Sword of Hearts

Chapter 1

My name is Cicly Rose Anderson. I'm a trained swordswoman, so if you ever meet me, don't get on my bad side. Namely like the boy whom I'm dueling right now.

His lips curled in his trademark smirk against his tanned face and I snarled. The crowd roared in our ears and screeched profanities at me. Chet was their favorite. I was always the loser. Specifically, only three out of five duels I lost, but he was better. And no one likes a loser.

He lunged forward, whipping his rapier next to my face and I rolled to the side. He bounced back on his heels, something I'd grown used to in the past seven years. He never went on offense unless it was dire, or he thought I let my guard down.

I never let my guard down.

"Attack already, coward!" I shouted at him. The crowd forced me to yell. Dust clogged my nose and throat and I coughed haggardly.

He laughed at me. "After seven years, Cicly, I would think you would've built up a tolerance to the dirt. Especially since you live in it."

My anger burned hotly and my lips curled. "How nice of you to concern yourself with my private life," I said sarcastically. He leapt forward again and I parried his blow. I aimed high for his face, to stab his icy green eyes out, but was forced to duck as he aimed for me again.

I hissed through my teeth when the tip of sword flayed open the skin under my jaw. My hand flew up and tried stifling the blood flow.

He twirled his sword at me mockingly. "It is my pleasure." He turned and bowed to the roaring crowd, keeping his sword pointed towards me.

I almost snapped at him again, but I stormed off the dusty dueling ring into my private tent. Immediately I was met with nurses and reporters.

"Oh, get your hand off it!" one of them shouted at me and forced my bloody hand into my lap. Another one washed my neck and my hand while another stitched up my neck. I winced when the needle entered my skin. I hated that.

"-Cicly, what do you think of Chet?-"

"-What could you've done differently to win?-"

"-What was the statistic of you losing again?-"

"-Are you in love with him? Is that why you never win?-"

My brow furrowed. If there was some way to keep reporters out of my personal—personal—tent, I'd become a much nicer person. Except to Chet.

I almost barked at them—I might've started slashing my sword at them actually—but one of my closest friends came to my rescue.

"EVERYBODY CLEAR OUT!" Sara cried. She was as small as a mouse, but she had some lungs and a big mouth. When the reporters were gone and the curtains were closed, she approached with me a winner's smile.

She made a face at my neck as the nurse tied the strings. I tried not to laugh at the repulsed look on her face. When the nurses were gone, she sighed and leaned against the counter.

"You know, I really hate you."

I sighed and rolled my eyes. I leaned back in my chair. "I know."

"I don't know how you can do this to yourself," she said. Her bright red hair was crimson in the dim lighting.

My hands curled into fists. "I hate his guts, Sara. Ever since he made fun of my dead mother—"

"Okay, okay, I said that wrong. I know how and why, but couldn't you punch him on the streets or something?"

I balked at her. "Yeah, let's fistfight the richest boy in all of Selphyee, just for the hell of it. Who cares about criminal justice? No, Sara, this is the only legal way I can kick him in his pants."