When we had finished eating, it was a silent breakfast as always. My father sipped a little of his morning wine before looking at my brother and sister, and then to me, before speaking.
"Starting today, you will start learning to use a sword, boy. Your brother has already been learning since he was ten, and yet you have picked up a blade only once. I pay my knights good money to keep order of my lands and train your brother as is. So I hired a mercenary instead to teach you."
My father spoke plainly, as if I would have no choice. The truth was he was right. What would I do if a member from another Solrein family challenged me to an honor duel? I had only tried a sword once, when I was twelve.
It was a strange feeling. I enjoyed it a little until I realized that while it was easy to swing, it was harder to block when the blade was suddenly pushed toward you with varying strong forces. I broke my wrist that day. I never tried again.
"I... of course, my Praetor. But certainly a house guard, at the very least, could teach me?" I said, biting back my tongue.
"Nonsense, boy. I have already hired the man. And besides, I need someone with real experience in battle to teach you, at the very least. Most of these guards have not been in a real battle in nearly twenty or thirty years. The mercenary will train you."
My father set down his empty wine glass. My eyes drifted to the ceiling in a silent mind's prayer to any higher power to save me from this, even if it was needed.
"I understand completely, my Praetor. At which time does this person expect me, then, if I may ask?"
I was fully aware of my brother eyeing me, and my sister the same. Clearly, both were unsure if they could leave or not. After all, our father often dismissed us or simply left after each meal. Stay too long and he would think they were nosy. Get up too early and they would get a talking to.
"They will be expecting you at 1300. Do not be late. They might be hired by me, but that does not stop them from leaving if you do not show up."
My father stood, his chair sliding backward across the black-and-white marble floor of the dining hall. Light from the large open windows framed his six-foot, seven-inch height. His curly black hair, like mine but longer, reached his shoulders, while mine was lazily pushed back behind my ears.
Our ruby-red eyes met before he turned, leaving. His heavy black-and-red metallic greatcoat swung at his knees as he moved.
"Breakfast is over. You are all dismissed."
With that, he walked out. My brother and sister finally relaxed and began to stand. I followed along, not even noticing out of habit as servants grabbed the dishware and utensils, wiping the table clean and sliding chairs back in without a single word to any of us.
"Blake, I think Father has finally gone mad. You? A sword?" My brother said. "Sorry, but we all know you are not a fighter."
Rayland Justinian Margrave stood nearly a full head taller than me, waving his arms as he looked me over from head, to toe.
"I must say I agree with Rayland," my sister said, cutting in before I could speak. "Blake, you are simply not a fighter. An artist, sure. A writer, yes. That has always been what you are best at. But not a fighter."
"Juliana, please stay out of this. Same with you, Rayland," I said. "You both know I was not given a choice."
"One of Father's knights would be willing to lie if I was late or if I was progressing slowly. But a mercenary would ask for more pay if I made them wait even a second. And if I do not improve, that just means they stay longer, which means Father knows I have not improved."
I came to a full stop and looked them both over. They looked so different from me that it made one question if we were even related.
"Well... yes, when you say it like that, sure," Rayland said. "But listen, they will be worse than the knights, at least. So just focus on learning how to win against them quickly so they can leave, and you can pretend you never had your behind handed to you by a dumb mercenary."
"That is the problem, Rayland," I said. "I will be losing to a mercenary. Losing to a family knight would be expected. But a mercenary is most likely just a normal person who fights dirty and never went through intense knight training."
I walked toward the large black doors, their gold handles offering a semblance of escape. I was wrong. They followed me out of the dining hall and toward the stairs leading to the second floor and my bedroom, where they would never normally follow.
"Listen, Blake, I get it. It is not exactly fun," Rayland said. "So at least let me give you some pointers."
"Oh yes," I snapped. "Like the time you said you would help me avoid the politics of the party we hosted two years ago?"
"You remember what happened? I somehow managed to anger two daughters of a highborn Solrein senator."
My voice rose more than I meant to. They both froze. Two years ago, I had offended the daughters of Senator Callagan Bloodmine. While my father outranked him as a Praetor, Senators remembered things.
A Praetor was elected once every one hundred years per sector. For every Praetor, there were twelve Senators. Senators ruled one world or moon. A Praetor ruled whatever he gained through battle or contract. When Solrein lived for centuries, grudges could wait five hundred years.
"Blake, we both know Rayland was drunk that night," my sister said. "And maybe if you were better at talking to girls, you would not have gotten into such trouble."
"Blake, just listen," Rayland said, stepping in front of me. "Keep your feet from getting too close together. Keep the sword up at all times. Move one foot with each swing unless you both come to a standstill."
They walked away. Juliana's diamond-blue eyes met my ruby-red ones for half a second before she turned and followed Rayland down the granite halls. When I reached my bedroom, I closed and locked the door.
I sat and opened my journal.
Date: 01/22/7500
Author: Blake Justinian Margrave
This is my second entry today. My father has shocked not only me, but also my brother Rayland and my sister Juliana. Today at 1300, I am expected to meet a mercenary for sword training.
I have only used a sword once in my life. While I enjoyed holding it and the way it swung, I could not block. Losing to a mercenary will ruin my standing within this family far more than losing to a knight ever would. It is now 1200. I have one hour.
Date: 01/22/7500
Author: Blake Justinian Margrave
I closed the journal and turned to my closet. Moving boxes aside, I found a dulled practice sword leaning against the wall. Its handle was wrapped in black leather, engraved with a wolf.
Father had this made for me when I was a child. He hoped I would use it. I never did.
"Guess it is time to finally learn how to use you."
I smiled slightly as I grabbed the handle. It felt perfect. As if I was no longer just myself, but something more. An hour later, I stepped outside.
The dark blue ocean raged beside my family's mansion, built over the cliffs. The dining hall extended out over the water. Gray skies blocked the sun, and dark green hills rolled endlessly beyond.
I had changed into a black metallic greatcoat that reached my knees, matching pants, and a plain white long-sleeved shirt beneath. The gladius rested in my hand.
I was seventeen now. And as I finally saw the mercenary my father had hired, any thought of losing vanished. Because the embarrassment of being taught by them alone was already enough.