Page 27 of Fate's Sweetest Curse
“Fate, Fortune, Death,” they recited in unison, beginning again.
Kalden’s blows juddered up through the steel of Noble’s shortsword, rattling the tired joints in his right arm. Noble gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain, shoving it down into the pit of his stomach. He parried the strikes—barely—as he focused on his footwork, making quick, calculated steps around his father.
“Your advantage, Noble! Use your advantage!” Kalden ordered.
Spring sunlight glared off the pale, dusty earth of the training yard, making Noble squint—but he did as he was told, tracking his father’smovements with his preternatural eyesight. The shift of muscle beneath his father’s shirt told Noble that he would swipe horizontally; Noble deflected it by side-stepping. His father’s eyes tracked to his next target—Noble’s sword wielding arm—and Noble’s observation saved him a bruise to the cap of his right shoulder.
“That’s it!”
It was as close to praise as Noble ever got.
But as he shuffled his feet, lunging to strike his father’s left thigh, his boots kicked up a nasty cloud of grit. Caught up in the fancy maneuver, Noble inhaled when he should’ve exhaled, not only robbing him of extra power from his core, but also causing him to choke, stupidly, on the plume of his own dust. Without air, he became disoriented—and his father struck him squarely in the oblique.
Pain lanced through Noble’s stomach, and he went down, landing on his side. His father loomed, the shadow of his presence blotting out the sun; he leveled the dull tip of his sword at Noble’s throat.
“You’re distracted,” his father scolded.
“It’s mybirthday,” Noble complained.
He had plans with Hattie later; they were going to pack a picnic of chocolate pastries and preserved peaches and eat by the river—maybe go for a dip if the afternoon was warm enough. They’d meant to do all that onherbirthday last week, but it’d rained all day, and they’d ended up playing cards in the solarium with Raina.
“Training does not stop for birthdays, Noble,” his father stated tersely—then held out a hand to help him up.
Noble brushed the dirt off his pants, then reset his stance. They went again, blows and blocks screaming through his right arm to the point that he switched his sword to his left hand. The dexterity seemed to please his father, winning Noble a slight squint of approval. His father rarely smiled—not, except, for in the presence of his wife, Noble’s mother. Smiling at Helena was the only time Kalden lookedsoft.
Noble, on the other hand, was quick to smile, laugh,emote—at least, when he was allowed. In the past four years of living at Castle Wynhaim, he’d taken countless court etiquette classes, the tutors seeminglydeterminedto wrestle the playfulness out of Noble, Hattie, Raina, and Raina’s older brother, Torin. Noble might’ve had the same straight nose, defined jaw, and full mouth of his father, but he hoped he never lost his ability to smile for real—propriety be damned.
“You think Mighty Knights skip training on their birthdays?” Noble’s father continued, forcing Noble back with a quick series of lunges, their feet scuffing quickly over the dirt.
“No,” Noble grunted.
“Do you think your namesake took a day off in the midst of the Battle of East Hammer?”
Kalden loved bringing up Noble the Mighty of Fenrir, the first Knight of the Order of the Mighty, who joined Marona’s army to help win the War of Wraiths some six-hundred years ago. Kalden didn’t seem to care that Noble the Mighty’s actual name had beenNolan; he cared more about who Nolan had become—his status and deeds.
The Order of the Mighty meant everything to Kalden Asheren. He’d built himself up from nothing, rising through the ranks and bringing honor and status to his family through the glory of his charge. He wanted nothing more than for his son to follow in his footsteps one day. To become a Mighty Knight of Marona, personal guard to—
“Focus, Noble, for Fate’s sake!” his father demanded.
Noble was knocked on his ass again, sending an aching jolt up his tailbone.
After that, hedidfocus. He forced thoughts of his birthday and the pressure of his father’s expectations into the pit in his stomach with the superficial pain and focused on the fight. Sunlight beating down. Grit beneath his boots. The tear of his muscle fibers as new strength was built.
He kept his eyes on his father’s imposing form: pitch-black hair braided back against his scalp, tree-trunk arms and legs, persistent scowl. Kalden was harsh but admirably fierce. Loyal. If Noble grew up to be half the man that Kalden Asheren was, he would know he’d grown up to be a good man.
But that didn’t mean he wanted tobeKalden.
Strike, block, step, repeat. Strike, block, step, repeat. Noble lost track of time as he trained, everything else blurring into the background until he became nothing but sweat, steel, and calculated movement.
That is, until a fluttering of white caught his peripheral attention.
A long balcony walkway overlooked this part of the castle grounds; under the shadow of its overhang, Hattie leaned against a support beam, arms folded. Even from halfway across the training yard, her blue eyes were arresting.
Noble allowed himself only a moment to look, but his sight magic soaked in every detail. Blonde hair spun up into bun. Pale cheeks flushed raspberry and dusted with dark freckles. Long throat leading to the jut of prominent clavicles. A plain, shapeless white dress draped over her lithe form. Her mouth: wry.
When Noble was younger, his father had remarked that it wasadvantageousfor Noble to befriend children of higher birth; but the older Noble got, the less Kalden approved of his friendship with Hattie.You might be the same age, but you come from different worlds, Kalden liked to remind him.It is your responsibility to maintain propriety, lest you ruin her prospects and destroy your reputation.The social hierarchy was archaic, but at Castle Wynhaim, it mattered greatly.
The problem was: Noble’s sixteen-year-old body worked independently of his brain. His heart had beat only for Hattie since the moment he laid eyes on her, and through puberty—his and hers—the constant pulse of his affection for her had developed into a feverish thudding.
