The sun wakes before I’ve even gone to sleep.
It peers down at me from behind the string of orange clouds smothering the horizon. It wasn’t until soft light scared away the shadows, and a warm breeze grazed my sweaty skin, that I realized my night was spent in the training ring.
I swing a sword at my side, repeating the same movements I have since stepping into this circle of packed dirt. The dull edge of my blade meets the chipped practice dummy opposite me with a thud. With a series of swift movements, I would have thoroughly disemboweled a figure not carved from wood.
“You need something more challenging to beat down on.”
I smile at the sound of Kitt’s voice as I yank my lodged sword free. “What, are you offering?”
I watch him step into the ring with a slight cough. “I could use the exercise. Plague knows I haven’t sparred with you in weeks.”
“Miss getting your ass kicked, do you?”
He catches the dull sword I toss at him. “Maybe I missed spending time with you, Brother. Even if it means getting my ass kicked.”
I begin treading a slow circle around the ring, Kitt following my lead with his weapon raised. “Don’t go getting all soft on me.” My grin is crooked. “I’d rather not feel bad about throwing you around.”
I catch the slash of his blade with my own.
He wears a wild smile as he pulls away and attempts a jab at my ribs. I dodge swiftly before swiping my blade toward him. Kitt ducks, leaving behind the swoosh of torn air when dull steel sweeps over his blond head. “It seems I’m not too out of practice after a—”
The pommel of my sword meets his unguarded stomach. His words turn into a cough, my smile into a laugh. “Spoke too soon, Kitty.”
He sucks in a shaky breath. “Well, that… certainly woke me up.”
Straightening, he advances on me with a speed I hadn’t expected. I’m pushed toward the edge of the ring as our blades clash against each other. This allows me a moment to evaluate my opponent, study the dark circles beneath Kitt’s eyes and the slight hollow in his cheeks. Even the force behind his blade feels weakened. “Are…” Scrutiny stalls my words. “Are you all right?”
Kitt pushes away. “Why do you ask?”
I shake my head, unsure what it is I’m sensing. His power coils beneath my skin and slips between my attempts to grab hold of it. “Something… feels different.”
“I’ve been a bit under the weather recently. It will pass, I’m sure. Now,” Kitt pants, “have you been out here all night?”
My laugh is huffed. He evades my lunge. “After all these years, that shouldn’t surprise you.”
His blade arcs through the air before slamming into mine. “I figured you were with Paedyn.”
My movements stutter long enough for him to land a solid smack of steel to my ribs. I grunt against the pain before knocking his sword aside. “I haven’t…” Now I’m panting. “I haven’t seen her since the cellar.”
Kitt manages a shrug among the swiping of our weapons. “I’m surprised.”
I block his blow and stare between the crossed blades at my brother’s chilled features. “And why would that surprise you?”
He pushes away. “You know why.”
“Enlighten me,” I challenge.
“Because you love her!” The rough admittance seems to startle even him. I stare at Kitt, chest heaving and sword hanging at my side. He clears his throat. “Perhaps more than anything.”
My heart pounds—a reminder that each beat belongs to her.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Kitty,” I deflect. “She is your bride.”
“And I am your brother,” he says quickly. “Always. No matter what.”
His tone suggests this is a question I’m meant to answer. This isn’t the first time Kitt has tiptoed around the subject that is our intertwined futures. He wishes to hear that his marriage to Paedyn won’t change anything between us. And for our sake, I will pretend that it hasn’t already.
“You and me.” My throat is dry. “Always.”
We share a warm smile before swords are clashing between us.
A familiar dance tugs at our feet. We slip into a graceful sort of chaos, one that has been practiced since childhood. This very ring of dirt beneath us has broken many a fall over the years. I’m reminded of the days I would beg Father to let Kitt train with me until, suddenly, I no longer needed to ask for permission. Two princelings grew into men here, yet we always return to that same string of practiced movements.
Kitt smiles slightly behind the flurry of steel, his gaze distant with reminiscence. We follow a pattern, a structure, a memorized sequence of steps. This vicious dance is one we created as boys—and it feels like tranquility.
Our movements are precise. Each swipe of the sword sure.
I jab my blade toward his chest and wince when the blow lands. Kitt groans at the prodding of a dull sword. He backs away, breaking the trance we once shared.
“You’re supposed to dodge that, Kitt,” I say sympathetically.
He rubs at what will soon be a blossoming bruise beneath his tunic. “Yeah, well, I forgot. That’s why I’m the king, and you’re my Enforcer. I’m not good at fighting my own battles.”
I chuckle. “Come on, you know these steps.” My palm pats his cheek gently. “Let’s run it again.”
“Plagues, do you ever sleep?”
I give him a skeptical look. “Do you?”
His smile is sad. “Fair enough, Enforcer.”
