably to grab ahold of anything, she could only scream in utter helplessness.

  Arthur Gendrel

  The small streets of Cosway were bustling with activity. Merchants from far and wide had come to sell their wares, and entertainers seeking to earn a fortune were trying their best to dazzle the crowd with their tricks. The mouthwatering scent of fresh food and exotic spices seemed to fill the air.

  Riding at the head of a tightly-knit formation on horseback, Arthur and his uncle were accompanied by a number of knights. These stalwart men were Ser Xavier Larston, Ser Rufford Cosway, the second son of Lord Benley Cosway, and Ser Jonas Love, all of whom were sworn to his father, Archduke Cormund Gendrel. Their lustrous armor and flowing capes made them look like gods amongst men. And perhaps it seemed so, because there were many who stared in awe-struck admiration as they passed by. Peasants who had only ever heard of knights from folk tales were at last given a chance to feast their eyes upon a real one.

  The attention made Arthur uneasy, so he quickly turned his gaze to other things in hopes of settling his mind. He hated whenever he accidentally locked eyes with a stranger; it always felt jarring.

  Still fidgeting with his reins, he observed the endless rows of vibrant stalls and colorful decorations that surrounded them. Curious, Arthur looked to his uncle, Ser Martin, who seemed as noble as ever in his set of gleaming silver armor. “I have never been to Cosway this time of year,” Arthur said. “What are they getting ready for?”

  “Today is the beginning of the summer festival,” his uncle answered. “They will set off fireworks, break bread together, and drink so much ale that every man will be left keeled over by the end of the night.”

  Arthur laughed. “Is that so? It sounds like a wonderful time. Perhaps we could join them later?”

  “Perhaps, if you are up for it.” Ser Martin cracked a slight smile. “But we have business to settle first with Archduke Roost.”

  Right, of course. Quite some time ago, the Archduke of Alyria had sent a message to his father. He had proposed a “most promising” marriage pact to Archduke Cormund Gendrel: his eldest son, Jason Roost, with Cormund’s eldest daughter, Olivia.

  While his sister was never informed of the proposal, his father had refrained from giving an immediate answer. Instead, he had sent back a counter-proposal to personally discuss it over wine and a hearty supper. Roost gladly accepted, and so here they were, many miles from home, in an unfamiliar town. Arthur did not mind the journey, however. He loved the prospect of adventure. Courtly life in a castle felt dull and boring.

  “There it is,” said Ser Martin, his gaze upward. “Castle Cosway.”

  The holdfast towered above the rest of the town, but its size was much less impressive when compared to the grandeur of Arthur’s home, Hildan Keep. Built upon a great rock, its white walls stretched toward the sky and seemed to shine as bright as a beacon when the sun was just right. From every rampart, the banners of House Gendrel flew proudly: a golden antelope on a field of green. Never before had the castle been taken, and each archduke strove to preserve its legacy. Having housed generations of Gendrels, Hildan Keep was their pride and soul.

  Though formidable, no doubt, Castle Cosway lacked the same sort of majesty. Dull and gray, its walls were just barely half the height of Hildan’s. But Arthur held no poor judgment of the Cosways.

  Beauty was unlikely to have been first among the engineers’ concerns when they had erected the castle during the Marchidium. Although built for the intention of war, it ultimately never saw battle. After his grandfather bent the knee to Alderin the Great, the castle was given to House Cosway, whose home and riches had been incinerated by dragonfire.

  As he drew closer to the drawbridge, a guard popped his head over the rampart. “Halt! Who goes there?”

  “Arthur Gendrel, the firstborn son of Archduke Cormund Gendrel,” he answered. “We have come on important business.”

  The gates were opened without delay. Passing through, Arthur led his group into the castle’s courtyard, where they were greeted by Lord Benley and his escort. Tall and slender, the middle-aged man wore a lavish coat decorated in the colors of his house: yellow and blue. Arthur noticed that he had recently shaved, as well.

  “My lords.” Lord Benley had a beaming smile as he bowed. “Welcome to Cosway.” He looked to Ser Rufford. “My son, I welcome you home.”

  Ser Rufford smiled back, nodding. “Thank you, father. Does Meralda know of my return?”

  “No, it was a well-kept secret.”

  Laughing, Ser Rufford leapt off his horse and went inside. Meralda was his younger sister, and today was her thirteenth birthday. Ser Rufford had told them all about his plan to surprise her. The knight had even written countless letters to his father beforehand, begging him not to tell Meralda anything. I’m sure their reunion will be lovely, Arthur thought.

  After dismounting, their horses were led away by a number of squires and taken inside the stables.

  “Ser Xavier, Ser Jonas,” Arthur called his knights. “You have traveled far and long, you have my leave to rest however you please.”

  “My lord.” Bowing gratefully, the pair of knights took their leave.

  Turning back to Lord Benley, Arthur took his helmet off. Immediately, he realized his hair had been messed up, and so quickly tried to fix it with the hand that was still free. “Is the Archduke here?” he asked rather warily.

  “No, but his son, Lord Jason, is here and waiting.” The Lord of Cosway took them inside.

  Weaving their way through the tight corridors, Arthur trailed behind Lord Benley. Curious as to what the Archduke's status was, he inquired. “Why is Lord Jason’s father not here? Did something happen?”

  “No, my lord. He remains healthy at his seat in Alyria, as far as I know.”

  Arthur frowned. “If His Excellency wishes to strike a bargain with House Gendrel, then he should at least be present for his own meeting for something that he requested. His failure to attend shall not be taken lightly.”

  “Forgive me, my lord.” Cosway bowed his head. “I did not know he was meant to be here.”

  “There is nothing to forgive, Lord Cosway.”

  They crept their way up a dark spiral staircase next. Round and round Arthur climbed, his legs becoming wearier with each step. How far up does this thing go?

  By the time they reached their destination, Arthur guessed they had ascended at least three or four flights of stairs. Lord Benley turned to them and gestured toward his left, where there was a rather large wooden door. “Lord Roost awaits inside, my lords.”

  “Thank you, Lord Cosway,” Arthur said. “You may go.”

  Bowing one last time, Lord Benley took his leave and went downstairs.

  Ser Martin looked his nephew in the eye. “Are you ready?” he whispered. “It’s your first real meeting with another high lord.”

  Arthur chuckled. Were it an actual lord, he might have been nervous. But this was only Jason Roost he had to deal with, a young man who shared his age of seventeen years. “I’m always ready, uncle.”

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  Taking a deep breath, the young lord Gendrel cleared his throat before grasping the doorknob. Twisting, he opened the door and stepped inside, his uncle following close behind.

  A plain wooden table sat in the middle of the room, which was small yet well-lit by sunlight streaming in through a pair of massive windows. Waiting on the other side was Lord Jason Roost and another knight, who Arthur couldn’t quite recognize. But the sigil that he wore was familiar to him: a black snake coiled over a coat of red—House Reeve, among the most prominent of Roost’s vassals. An imposing figure, the stranger knight bore a scar across his left eye.

  At once, the young Roost and his companion rose to greet them. “My lords,” he said with a smile. “I am glad that you made it safely.”

  Shaking his hand firmly, Arthur did his best to put on a courteous smile, a sort he didn’t truly mean. It was more for show than anything. A Gendrel had never been friends with a Roost. Nothing would change that.

  “I am most sorry to hear that your father could not join us today.” Arthur gave him a knowing look as they took their seats.

  Jason Roost merely smiled. Whether or not it was apologetic, Arthur couldn't be sure. “I thank you for your concern, Lord Gendrel. My father was feeling unwell, so he charged me to come in his stead.”

  “Ah.” I heard quite the opposite from Lord Cosway, is what he was tempted to say, but he kept his mouth shut and smiled. Arthur knew it was more than likely a deceptive lie. Archduke Roost was said to be a lazy man. Oh well, he thought. I shall play along.

  “So,” Jason leaned his elbows against the table. “Lord Gendrel. Rumor has it that you will be among this year’s contenders for the Trident.”

  He saw no reason to deny it. “Yes, I will be. What of it?”

  “I see.” The young Roost gently stroked at his chin. “And what do you believe your odds will be against the princes? Daelanor, in particular. The crown prince has always been so fascinating. I hear he fights like a demon, and that his little brother is half the warrior that he is.”

  “With respect, my lord,” Ser Martin interjected. “We are not here to discuss the Trident.”

  Arthur folded his arms as he leaned back against his chair. “Apologies, Lord Roost, but my uncle is right.”

  Chuckling, Jason’s smile never seemed to waver. “Of course,” he said, rather cheerily. “Perhaps another time, then. I must ask that you excuse my negligence. Let us begin.”

  “So, you wish to marry my sister?”

  “I do.” Lord Jason was straight about it. “She’s a lovely girl.”

  One of Arthur’s brows perked up. “I don't recall you two ever meeting."

  “Yes, but I saw her once. Five years ago, when the Trident was last held in the capital. We were there, my family and I, sitting next to yours, and that is when I first caught sight of her. I still remember it fondly, you know. In that very moment, I realized she would be the one.”

  Arthur wore a charming smile across his lips. It was hard for him to tell whether or not the young Roost was being honest. He decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “It moves my heart to hear how beloved my sister is.”

  “Of course, my lord. Naturally, when the time comes, I intend to propose to her with all my soul.”

  “You do not wish to arrange a betrothal?”

  “No, no, no, my lord.” Jason made a dramatic gesture with his hand, as if it meant the world to him. “Never.”

  Arthur was pleased to hear it. Olivia would not have taken kindly to a betrothal. Not that it would have mattered much, because neither he nor his father would have accepted one.

  “Well, I see our business is concluded, then.” The young Gendrel rose from his seat, his uncle following suit. “At first light tomorrow, we leave for Hildan Keep. Do you wish to come with us?”

  Jason had a giddy look about him as he smiled. “Of course! I would be honored.”

  “Excellent. I shall meet you at dawn in Lord Cosway’s courtyard. Good day.” Satisfied, Arthur gave him a polite nod and started his way out. Before he could leave, however, the young Roost called after him. Despite wanting so desperately to leave, he forced himself to smile again before turning around. “...Yes?”

  “One more favor, my lord.” Jason waved to his knight, who went in the corner to fetch something. Arthur watched closely as he came back with a beautiful silver necklace, adorned with crystals.

  “I wish to send this to my lady Olivia,” he said. “It’s a gift I want her to have. Whenever she wears it, she can be reminded of me.”

  "Couldn't you carry it yourself, my lord Jason? We leave for Hildan on the morrow."

  "Yes, but I wish for my arrival to be heralded early. Perhaps she'll even be humble and give it back to me."

  Deep inside, Arthur wanted to laugh. But he shut the door on that and sealed it as tightly as he could. Feigning as genuine of a smile as he could, he tried to look pleased. “Of course, my lord. I shall send one of my knights to deliver it at once.”

  Jason smiled. “Thank you.”

  “Here, let me have it.” Ser Martin took the necklace from Jason’s knight. “It’s a fine thing, this is.”

  “I had it specially made. I hope it suits her well. If not, I would be more than happy to pay for a different one. Please, send Lady Olivia my regards.” Jason gave them a courteous bow before leaving with his knight in tow.

  When the door was shut and they were certain that the young Roost was long gone, Arthur and his uncle shared a laugh.

  “I am eager to see how this will turn out,” Arthur said.

  Hildan Keep would become a circus, with Jason Roost set to serve as its clown.

  “Come,” his uncle said with a grin. “Let's go find the others at the tavern.”

  Anthranor Arathan

  A delicious aroma sifted its way through the wind. It was a bright, sunny day. As the campfire crackled softly in the middle of their circle, he savored every bite. Oh, how tender, juicy, and rich. Mmm. Delicious.

  Ser Tony Avonta sat to the right of Anthranor, humming a tune as he expertly carved out slabs of meat. On his left, there was Ser Dorristan, and surrounding them were the rest of his men, who numbered no more than a dozen. The sound of merry laughter filled the air.

  Ser Tony glanced at him with a smile. “How is it, my prince?”

  Anthranor felt like he was in a good dream. “This is incredible,” he said. “Absolutely delicious.”

  “Have you ever had antelope before?” Ser Tony grabbed a few pieces of meat and stabbed them through with a long stick. Hoisting it over the fire, he let them cook.

  “Once or twice,” Anthranor replied. “I hear it’s a common dish in Galeria.”

  “Indeed, it is.”

  “I hear beef is on the rise, however,” Ser Dorristan chimed in. “These days, it’s more profitable than antelope to sell in the other provinces, so Galerian farmers have all tried to rapidly increase their number of cows.”

  “Beef is cheaper, I imagine.” Ser Tony gently blew at the meat as he took it off to feel its temperature. “Easier to get.”

  “Well, I’m sure plump lords and ladies will always have a taste for the exotic.”

  Ser Tony smiled at Anthranor. “Indeed, they will. Yourself included, eh?”

  “Hey.”

  The men around them sniggered, bursting out into laughter. Ser Dorristan tried his best to mask a smile behind his canteen, but alas succumbed as well.

  “It’s treason to insult your prince, you know.” Anthranor mustered whatever strength he could to put on a serious face. But it didn’t work.

  Ser Tony pointed a finger at him, chuckling. “And it is a sin to bear false witness against your neighbors, my prince.” The knight turned to the others for some measure of approval. “Prince Anthranor has put on quite some weight recently, has he not?”

  “Aye.” The men agreed in unison, laughing.

  “Bagh.” Anthranor waved them off, though he couldn’t help but be amused.

  “Show us your muscles, my prince!” a guard shouted, whose name was Lars. At once there was an uproar as the men demanded to see.

  Unwilling to take his shirt off, Anthranor merely stood up and flexed his arms. It proved enough for them. “Hey!” The men cheered as one and clapped.

  “Alright, that’s enough,” he said. “Have a seat, we need to discuss how the rest of the trip will go.”

  Silencing themselves, they all sat down to listen. Anthranor stood in the middle as he began pacing around the campfire.

  “We are only a few days’ ride from Hildan. When we arrive there, we will be greeted, and then situated. As it stands, I believe the guards will be hosted in the barracks, and Sers Tony and Dorristan will be given their own quarters within the castle itself. A courier bird was only just received yesterday, so this is the latest I know. Are there any questions?”

  One raised his hand. "Will the Emperor's minister be joining us later?"

  "No. My father changed his mind. Apparently, Minister Gabelyn has been sent overseas on a different mission."

  Ser Tony gave a sigh of relief. "Good. The farther that pompous bastard is, the better." He laughed along with some of the men.

  "Do you know where he's going?"

  "Vayona," Anthranor answered. "It's where we import most of our wine from."

  "His Eminence has good taste," said Lars. "I imagine Gabelyn will be back with a whole boatload of it."

  "Perhaps he'll share some with us." The men voiced their agreement, some snickering.

  “Enough," the prince said at last. He wanted some time alone with his knights. "Are there any more questions?"

  "No, ser."

  "Good." He nodded. "We depart in one hour. Get some rest, all of you. Dismissed.”

  Standing up, the men dispersed to go off and do their own thing. Only Ser Tony and Ser Dorristan remained by the fire. Anthranor sighed as he sat himself back down.

  “Exhausting, isn’t it?” Ser Dorristan asked him.

  “Sort of.” Anthranor took a chunk of roasted antelope from Ser Tony. He thought about the burdens that came with leadership as he chewed.

  “To lead is no easy feat,” Ser Tony said. “It is quite a demanding profession. So much to think about, so much to consider.” He took a sip from his flask. “It’s more than just entertaining your men and making them like you. But you’ll learn, soon enough.”

  “I hope so.” Anthranor turned his gaze to the fire, staring idly. Before meeting his escort, he had been so nervous. What would he say? What would they think of him? He had been so worried about what sort of first impression he would make. To his surprise, however, the men were more than welcoming, and some of them had even openly embraced him like a brother.

  His grandfather had surely played a role in picking men who would be friendly, but he didn’t dwell on it for long. After all, would he have preferred more unruly, despicable men? Absolutely not. In the end, he remained grateful, yet cautious. Ser Tony’s words still echoed in his head. “It’s more than just entertaining your men and making them like you.”

  Ser Dorristan stood up to grab his sword. “We should start your training while we still have time.”

  “You’re right.” Anthranor rose from his feet. “We’ll practice for a small while with tridents, how about that?”

  “Very well.” Dorristan fastened his sword to his belt, and went away to fetch them.

  Ser Tony finished the last of their antelope meat. He licked away at his fingers before washing them down with his canteen. “How delectable,” he said. “Shame we don’t have more.”

  Anthranor glanced at him with a playful grin. “Well, as it stands, Ser Tony, you are the most capable among us of getting more.”

  The knight smiled back, a chuckle escaping. “I suppose I am. But, as it stands, I am rather tired.” Yawning rather loudly, he got up and laid down in the grass. He exhaled in bliss as he looked into the sky. “What a glorious view, too.”

  Ser Dorristan returned a moment later, with two tridents in hand. He handed one off to Anthranor. “Put on your armor, as well.”

  After Anthranor had suited himself up, Ser Dorristan walked over to a lounging Ser Tony. Peaking over his head, Dorristan looked at him.

  “Would you care to join us? You can substitute for me against the prince if needed.”

  The knight of Hedgehall opened his eyes and slowly got up, stretching his arms and legs. “Sure, I don’t see why not. But a trident is rather unfamiliar to me.”

  “No worries,” said Anthranor. “You can just fight me with a sword.”

  Ser Tony nodded. “Aye, I could do that.”

  And so into the fields they went, where there was plenty of open ground to fight on. Ser Dorristan and Anthranor took opposite sides. Immediately, the duel caught the attention of the others, who flocked downhill to claim good seats.

  Anthranor silently cursed them. Well, might as well get used to an audience.

  By the sixth bout, he found himself lying on the ground in defeat. Most of the men had already left and gone back to their camp. Exhausted and bruised, Anthranor could only tear apart the grass around him in frustration.

  “Fuck’s sake!” He cursed his own inadequacy. His weakness. His utter inability to do anything right. Slapping himself again and again, it was everything he could to keep from screaming at the top of his lungs. Both of his knights came running over.

  Anthranor couldn’t even look them in the eye. Instead, he kept his gaze toward the sky. His cheeks felt like they were burning.

  “It’s worthless,” he said. “Nothing’s changed. It’s all fucking worthless…”

  He sniffled. Something wet was dribbling down his cheeks. Was he crying?

  A bitter laugh choked its way up and escaped. Oh, how pathetic it was. Weeks of training, countless hours of practice, and for what? What was there to show for it all? Nothing, absolutely nothing beyond failure.

  “You’re wasting your time on me,” he muttered.

  Neither of them said a word. The pair of knights gently lifted him up into a sitting position, and then knelt beside him.

  “I understand your frustration,” said Ser Dorristan, his voice assuring and calm. “When I was around your age, I wanted to be the best I could be, as fast as I possibly could. But, even after only training for a week or two, I still found myself disappointed.”

  Using a fresh handkerchief given to him by Ser Tony, Anthranor wiped his eyes and nose. He felt like a bumbling child. “...Then how did you do it?”

  “I kept on training. Every day. Until I finally got better.” Ser Dorristan turned, looking deep into his eyes. “The truth, my prince, is that time also matters when it comes to honing yourself. Progress must build upon itself over the course of time, and so you must be patient, yet vigilant, in your training.”

  Anthranor could only sigh. “…But I don’t think it’s working. I have to fight and win, and yet here I am… losing. Again.”

  “You fought hard, and by the looks of it, you’ve also been training just as hard.” Ser Tony smiled at him. “And you know who your opponent has been, yes?”

  “…Ser Dorristan Kelsaphon. Yes, I know.”

  “Exactly!” A giddy smile across his face, the Hedgehall knight lunged at Ser Dorristan to grab his shoulder. “And he’s not just any Ser Dorristan, but the Ser Dorristan Kelsaphon. The greatest knight to have ever graced this good earth.”

  Although his fellow knight had a slight look of embarrassment, Ser Tony continued. “And do not forget, my prince, that he is the youngest winner of the Trident in Imperial history. He’s a living prodigy, for crying out loud! Flesh and blood, same as you. The fact you can go fight him on even ground, despite being far less experienced, much less with a trident, alone is an impressive feat!”

  Waddling over to Anthranor on his knees, Ser Tony gently touched him by the shoulder.

  “So do not feel as if defeated or ashamed, my young prince. You still have room to grow, and look, you have already made such stunning progress.” He patted Anthranor’s arms. “See, here? Remember when I joked about your size earlier? Well, it wasn’t a lie. You’ve put on weight, my prince, but in a good way. Those muscles will be put to good use in that arena, I know it. And if you continue working at it, I assure you that victory will one day come. So how about it, hm?”

  Anthranor took a moment to let the words settle, mulling over it all. The weight of his own failures wore him down heavily. How weak. How pathetic. If this is all he had to offer after all this time, then by what right could he claim victory? What gave him the right to stand beside knights such as Ser Dorristan and Ser Tony? Or Daelanor, even? Inside his head, it all churned like a vicious storm. But he knew, if things were to get any better, he would have to put an end to this self-loathing. If he wanted victory, if he wanted to be a better man, it had to end right here, right now.

  I'm sorry, Anya, he thought. Even with your speech, I despaired. But he still remembered her words. Set your heart alight.

  The fire had nearly been smothered, but now it was rekindled. He was determined to make it grow ever stronger. I’ll make sure of it. He tightened his fists. Rising, he stood back up, his mind resolute. “…I’m sorry for doubting myself. I won’t do it again.”

  Ser Tony had a giant grin across his face as he slapped him in the shoulder. Anthranor grimaced in pain. Ow, that hurt.

  “Now that is the spirit, my prince,” he said. “That’s what I like to hear!”

  Ser Dorristan slowly rose. “Although that sentiment is respectable, there will always be doubt in your life, Anthranor. It is… a simple fact of life. But, it will be important that you never lose faith.”

  “...I'll try not to.”

  “Good, as long as you're trying." He smiled. "Now, one last spar.” Leaning over, he retrieved Anthranor’s weapon and held it out. “Are you ready?”

  Anthranor grasped his trident firmly, taking it back. “Yes.”

  His face was stern. Even if he lost again, he didn’t care. The outcome wouldn’t matter as much. He valued the quality of his training far more than his record, and he wasn't going to give up again.

  Walking out, they took opposite sides of the field once more. In the corner of his eye, Anthranor noticed that a few of the men had returned from camp to watch their last duel.

  Returning his gaze to the front, he nodded to signal his readiness.

  “Begin!”

  Although he expected a swift strike to come at once from Ser Dorristan, the knight failed to move. Instead, he remained still, with his trident gripped firmly between his hands.

  Looks like the first move is mine. Drawing in a sharp breath, he kept his stance low as he closed the distance in a quick, daring dash. To throw off the knight, he feinted right before suddenly springing left. Then, leaping upwards, he thrust his trident toward Ser Dorristan’s chest.

  Twisting his body, the knight evaded his attack with grace. Having anticipated the dodge, Anthranor immediately followed up with a swing at his legs, in hopes of sweeping them from beneath. But the knight proved faster, snapping his trident downward to intercept. Clang!

  Before Anthranor could reset, he found himself on the receiving end of an immediate counterattack from Ser Dorristan. With little time to react, he tried his best to survive the onslaught of rapid thrusts and swings. If only… I can just… hold out! But such a feat alone proved to be a difficult one. Every strike that he intercepted or dodged gradually sapped away at his strength. The knight was incredibly fast, relentless, and powerful. It’s… too… much.

  Then he saw it—an opening. His only chance. Now!

  Thrusting his weapon, he caught the shaft of Ser Dorristan’s trident with the prongs of his own. With a sharp twist, he pulled as hard as he could. Metal scraped against metal, and the knight’s weapon was sent flying across the field.

  Before he knew it, Anthranor found his trident pressed against Ser Dorristan’s neck. Breathless, yet victorious, he finally felt some accomplishment.

  “Yield,” he said with a relieved smile.