Page 31 of Crown of Iron
“A week?” Leif's eyes dart toward me. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”
“It appears the king was giving her a moment to get her thoughts together before he sent his guard to find her. You don't happen to know where she might have gone, do you?”
Leif shakes his head. “I'm sure she's not far. This would be the first time she's left the capital without an escort.”
I relax my shoulders and move away from Leif and Kyron. I'm happy to hear my siblings have kept my secret, but it’s only a matter of time before one of them breaks and Micah sends for me. I have to work harder, faster if I'm going to make all of this worthwhile.
“Don't go too far, princess,” Kyron calls out after me. “The entire camp is here for a show.”
His words jolt through me, stiffening my spine. Everything is riding on this sparring match. If I don't win, I might as well take Nortus and return home. I can't stand the idea of facing my siblings and telling them I failed.
I hold my gaze forward, afraid if I look at Kyron, I will weaken my resolve. “I'll meet you in the ring, General LeFur.”
Eleven
“Lady's choice,” Kyron says.
I lift a brow and place my hand on the pommel of the sword at my side. It's a bold move, but I have little room for anything less.
Kyron shakes his head, and his lips form a straight line. “Let's save killing each other for another day. Pick a mock weapon and stop stalling, princess.”
“I'm not stalling.” I snatch a wooden sword comparable to mine out of the cabinet.
Kyron selects his sword, and we join Terro on the sideline. He holds open a leather sleeve, and Kyron dips his sword into it, leaving the blunt blade covered in red dust. I follow suit, and Terro explains, “Today's match is to the death.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “First to strike a fatal blow, leaving a distinct mark over a vital organ of their opponent, wins. There are no other rules.”
The notion of sparring with Kyron with no rules sends a chill through me. My face must go pale because Kyron says, “We can always postpone until you're ready.”
I'm in over my head. This is nothing like the way I used to practice with Leif. There was no kicking and punching. We just used our light practice swords. And even then, we weren’t fighting at full force.
I shake my head and take a step back. “I'm ready.”
Kyron walks to Greer and removes his jacket, and I make my way to Ulric. “Don't try anything fancy and keep your sword up and your eyes on him at all times. If you see an opening, take it,” he says while I unbuckle my actual sword and hand him my jacket.
“I'm taking him down and starting my training,” I say with more certainty than I feel.
I take the canteen Ulric offers me and gulp the watered-down whiskey inside. It burns my throat and distracts me from my worries, calming the anxiety building within me.
“Good?” he asks.
“Good.”
I move to the center of the field, and Kyron joins me. He raises his weapon and slices the air between us, coming just short of hitting me in the gut.
I stumble back, saying, “You could have warned me!”
“You think the enemy is going to send a letter letting us know when they plan to attack?” He swings again and this time, I block him. “This isn't a tea party; it's war. There’s no warning or holding back.”
Gone is the compassionate man who taught a boy to chop wood, and in his place is a fierce soldier. The constant smile he wore with the children is now a harsh scowl. The gentleness he used when carrying Mia vanishes into deadly movements. On this field, I face a soldier who has brought Stigian warriors their last breath.
Our weapons repeatedly cross with a crack and plumes of red. Kyron never lets up. Every step he takes is an advance, forcing me back. He slams his blade against my free arm, leaving a dusting of crimson on my sleeve, and I yelp at the sting.
The crowd’s joyful reaction fuels my rage.
I slash my sword in a sloppy swing, trying to reciprocate his blow, but I only slice through the air.
“Quit wasting my time and fight,” he commands.
I double my efforts with jabs and cuts, but he deflects every time, sending vibrations up my arm. His movements are short and rapid, a comfortable tempo for him, so I switch it up, arching my swing wide and slice back to the other side. The tip of my blade brushes his forearm. The mark is nothing more than a dot, but it's enough to energize me. I advance,keeping my focus on his weapon and swinging in broad strokes.
