Page 1 of Water Dragon
Chapter 1 - Malcolm
The sword of Malcolm’s opponent clashed with his and she stepped close, their blades forming an X between them, as though marking the spot where she would aim to strike next: his hearts. She smiled, eyes ablaze with confidence, a clear challenge for him to launch his counterattack. Everything about her—from the placement of her feet to the way she slightly leaned, putting pressure on where their swords met—told him that she was more than ready for him.
They would see about that.
She was shorter than him by half an inch, slender but strong. She had quick reflexes and was excellent at strategizing her next move from moment to moment, blow for blow. But he had something that she did not possess, and if she was so ready for a counterattack then he would happily oblige.
He focused all his energy on the drinking fountain that sat fixed to a wall on the other side of the training circle. He focused on the connective energy within and around and below the fountain. The water moved for him in an instant, and he shaped it into an orb that went flying through the air, hitting her square in the back of her head.
She yelled in surprise at getting drenched, the cold surely a shock to her system. The hit had already rendered her off balance and those firmly planted feet were no longer planted quite so firmly, leaving her stumbling backwards with an infuriated growl when he gave her a slight shove as an incentive.
“Hey!” she exclaimed, her sword dropping, tip to the ground, as she shook her head at him. “That’scheating.”
“Iona,” he smiled in his most disarming manner. “We’re allowed to fight with the tools of war, correct? You think I wouldn’t use my connection with the watermagic to win in a battle?”
“Mal,” she returned, smiling sweetly. “We’re allowed to call each other anything we want in the heat of battle, correct? I hope the thrust of my sword may teach you that you are, in fact, the biggest tool here.”
His mouth quirked with amusement, her gaze not wavering from his as she raised her sword, ready to strike even with the very real probability that he would use the watermagic on her again. It didn’t scare her; it didn’t put her off. She saw it as a chance to hone her own skill, using his resistance to surrender to her as a whetstone against which she would only grow sharper.
He had always admired her ferociousness and, as it was now on full display for all to see, he hoped they would admire it as well. It was her first time being invited into the training circle, though they had spent hours in it practicing in private over the years. It was typically reserved for members of the court, and she was as far away from that position as possible. Born to a herder and a maid, she had worked in the castle alongside her mother since she was old enough to no longer be called a child, but before she was put to work, she had had the run of the place. As they had grown up together, between them there were no titles. Even though he was the heir apparent.
She was his closest and most trusted in all things.
“I can always depend on you to be truthful,” he said, raising his sword in wait for her next move.
“Indeed, I’m told it is my most agreeable trait,” she nodded, then lunged forward, the blade of her sword again meeting his, but this time, the clangs continued as she swung hers at him, forcing him to walk backwards as he parried her blows.
There was a collective intake of breath from their onlookers. The training circle was housed in the middle of a courtyard at the back of the castle, surrounded by a terraced walkway for spectators to either lounge in idle chatter while the hourlong friendly but serious combats would go on, or to watch and cheer for their favored winner. Malcolm rather liked that not everyone was on his side at all times. It was good to have something to prove, his princely title affording him enough yay-sayers as it was.
Not that Iona had ever been one of those. She had kept him on his toes throughout their friendship, quick to point his flaws out to him, quick to push him when needed. He supposed he relied on her in many ways. Too many ways sometimes. In fact, he had trouble deciding on what to wear in the morning unless she was there to guide him.
“Itold you it is your most agreeable trait,” he gritted out, meeting her blows with a hand that was beginning to ache with each movement she forced him to make.
She smiled sweetly again, sweat pearling on her brow. She had never gone this hard before, and he had to admit that he was rather taken aback at just how strong she truly was. But in the aforementioned heat of battle, she seemed to have yet again forgotten exactly what capabilities her opponent possessed. This gave him the advantage of surprise and, before she could drive him up against the back balustrade of the walkway, she was hit by another orb of water. Then a second and a third until she was lowering her sword, blinded.
“You are theworst!” she exclaimed to his utter delight.
“Ah, but I am also the winner,” he remarked. “Yield?”
She sighed.
“Yes,” she muttered.
He smiled and she returned it. She had a small but perfectly shaped mouth, her smile warming those dark blue eyes of hers in the way he treasured most. There was constant acceptance there, constant support that he couldn’t imagine going a day without. But in the past month or so, he had begun to grow aware that perhaps he was keeping her from living the life she would choose for herself, was she free to do so. The thought had kept on niggling at the back of his mind, refusing to give him a moment's respite. She didn’t know it, but it was the reason he had set up this combat session. He had recently decided that he wanted to invite her to court. He had already cleared it with his father, who had been mildly amused by the request but had not hesitated in giving his approval.
“Is she not too wild for life at court?” his father had asked, and it had been his one question on the matter.
“Of course not, father,” Malcolm had replied, though there had been a lump of worry in the middle of his throat, because she was too wild.
She was, truth be told, the least ladylike female dragon that Malcolm had ever encountered. Most likely she was the least ladylike female dragon he ever would encounter because she did not believe in fancy dresses that were cinched too tightly at the waist and uncomfortable shoes and hair piled into a heavy mess on one’s head.
She had told him so on more than one occasion, and lived according to her own words, bounding free through the gardens in her maid’s uniform and flat-soled leather sandals.
But if she agreed to become a courtier, then that would answer the burning question he couldn’t bring himself to ask her: whether she was happy or whether she actually wished for more, and whether that more might mean leaving the castle and settling in the citadel or beyond.
She was of mating age, but it was the one topic they avoided speaking of or even mentioning because with it came the unavoidable fact that either of them forming a mating bond would inevitably separate them from each other.
Perhaps it would be for the best, went one track of his thinking.I couldn’t bear it,went another.
