Chapter 12 #2
Isn’t that the first step to overcoming all hurdles, letting go of the fear that they mean you harm?
I understand the worry on both sides. When I first came to Basecamp, I was presented with a Stigian general leading my father’s army.
It wasn’t until I let my guard down and trusted my father’s choice to put Kyron in charge that I thrived.
I click my tongue and say, “I feel like a sparring match is in order.”
Greer throws her hands up and looks at me like I’m not getting the point. “That would be great if we could get any of them on the field.”
“Not them,” I say and turn to Kyron. “What better way for them to see that it will be all right than to watch their future leaders have it out in the sparring ring?”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Kyron says.
“Afraid our future queen will beat your smug ass?” Greer asks, her entire face alight with the possibility.
Leif quirks his lips and cocks a brow. “My money is on Elle. Seven months of pretending she was slicing you open has got to pay off.”
Feeling like I’m invincible with my friends wagering on me, I place my hand on my hip and adopt a tone that Kyron has taken with me more times than I care to count. “Don’t worry, prince, this time, I will kick your ass.”
Kyron takes a step forward and that sly smile returns to his lips. “You said that the last time I challenged you to spar, and it didn’t work out in your favor.”
My heart does an entire tumbling routine.
I will never tire of his presence. It invigorates me, fascinates me, makes me want more.
I move closer, leaving a sliver of space between us and meet his black and amber eyes.
“The last time we sparred, I didn’t know that dirty tricks were on the table, and I hadn’t spent months training to kill you.
I’m feeling confident the odds are in my favor this time.
That is, unless you don’t want your warriors seeing you get your ass handed to you by a Lucent princess. ”
He curls his lips between his teeth to stifle a laugh.
I love that look, the way his dusty-pink blush spreads over his cheeks while he fights to keep his composure.
I would wager my crown that none of his warriors have ever seen him like this.
Knowing Kyron, he has held firm to a stoic demeanor, wanting those he leads to believe he will rule with the same ruthless hand as his mother. But I know better.
He leans in so only I can hear him. “What’s on the table if I win?”
“Me. On the table… the bed… the floor.”
“And if you win, where do you want me?”
“Sleeping in the stables.”
He chuckles with understanding. I’m putting him out of his room and into the place where he made me sleep when I first came to Basecamp.
Those were some of the most miserable nights of my life prior to him choosing to return to Stigian.
Nevertheless, I would relive each of those evenings buried under hay if it meant he’d never leave.
Thankfully, he’s here now, and I enjoy the idea of pursuing some good-spirited revenge.
“I’ll expect to find you sprawled out naked on my table when this is over, princess,” he says, his breath warm against my ear.
I push him away and turn toward my officers, saying over my shoulder, “Be prepared to take a blanket with you. It gets cold in the hayloft, Your Grace.”
Leif paces around the trunk of the massive oak tree resting on the sideline of the sparring ring.
His heavy steps wear a circle in the grass.
He tugs on his sandy hair and exhales with such force that I swear the earth rumbles beneath me.
“This ingenious plan of yours has a high probability of backfiring. One side will feel like they’re fighting for the stronger ruler and the other will question their loyalty to the weaker. ”
I remove my jacket, hand it to Wel, and roll up the sleeves of my tunic. “Kyron will figure out how to deal with his loss and regain the respect of his warriors.”
Ulric snorts, and Leif rolls his eyes, saying, “Are you sure you can beat him? Not that long ago you stood in this same position, and he walked away with the win.”
Gone are Leif’s charming dimples or the playful spark that always glints in his eyes.
My best friend is worried. It’s not my safety he frets about, but my ability to pull this off and the pushback I’ll receive if I lose.
He has spent months fearing that I was battling a crumbling state of mind, and I was.
He caught me at my lowest moment then watched me dig my way out of it these past weeks.
Now, I’m putting myself in the position to be considered the weaker leader.
That won’t be an easy stigma to shake off.
“I was simply full of ambition back then. Now, I’m a trained killer.” I bump into Leif with my hip. “Stop worrying, you’re going to wrinkle your handsome face.”
He runs his palm over his forehead, smoothing his skin.
“If anyone can kick Kyron’s ass, it’s Elle. Tell me you don’t want to see her wipe the smug look off his face, Captain Stone,” Greer says, rubbing her palms together. She is too excited at the possibility of Kyron being at my mercy.
Leif’s hazel gaze meets mine and he smiles. “I know she can, and it would give me satisfaction to see him squirming. But I don’t trust the asshole.”
“Elle, are you ready to start?” Terro calls from the center of the ring.
I give Leif two solid claps on the shoulder, and Ulric hands me a wooden sword.
“I’m confident you know what to do, nanny goat.”
“Kick his ass,” I say, shoving my real sword and scabbard against his chest.
“That would be it,” he says, with a bright smile that shines through his red beard.
I cross the field, pretending that I don’t notice the troves of onlookers.
They hold coins above their heads, summoning those who are collecting the bets.
Lucent and Stigian alike banter back and forth, laughing at the ridiculous claims of the other side.
If my plan goes awry, I can rest assured that the spirit of gambling has brought the conflicting sides together.
Kyron and I stand on either side of Terro. The prince lowers his chin and gives me a crooked smile. I respond by squaring my shoulders and holding his gaze. He won’t charm or intimidate me. I’ve prepared for this moment.
“You know the rules,” Terro says, holding open the burlap sack of red dust for us to dip our sparring swords in.
“That there are no rules?” I say, coating the blade and taking a step back.
Terro’s eyes grow big, and he shakes his head. “There is a rule. The first one to strike a vital organ wins.”
Kyron and I nod, and Terro walks off the field.
“Are you sure your guard is all right with you doing this?” Kyron asks.
I turn and scan the sidelines. Zek stands with the Lucent officers, front and center, with his arms crossed over his broad chest, his blue eyes locked onto Kyron like he’s trying to burn a hole through him.
I can’t help but wonder if I complicated matters with my carelessness last night, or if he’s just watching out for me.
“Even if he’s not, he’s about to get a lesson in how well I can defend myself against you,” I say, brushing off everything going on around us.
Kyron cocks a brow and lifts his sword in front of him. “I’m positive that you thought you could beat me before, and I believe I won that match.”
“Why does everyone feel compelled to remind me of that? Trust me, you won’t win this one.”
I copy his stance and flecks of crimson catch the wind and spiral around us. The dust complements his all-black attire and ebony hair fluttering in the breeze. If we weren’t about to partake in a mock battle to the death, I might find the scene lovely.
Every slight movement Kyron makes is a testament to his command and strength, and I was captivated by them from the beginning.
I wanted to wield that kind of power, to be a leader that others respected.
I spent months training and honing my abilities to make me more like him, to make me capable of taking him down.
I never doubted that we would one day stand face to face with weapons in hand, ready to plunge our blades into each other’s hearts… in our own hearts.
My gaze sweeps over the outer edges of the sparring ring.
One might look upon the bodies wearing black leather, metal, and armor and struggle to find the difference.
But each man and woman here recognizes the traits that set them apart.
They can’t ignore the dark eyes filled with power lust and an army that values Khiros and Cyffreds alike.
The fear for the other side’s normal creates a chasm that feels too wide to bridge with trust.
It’s my duty to show all present that our differences have no place here.
We are one people sharing one land in jeopardy.
I must take the first step over the abyss dug by decades of mistrust and singlehandedly build an overpass that will allow everyone here to meet in the middle.
But to do that I have to let go of the resentment I hold toward Kyron.
Today, I will leave months of anger and hurt on this sparring field and offer the Stigian prince my unbridled trust. In turn, I hope my people and his do the same.
“Are you ready?” Kyron asks.
“Yes.”
I spring forward and jab, aiming for his heart.
Kyron blocks my advance and chuckles. “I see you no longer wait for an invitation.”
“I learned that lesson the hard way, thank you very much.”
Our wooden swords clap together, joining the cheers of our people. I shove on my hilt and push away from him. Holding his gaze, I take slow, steady steps and circle around him. He remains in place and turns with me, the tip of his sword pointing in my direction.