I was not known for being a fool, but I felt like one. Father had said as much, and quite loudly too. Markun Grast, the son and heir to Lord Grast had called for a duel once again. At this point it seemed a vain tradition, one that made no sense. Frankly, I was just as tired of it as my father was. Shortly after receiving the invitation to duel, he had told me to reject it and chastised me for playing along when I was given opposing advice from the Priest. I had to obey my father, and with how uncomfortable our relationship was, it hurt to obey. But I knew that the Priest could claim higher authority in the situation, and refusing would label me as a coward despite the sheer number of times I had won against Markun.

  So I compromised.

  I accepted under the terms that he could no longer challenge me if I won again.

  Now the duel was on, and as I walked out of the castle with my gear and the usual cast of guards, I could hear my father swear behind me from atop the stairs with venom in his voice.

  “Strenting foolishness.”

  My heart clenched painfully at his words, but I had decided what would be best for my future position as king. I had to go through with it against my father’s wishes.

  He wouldn’t be attending the match, which was a clear reflection of how he felt about my decision to accept, and I knew the whole court would be aware of it. Instead, my mother had taken his place in regulating the match.

  In the arena, the Grast’s were waiting. The Lady Grast could be seen in the stands with the court, but Lord Grast was with his son near the center of the arena. Besides Markun, a servant held the Lordling’s sword gingerly in front of him as if it would bite his fingers if placed wrong. When I drew closer, Lord Grast bowed toward me as usual, his thick cloak drawn against his chest with one hand to ward off the cold.

  “Greetings, Prince Topi.”

  “Lord Grast.” I acknowledged, allowing him to stand again. “Things are prepared then?”

  “But of course.” Grast responded shortly, waving a hand to my servant, who was perfectly capable of obeying me in my orders, but I begrudgingly allowed it.

  “Let’s get on with it then.” I sighed, as I reached for my own sword and slung off my own cloak as the dueling code required. The cold air was definitely invigorating and as the wind nipped my face and exposed hands, I couldn’t help but wish the lordling had given up on these duels long ago.

  The Lord Grast stepped out of the arena and left us standing with our swords, stances ready as hundreds of nobles watched us from the stands. It surprised me how many people had attended this one, especially since this had become a near weekly occurrence for a month now. Duels were a rare occurrence normally, true, but the outcome was near certain, and my opponent barely improved despite it.

  Foolishness, as father had said.

  Despite my confidence, a lot was riding on me winning this duel. A duel was formal and clear rules were set each time, usually with something big to lose from each team. In our case, whoever lost would be forbidden from receiving the Sun God’s power this year with the rest of the youth coming of age. I hadto win or risk losing something vital to my ascension to the throne. A whole year would be lost to me despite all my progress.

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  If I won, I also would be able to avoid future conflicts with Markun or the Grast family entirely.

  Though I was nervous with the prospect of failure, I knew I couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. I cleared my thoughts and took a deep breath. Now was the time to focus.

  The lordling braced his stance, standing opposite me. Beads of sweat had already formed on Markun’s face, and his stance seemed uncertain. His gaze flickered between my face and Lord Grast’s as the Queen began her introduction to the fight, explaining the rules and whatnot. Finally we heard the cue we’d been waiting for.

  “Let the match begin!” She announced loudly.

  Unlike our previous fight, Markun didn’t charge as soon as the duel began. Instead, he patiently circled and waited for me to make the first move. So I obliged, darting forward and feinting to his right. As Markun blocked, I stepped around him and attacked the other side with a fierce swing.

  Markun wasn’t a fool, despite what the number of times I had won would seem to indicate. So, as I had expected, he was able to block my hit in time, catching my swing with his sword at an angle and pushing me off with a grunt. I used his momentum to draw him closer and kicked him to the side. My breath nearly mirrored his own as he cried out and panted heavily.

  “Point one goes to Prince Topi!”

  I waited for him to stand and then angled my sword in his direction again, my breathing short, and movements riding on the high of energy in my body. As he charged at me hoping to get a fast hit, I sidestepped him and leaned backwards. He didn’t fall for a momentum trick again, and my sidestep didn’t throw him off like I had hoped. Instead he slowed down, watching me warily as he panted.

  I simply waited. He would grow winded, and with that kick I gave him- his heavy panting would draw the cold air into his lungs in a far more effective way to tire him

  Unfortunately he knew that too, and that as long as I wasn’t attacking, he knew that he would have time to catch his breath, which he took advantage of. I couldn’t have that.

  So I lunged, aiming for his midsection. He blocked late, my sword coming very close to his midsection. Sloppy.

  I drew back and attacked him on both sides at a rapid pace, focusing on speed and not the strength of the hits. He slipped up, and I managed to hit him, slicing through his cloak and into his arm.

  When he made an angry cry, I knew I had won. I pulled back, giving him space.

  “The match goes to Prince Topi!” The Queen announced to the crowd from her seat.

  Polite clapping spouted from the crowd as a few servants and Lord Grast made their way to Markun, who remained mostly silent despite the pain. Guilt pricked at my thoughts when I saw his expression; one of misery and anger. But his anger wasn’t directed at me, I realized, when the face he looked at next was his father’s. My view was blocked as my servant stepped between us in order to help me with my cloak.

  “Excellent match sir.” He commented, flinging it around me and taking my sword.

  “Thank you.” I responded absentmindedly as I drew the hood to shelter my face. I waved him off and stepped around him to talk to Markun. But as I do, his mother reached him and let out a small mournful noise. She lovingly stroked his face and brushed aside a servant to help him make his way out of the arena. Whatever words I was going to say got stuck in my throat, which suddenly felt painfully dry.

  I turned around and walked through the archway toward my carriage. Whatever I heard the servant mutter next never registered with me, and I wrenched open the door, sitting down quickly. When the servant closed the door, I took a moment to close the curtains before leaning forward with an arm on my knees. My breathing hitched in my throat like before and I ran a hand through my hair.

  I won. . .

  Good.

  . . .