Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
“ Y ou can stop pretending to be so formal now.”
Brynne’s words ring through the hall, and bounce right off my tense shoulders. The wooden door slams into the wall as I push my way through it. I step outside the castle and immediately flinch at the bite of the cold on my sweat-soaked clothes.
The mist and fog that covers our kingdom every day hangs in the air and immediately dampens my hair. I can see my breath as I huff my way toward the practice weapons. I just want to get back to the ring and work off this energy. I need to do something, feel something other than anger coursing through my veins.
“I’m not being fucking formal,” I call out, refusing to look back at her.
“That’s better.” She is just behind me now, her longer steps have caught up easily to my short ones.
“I just want to get back to the training from before we were so uselessly interrupted.” I stalk over to the rack of weapons and reach for a sword. It isn’t one of my strongest weapons, which is why I need to practice it more often. I am much more comfortable with a bow, but Brynne constantly reminds me a bow is useless if someone attacks at close range.
“Not so fast.” Brynne grabs my arm and turns me back to her. She reaches behind and pulls a dagger from her belt, extending it out to me. I grasp the hilt and pull it from the sheath, flipping the handle to get a feel for the weight. The blade is dull, just like the practice swords I am accustomed to sparring with, but I’ve never used a weapon this small before. It feels too light and awkward in my hands.
I groan. “Not today, Brynne, please? Can’t we just start those lessons tomorrow?”
“No.” She releases an impatient sigh and pulls out a dagger of her own. “We’re running out of time. I gave the king my word that I was going to work on these skills, and I’m not going back on it. We only have a few weeks until the ceremony.”
“Fine,” I grumble. I wrap my fingers around the hilt, pointing the blade down at the ground. I am ready to move into my stance when I feel the slap of metal sting across the top of my hand.
I hiss and snatch my hand back to my body as the dagger I drop hits the hard dirt at my feet. “What the fuck was that for?” My scowl is met by a smirk as she re-sheathes her sword.
“To show you without telling you that you were holding it wrong, and how easily you can be harmed if you don’t hone your skills.”
I rub the back of my hand and bend to retrieve the dagger. “Fine. Show me.”
Brynne proceeds with her lesson, explaining the grip and positioning, and walking me through a few movements that are so vastly different from the loud and exaggerated ones I use with long swords.
“Dagger fights are more intimate than those with a sword.” She takes a step toward me and feigns swiping across my body. “You’ll be much closer to your attacker in order to strike them, and sometimes the dagger is all you have when they still have a sword. It makes it more difficult for you to strike a blow, and you have to put yourself at risk to make the strike count.”
“Why wouldn’t I just carry a sword, then? Isn’t the whole point of this to protect me from anyone who wants to hurt me, not put me closer to getting hurt when I try to fight them?”
Brynne smirks. “Because when they take your sword,” she says as she reaches behind her and pulls a dagger from a hidden sheath in her waistband, “they won’t know you’re still armed. You’ll have the element of surprise. At least for a few seconds.” She proceeds to pull out two more daggers hidden in her armor that, despite training together for all these years, I never knew she carried.
“Alright, I get it. Let’s practice then.”
We weave through clusters of guards standing around and waiting for their turn in a ring. They are used to seeing their princess out amongst the ranks, and while some acknowledge me with a quick bow and a mumbled greeting, others don’t react. Our presence amongst them is too normal.
The clang of metal on metal rings through the air, followed by grunts and loud thuds as we make our way to a far ring where a bout is just ending.
“We’re next,” Brynne calls out as she swings her body under the wooden beams of the fence surrounding the pit.
The victor from the last round nods at her as he reaches down and pulls the other to his feet. They both mutter a quick greeting to us before exiting the ring and standing just outside it with the rest of the group.
While I am used to training with Brynne in the middle of large groups of guards, I don’t love it, especially on days I’m already worked up from talking to my father.
“Just ignore them,” Brynne directs as we step into the center, facing each other.
Far too many times, Brynne has had to scold other guards for leering and watching us fight. They claim they are supporting their princess, but I think they just like to watch Brynne kick my ass. Most of the time, they are respectful, but every so often, one asshole wants to pick a fight.
I try to push everything out of my mind as I take the stance Brynne showed me a few minutes ago. Brynne looks much more relaxed than I feel as she stands waiting for me to strike.
I step to the right and Brynne follows. We slowly circle each other as I wait for the right moment to make my move.
“Get on with it already.” A gruff voice breaks through the clatter of the fighting from the other rings, followed by a few snickers. I watch Brynne’s eyes harden as she glares past me to the guards.
I find my opportunity.
Charging forward, I close the space between us and slash at her. Her gaze refocuses on me as soon as I take my first step, and she blocks the movement with her blade. Her feet move quickly as she strikes at me in response. I try to block her jab, but my feet tangle under me and I fall backward on my ass.
“Fuck.” I can feel the moisture from the damp ground seeping into my pants.
That is going to hurt tomorrow.
I push myself to stand, ignoring Brynne’s outstretched hand. She says nothing, just readies herself again. This time she makes the first move, charging at me swiftly. I sidestep and dodge, swirling around and swiping at her side. She blocks the blow and pushes at my extended arm, knocking me off balance. I stumble forward but quickly right myself, just before I hear the snickering of the guards behind me again.
Anger rises inside me, breaking down the walls I construct to block out my feelings, especially after today’s meeting. The walls are crumbling now, and I feel that anger boil up and over into my limbs. I can’t control my movements, I just strike out wildly at Brynne.
No control, only emotion.
She blocks my advances easily, knocking my slices out of the way. I keep charging at her, missing my strikes, all the while she remains cool and collected.
I grit my teeth and put everything I have into this blow. I want this fight to be over. I want the guards to stop mocking me. I want my father to trust me. I want the life that I had been waiting for, the one I thought was coming once I reached this final milestone.
Instead, with just a few words, my father dashed every fantasy I ever had about what life would be once I was of age to rule.
All the emotions reach the surface. The anger, hurt, embarrassment. I channel them into this strike. I spin my body, gripping the hilt of the dagger with both hands, visualizing the blow just as Brynne taught me.
My muscles pull tight as I whip the dagger around toward her. I let out a cry, like the emotions I am holding on to can’t stay in any longer as I slice through the air toward Brynne’s protective armor.
My battle cry is cut short, and I am suddenly flying through the air, my momentum from the spin carrying me and slamming my body into the ground. I taste the musk of the earthy soil and feel the grit crunch between my teeth as my face hits the floor.
Gasping for the air knocked out of me, I quickly spin onto my back. I know never to give my back to an opponent, even if it is just sparring practice. I find Brynne standing over me, the dull point of her sword held over the pulse in my neck.
“Yield?”
I give a curt nod and before I have even finished, she bends down over me, pulling me off the ground and toward her. She wraps her sword arm around my back and pulls me close.
“Don’t let them see you cry,” she whispers quickly, her mouth close to my ear to ensure I am the only one who can hear.
It is then that I feel the hot tears running down my face. I don’t know what emotion these tears are from, but I know she is right. My soldiers can’t see their future leader crying when she gets knocked down. They don’t know everything else that is behind them .
I tuck in my chin as I step away from her and spit on the ground. I swat at my face, hoping to look like I am brushing off dirt angrily, not brushing off tears before anyone sees.
“Nice move.” I spit again, still trying to rid my mouth of the grit.
“It would have worked if you weren’t so in your head. What have I told you?”
I roll my eyes. She tells me never to fight with my emotions, but I can’t help it today. There is just too much going on, and I couldn’t keep it out of the ring.
To be honest, I don’t really agree with Brynne. As the future queen, if I ever find myself in a fight, I can’t imagine emotions not being part of it. Otherwise, I have been taught to find a diplomatic solution and avoid stabbing people with swords.
“I’ll try not to let it happen again. Today wasn’t the day.”
“Well, if I have to keep knocking you on your ass to get that lesson through, so be it.”
I narrow my eyes at her, a face that she returns, and I know she will hold to that promise.
“We’re done,” Brynne calls out. “Next spar up. The ring is yours.”
The clang of armor sounds through the air as the next guards climb over the wooden barricades into the ring. Before we make it to the other side, a voice from behind catches my attention.
“Piss poor excuse for a future queen, if you ask me. Like I’ve said for years, the king should have found himself a new woman and made a new heir. At least then we’d have a chance at another king.”
I feel the sharp stab of his words in my chest as I fall deeper into my feelings of inadequacy, but it isn’t me he has to worry about. I turn and reach out to grab hold of Brynne to keep her from making a scene, but I am not fast enough.
With her long strides, she is already halfway across the ring. The surrounding conversations grow quiet as the focus of the guards shifts once again to the spectacle that is about to take place .
Brynne is tall and her height gives her the same advantage as most of the men that make up the guards. But her stature and strength aren’t the only reasons she has authority. Her position as Second Guard protecting the princess is the highest of them all, below only First Guard, who protects the King.
But there is no First Guard. There hasn’t been one for as long as I can remember. My father chose never to fill the position, leaving Brynne the highest-ranking guard in the castle. No one knows why the king refuses to choose a First Guard, but it doesn’t stop everyone, including Brynne, from coveting the position.
She reaches the man who I assume made the comment, and if I have to guess, was the source of the snickers from earlier. The guards around him take half a step back, leaving him alone at the edge of the ring to receive the wrath of their commanding officer. They are smart. I’ve seen what Brynne does to guards who step out of line, and I wouldn’t want to be associated with that either.
“What did you just say?” Brynne growls at him.
The smug look on his face doesn’t waver as he stares her down with a hardened gaze. He remains silent.
“I’m going to give you one more chance to answer, soldier, and you will not be happy with the result if you don’t. I said—” She reaches out over the wooden beam, grabbing him by the collar and yanks him forward. He flips over it, landing flat on his back. Pained wheezes break through the air as he gasps for breath.
“What. Did you. Say.”
He stares up at her from the ground, flat on his back. His lips seal shut as he stays focused on her, but refuses to speak.
She nods a few times in thought.
“Clearly, you have thoughts about the king and your future queen. I’d say they are borderline traitorous. Do you agree?” She looks around at the guards who stood with the man. All of them remain silent, but continue to watch .
“I think you may be a bit too comfortable here at the castle, and maybe it is time to relocate. A good stint out at the border should do you well. You leave tomorrow.”
Despite my position, and despite the years I’ve spent training alongside the guards, there are still some I need to win over. Most of them treat me with respect inside the castle, and like I am part of their group while we are training, but every so often we run into someone like this man who has a different opinion. Brynne always takes care of them, and I never see them again.
The man glares up at Brynne and rolls over onto his stomach, but Brynne doesn’t let him get far.
“Stop. First, you kneel before your future queen and swear loyalty to the kingdom.”
The guard looks up at me and scowls. I don’t let him see how his words hurt me, and scowl right back. He holds my stare, refusing to back down, but so do I. Brynne towers over him, arms crossed with a look I have seen a million times before. Pure authority.
The man finally pushes up off the ground and stands. He takes a slow, measured step, then another, closing the gap between us. I feel the urge to reach for a weapon before I remember the ones I have are dull. They would not even make him bleed.
He stops and drops to a knee directly in front of me. A ringing echoes as he pulls his sword from the scabbard at his side. He plants the tip of the blade into the ground in front of him and places both hands on the hilt.
“I pledge my service to the kingdom of Blackwood and give my sword to protect the royal family. I swear my loyalty to the king, Remington Holt, and his heir, Princess Lennox. Long live the king. Long live the princess.”
His head is bowed, his eyes downcast as he recites the same pledge I’ve heard countless times from ceremonies past.
It’s my part that comes next. “Blackwood honors your service and loyalty. You may rise. ”
Before he can stand on his own, Brynne grabs his shoulders and hauls him off the ground, pushing him toward the fence.
“Get back to work.” Brynne strides back toward me, the air of authority seeping from her as she walks. It was the same walk she had the first time I saw her.
Years ago, when I reached an age where I was no longer a child and could move freely about the castle, my father held a tournament. The winner would be granted the position of Second Guard, the personal guard to the princess. It was intended to be filled by a guard already within our ranks, however, most of them wanted the coveted First Guard position my father refused to fill.
Brynne walked into the castle that day, wearing her own set of armor and claiming no kingdom. She was the only woman who signed up for the tournament and was immediately underestimated. She looked as if she was barely a few years older than me, clearly unable to hold her own against the well-trained soldiers of Blackwood. I was the one who didn’t underestimate her. She walked with confidence, and I knew she would fight for the position and fight to protect me.
It inspired me seeing someone so close to my age fight as if she were one of the men, having more experience than they anticipated. I rooted for her silently, because it wasn’t proper for the princess to choose sides. She was everything I wasn’t: strong, confident, aggressive. She didn’t cower at anyone and demanded respect as one of their peers. I wanted to be her, or to at least be around her so that maybe she would rub off on my meticulously controlled and lonely life.
I didn’t realize as I placed the Second Guard sword in her hands and congratulated her on winning the tournament that she would grow to become one of my only friends. After that day, Brynne never had to deal with being underestimated by our guards again.
“Your highness.” She gestures for me to walk ahead of her, indicating the end of our lesson for the day.
I am glad. We had been out here prior to being summoned by my father. My body is exhausted, but my mind is still reeling.
I walk to the edge of the ring and swing my leg over the bottom rung of the fence, dipping under and exiting so the next match can start. The murmur from the guards has stopped, and the normal ruckus and banter of the men in service has started again, with Brynne and me no longer the center of attention.
I drop my practice dagger and sword into the rack with a clang as Brynne does the same.
“I think I’m going to stay and shoot for a little while.” I grab my favorite bow and a full quiver from the rack and slip the strap over my shoulder.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
She nods and looks up at the darkening overcast sky. “You have a little daylight left. I’ll come back and check on you if you’re still here by the time I complete my rounds.”
I nod, and walk to the shooting lanes that are slowly emptying as the guards make their way to the barracks. I stride toward the farthest lane, not wanting to be bothered. I just needed to be alone with my thoughts and focus on something other than the anger at my father.
Reaching over my shoulder, I pull an arrow from the quiver and nock it quickly before pulling back the string. I feel the tension of the tight bow on my shoulders and move my front arm to line up with the target. My fingers brush my cheek as I narrow my eyes and focus. Inhaling slowly, I focus on nothing but my breath and the target. I let out the breath, releasing the arrow right at the end, and watch it slam into the target.
I completely missed the circles, striking the hay bale in the bottom corner.
“Shit.” I curse at myself under my breath.
Shooting has always been a place of solace, where I can focus and completely drown out the world around me. Usually, I can still hit the target, even if I am riled up from an interaction with my father .
I’m really in my head this time. How can I not be? Everything I have been waiting for is in question. The aching loneliness I thought had a fast approaching end date is now in question. The doubt my father’s words cast is making my fingers tingle.
I squeeze the bow tighter, willing the sensation away and nock another arrow. I pull it back as far as I can, my shoulders screaming in protest as I focus on the target. I release the arrow, and this time the loud thunk gives me a deep satisfaction knowing my arrow has struck true. Gazing down the lane to confirm, I see it, right in the center, right where I expected it.
If I cannot rely on my father to fulfill his responsibility as king to present me and prepare me to be his heir, at least I can still rely on myself.
This arrow proves it.
Despite the pressure and doubt, I can still accomplish what I set my mind to. I can still be who I want to be and do what a queen should do, no matter how much he refuses to believe in me.