Page 47 of A Pact of Blood

Fair enough. I did get a decent amount of training in physical defense relying just on my body back home. The tutor didn’t focus on weapons, as a princess wouldn’t have expected to have one close at hand.

I don’t want to be walking around with an instrument of violence on clear display, though. That’ll give the opposite impression from what I want to convey.

I scan the offerings and select the smallest knife, one thatcould be concealed in a pocket or behind my belt pouch unobtrusively.

Raul’s expression turns skeptical, but he simply shakes his head at me in bemusement. “We can work with that. You’ll just need to be very accurate in where you strike.”

He sets me up on the mat with Neven a few paces away. “He’ll come at you from the side, like so.” He beckons Neven, and the young prince makes a mock charge, reaching for my neck.

Raul stops him when Neven’s hands are near my shoulder and touches my elbow. The warmth of his touch tingles over my skin as he slides his fingers around my arm to guide it. “In this position, you’re most likely to do critical damage if you aim the blade here or here. The more you hurt your attacker, the less likely they can hurt you.”

“Such a pleasant thought,” I mutter.

He chuckles and leans closer as if adjusting my shoulder position more minutely. His voice drops to a murmur so low I doubt the guards can tell he’s talking, though his breath washes over my cheek. “Bastien’s going to search out information on Prospira’s confirmation rite. I talked to an elderly vicerine who was around for Tarquin’s ceremony—she didn’t remember it well, but said it had something to do with gathering crops.”

I keep my own voice equally low. “That doesn’t sound too dangerous. What happened to your hands?”

Raul glowers at me as if he could have expected me not to care. “Nothing you need to worry about. It was either this or Marclinus’s face.”

He injured his knuckles working out his frustrations after last night?

I’d like to ask more, but we can hardly keep talking along these lines without drawing suspicion. Raul raises his voice again. “That’s right. Now try making those blows when he’sapproaching at a more normal speed. You want to practice until the right movement feels natural.”

We run through several of those exercises, with me standing or sitting while Neven springs at me from different angles. In each position, Raul has us hold in place while he shows me the best ways to strike to incapacitate an attacker before trying the moves at a faster speed.

I don’t think it’s ever going to feel comfortable for me to drive a blade into another person’s throat or gut or eye. I can at least say that by the time my dress has dampened with perspiration and my muscles are getting achy from the exertion, my instinctive defensive reaction is more likely to be deadly.

Every time my gaze meets Raul’s, I have to suppress the impulse to say something beyond the training. To recognize this fierce and fearsome man who’s determined to stand by my side as a person rather than just a tool.

One question seems safe enough. “You’ve clearly been training in combat for a long time. Is that a typical pursuit for Lavirian royalty?”

Raul snorts, taking a step back after our last exercise. “Not at all. But my family could tell my temper ran too hot for me to be all that effective at moderation or negotiation.”

I raise my eyebrows. “It seems odd to judge someone’s temperament so thoroughly when they’re still a child.”

“They were right that patience isn’t a particular virtue of mine. At least if I could handle myself in a fight, I could defend whatever political treaties or trade negotiations we oversaw.” He strikes an overly pompous pose. “I thought of myself as very valiant when I first started.”

Neven covers a snicker with his hand. “But you dedicated to Kosmel rather than Sabrelle.”

“Ah, by the time I was twelve, I’d figured out that good combat is all about nuance. There’s a kind of might in justappearing tohavepower, and in knowing how to wield it in opportune ways rather than mindlessly. Plus I needed a little help in the cleverness department.”

He taps the side of his head. His tone is wry again, but his jaw flexes with unstated tension.

I know the other reason he dedicated himself to the godlen of trickery was to gain the gift he thought would help him destroy Emperor Tarquin—and then realized it wouldn’t after all.

“It sounds like you were decently clever already,” I say gently.

Raul’s smile comes back. He pats me on the shoulder with a surreptitious squeeze of affection. “And you haven’t done badly as a warrior, Your Imperial Highness. Next time, we’ll have you in one of your frillier gowns so you can get used to the movements even if you’re more… encumbered.”

“Definitely a concern.” I rotate the handle of the training knife in my hand, adjusting my grip, and turn toward the doorway. “I’d like to try a bit more of a challenge right now. Kassun, would you join us in here?”

Raul’s eyebrows arch, but he doesn’t argue with my request.

The guard cautiously treads farther into the room. “Your Imperial Highness?”

I wave the knife at him. “You have more experience and more training than Prince Neven. My last attacker was a military man like yourself. I’d like to see what it might take to fend off a skilled attacker with a sword. Grab a training blade similar to your regular issue weapon. Please don’t actually run me through, of course, but don’t hold back too much.”

Kassun gapes at me. “Empress, I— I’m not sure this is wise?—”

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