The prince walked to his horse and retrieved a large sword, a weapon that, from the looks of it, few people would be able to lift. It appeared extremely heavy, and standing up straight, would reach the prince’s hip.
He twirled the weapon over his head as if it were a toothpick, the blade slicing through the air and making whistling sounds as it sliced into an imaginary foe. The large muscles in the prince’s torso flexed as he started a new dance, this time with a partner, one that I didn’t doubt was his favorite. Within minutes, his large muscles were slick with sweat.
“My oh my.” Cylea sat up straighter, admiring him.
“You know well he’s not on the menu,” Silver pointed out.
“That doesn’t mean I can’t admire the banquet.”
Arabis slapped her arm. “Have some respect for your future king.”
“You suck the fun out of everything.” Cylea batted a hand in her direction.
Kryn’s sharp green eyes were glued on the prince. After an intent moment, they flicked toward Arabis. She ignored him. Spitting the blade of grass, he rose to his feet. Methodically, he removed his tunic and discarded it at the base of the tree. His pale torso was long and lean, with well-defined muscles in all the right places.
“Not this again,” Jeondar complained.
Kryn ignored him and, after retrieving his sword from a scabbard cinched to his saddle, he walked toward the prince, swirling the sword in a one-hand maneuver that seemed to defy all laws of physics. When the prince noticed him coming, he turned to face him, his weapon held at the ready and a wicked smile stretching his lips.
“One of these days, he’s going to get himself killed,” Jeondar said.
“It might be today.” Silver stood and reclined against a tree to watch as if we were at the theater.
Arabis abandoned her food and moved closer. Her expression was pinched, betraying her concern.
Metal sang against metal as their swords met. It all seemed to start like a graceful exercise where each got a chance to attack while the other one defended. Next to Kryn’s seven-foot height, the prince should have looked small, but it was the opposite. Kryn was muscled but in a leaner way, while the prince had more bulk, sporting the anatomy of a super athlete. And at six-three, he was no dwarf.
Gradually, their sparring grew more intense and soon started looking like a real battle. The prince’s blows were vicious, and it seemed like a miracle when Kryn blocked them and his sword didn’t split in two.
Looking worried, Arabis moved even closer to the scuffle, her brow etched with a deep frown and her blue eyes fixed on the males.
“I think that’s enough,” she pronounced when the prince sliced his sword close to Kryn’s face, barely missing his nose.
The males didn’t listen and continued slicing and stabbing. The prince growled, doing his best to cut his opponent right down the middle. Kryn blocked the blow just in time while the prince bore his entire weight on the sword, his face twisted in rage. My heart skipped a beat when I thought I saw the prince’s eyes turn entirely black, but it happened so fast that I decided I must’ve imagined it.
Kryn pushed away, panting. The prince was on him again before Kryn could recover, knocking him off his feet with a swipe of his powerful leg. Kryn landed on his back with a heavythud, and the prince slammed a foot on the fallen male’s chest. He raised his sword, evil intent in his eyes.
“Let him go, Kalyll,” Arabis commanded in a deep and firm tone that didn’t seem to belong in such a tiny frame.
The prince ignored her, and instead, pointed the tip of his weapon at Kryn’s neck and stabbed.
I gasped, jumping to my feet.
Arabis’s voice boomed like a thunderclap. The air around her wavered, and the ground shook, pebbles bouncing on its surface like tiny balls. The trajectory of her projected shout was almost visible and seemed to hit the prince in the back of his head.
The prince froze, and for an instant, so did everyone else.
“Did he…?” Cylea couldn’t finish her question.
Kryn was immobile, and from our angle, there was no way of knowing if the prince’s sword had wounded him.
Arabis was the first to move, taking a halting step forward. Her clenched fists trembled at her sides.
“Kalyll,” she said quietly, her sweet voice barely a whisper, nothing compared to the violent scream she’d let rip from her throat just seconds ago.
The prince took a step back, pushing off Kryn’s chest. He twirled his sword—its tip bloodied—and casually walked away, leaving his opponent on the ground.
Arabis rushed to Kryn, falling to her knees by his side.