The end of last night passed without incident. I kept my button despite Anne's persistence, and we ate cake until the servants began shepherding the guests off to their assigned rooms.
Now, Priam Ascelyn, my eldest brother, stood waiting for me at the edge of the stone arena. Those who stayed the night, close allies, distant relatives, political rivals pretending to be friendly, lined the platform. They had stayed for the duel.
My duel.
To be honest, I didn't want to do this. I wasn't excited, I wasn't nervous, I was simply tired of performing. This duel isn't meant for me to win. Edward has never put a sword in my hand, not even for practice. Priam and Minos have both been learning the Ascelyn sword art since they could walk.
I've been learning history, language, and literature. I don't mind that. But throwing me into a duel I'm supposed to lose? Not just lose, lose so badly it's memorable, would be humiliating if I didn't have an entire lifetime of combat to rely on.
Maybe Edward wants to see how I react under pressure. Maybe he's testing my instincts. Maybe he's gauging my natural "talent," whatever that means. If he's letting me step into the arena with Priam, he must trust that I won't disgrace the house. Or, he doesn't care.
Either way, it's annoying.
Priam was glowing, towering over most. He waved to the crowd, smiling like this was the greatest moment of his life. Representing the Ascelyn name clearly brought him joy.
That was annoying too.
He's older by ten years, the golden child of Ascelyn. Where I show aptitude with books, Priam excels at everything else. Swordsmanship, politics, charisma. He awakened his mana core at twelve with light attribute mana.
A prodigy in all things, and yet here he was, wooden sword in hand, happily offering himself to this farce.
"Grab a sword from the wall, young master."
Legion commander Andryr spoke, pointing me towards swords of various sizes.
He was a short, sturdy man; despite his small stature, he was dangerous, one of the few people I made an effort to avoid on the battlefield.
Not willing to acknowledge him more than necessary, I walked to the rack in silence, lifting one wooden blade after another, testing their weight, feeling the balance in my hand.
A wave of laughter rose from the crowd.
To them, it must have looked absurd, this small child scrutinizing practice swords like a veteran.
I couldn't exactly blame them.
Each sword felt wrong in my grip; none of them balanced for my size. The whole duel really was stacked against me. I let out a breath, taking up the last sword. Its weight was off, but better than the rest.
Every step I took back toward the arena, toward my so-called brother, tightened the irritation in my chest. His carefree smile only made it worse.
And then he waved at me a friendly, almost brotherly wave. Kind, given the circumstances.
I hated it. He cared for me, but not enough to shield me from this political theater, or perhaps he was too blind to see it for what it was.
Andryr stepped forward, his voice cutting across the arena.
"On this day, as is custom, sons of Ascelyn cross blades."
"First son of Ascelyn. Youngest son of Ascelyn.
Step forward."
I walked forward toward Priam. He looked at me, his eyes soft.
He didn't see me as a threat.
Andryr spoke once more.
"Before you cross blades, you bow to your lord."
Priam bowed in one practiced motion, his long white hair falling ahead of him.
Everyone's eyes fell on me, waiting for me to follow suit.
The nobles around Edward and Elara seemed more offended by my hesitation than my father was.
After what felt like forever, I finally lowered myself.
"Rise," Edward said. The word was formality, nothing more. In private, he never bothered with bows.
Priam rose from his bow in one motion. I straightened a heartbeat after.
Andry's boot scraped against the stone floor as he stepped between us, looking from Priam and then to me.
"Take your stances," he said
Priam shifted, his blade angled forward, posture near perfect.
I didn't need to see him strike to know; his stance already told me he was ahead of me in skill.
Following suit, I raised my sword, settling into the only stance I knew, born from combat rather than drills; it was unrefined, sloppy even.
My feet spread unevenly apart, most of my weight on my back foot, shoulders too high, chest facing forward.
Anyone who knew the sword would see the issue immediately. It wasn't the compact frame of a duelist; I'd given Priam a broader target than I should have.
"Brother, I've heard that after the duel, you will be able to take lessons. I'll make sure to teach you some things." Priam said, a genuine smile plastered on his face.
I nodded back, pretending the words didn't grate.
Priam laughed; it was a soft laugh, kind, annoying.
"You really don't talk much, do you?"
I wonder if he's considered that he just talks too much?
For some reason, I doubt it.
"Sons of Ascelyn, ready yourselves," Andryr said.
"At my command."
"Fight!"
I shifted all my weight onto my front foot in an instant, hurling myself forward with my blade leveled at his chest. My legs couldn't keep up with the intent behind the movement. Priam slipped aside easily, not even raising his sword to meet mine.
As he passed my line of attack, I let the momentum carry me. My back foot caught the stone, halting me just enough to pivot. I twisted hard, dragging the rest of my body through the turn, and brought the wooden blade around in a full arc, aimed straight at Priam.
He reacted instantly, his blade meeting mine. The impact jolted up my arm, snapping it backward as a sharp pain burst through my nerves.
I don't think I could take another hit like that.
It was only a parry, just a simple deflection, yet it still hurt like hell.
I forced my footing back under me, tightening both hands around the hilt before stepping in again. Each swing met the same effortless parry. With both arms bracing the impact, the shock spread more evenly, easier to bear, but each clash still chewed away at my arms.
He knows he could end this in an instant, yet he hasn't swung on me once; he's trying to keep the show going.
His flashy doges, smooth parrys, I'll force him to hit me.
I switch my grip on the hilt, stepping in close.
I swing again, harder this time, the hardest I've swung the blade yet.
When it connects, the shock blasts straight through my arm. Heat surges up my nerves like someone poured molten steel into my bones. A scream rips out of me before I can stop it.
Murmurs ripple through the gallery.
"This is too much. He's just a kid."
Priam hears it. I see the worry flicker across his face, the softening of his stance as he begins to pull back, ready to give me space.
That's the opening.
While he hesitates, I step in, close enough to feel the shift of his balance, and bring my foot down sharply against his knee.
Shocked gasps erupt from the crowd.
Holding the grip with both hands, I raised the sword above my head and brought it down in a wide arc toward Priam.
I didn't even see him move. One moment, I had a blade; the next, it was spinning through the air, clattering across the stone.
My hands hit the ground.
I knelt there, knuckles split and stinging.
That was it.
I lost.
Not a word from anyone; the arena was quiet.
Priam knelt before me, a hand outstretched.
"Lior, you fought well, much better than Minos did on his birthday."
He laughed; it was as sickening this time as it was last.
He hadn't finished me, Andryr hadn't called the duel.
Yet he knelt before me, a show of mercy in front of the nobles; he thinks he's doing me a favor.
But I can still win.
With every ounce of strength in my legs, I drove upward, my skull smashing into the bridge of his nose.
A sharp, violent crack snapped through the arena.