Royal Deceit

CHAPTER ONE: VARYEN

I laugh as the two blades clash against each other. It's all just a game after all.

Side stepping, I dodge and parry the next swing coming at me. Both blades shine brightly in the noontime sun and cold winds blowing in my face. Despite the sun being out, there's barely any heat, all the sweat coming solely from the action.

Attacks and counter attacks go back and forth. Leaping backwards, stepping left, thrusting forward. Swords clashing, sweat dripping and a smile creeping up my lips as I plan my next move.

Suddenly I feel my feet get swept out from under me.

I land on my side with a grunt onto a thin layer of snow, sword flying out my grip.

I look up at my opponent, a grin on his face and his hand out to me, instead of his blade.

"Really, Wynter?" I laugh, still taking his hand anyway. Wynter helps me to my feet, his white hair falling over his eyes.

"Ah, come on, you're just-" Wynter gets cut off.

"Not good enough," finishes a deep voice, one coming from my brother, Villard. King Villard.

We both turn to face my brother, any smiles falling from our faces, laughter dying out and Wynter bows his head. Villard stares me down, the same blue eyes we share looking as though they could conjure up a storm.

"Sparring isn't for fun," he says, sternly, "It's for  practise. Practise you so dearly need." He mutters the last bit loud enough for me to hear every syllable. 

Villard isn't wrong though, he rarely is, it is important that I have good swordsmanship, as a royal and an heir, assassinations attempts are expected. Though without care, the assassinations would not only be attempts, but become more.

Many say we look alike, Villard and I.  When we were younger, many had thought we were twins, though Villard was older by four years. We have the same dark hair that never seems to be straight nor curly, the same bright blue eyes all the ladies adore and the same fair skin from the lack of sunlight the Glaciers get.

Now our differences lie mostly in our height, style and of course, title. Villard is over six feet tall, while I just barely reach six feet. Villard's hair is cut the same length as Wynters, just long enough to fall over the eyes. And a stubble round his jaw, making him look older than he is.

Oh, and he's king.

"We can deal with your so-called 'swordsmanship', if you can even call it that, later. As for now, follow." Villard says, turning around.

Wynter and I follow behind at a distance where Villard can (hopefully) not hear us.

"For the record," Wynter whispers. "That was not what I was going to say." As if he needed to clarify that.

The three of us walk back into the palace from the courtyard, the cold air finally being left outside. But the halls are chilly, as they've always been. I've grown used to it, but still I find myself wishing to be by a fire, cocoa in hand.

Wynter walks beside me, his steps steady and even, his posture one of a guard. Which makes sense because he is one.

Wynter's been my personal guard- and best friend, since he was sixteen, and I fifteen.

When we first met, I thought he had been joking about his name. "There's no way your parents actually named you Wynter LeBlanc." I had said, trying to contain my laughter.

His name has a funny kind of irony to it.

Being born with white hair and pale skin, seeming much like snow, and in a land known for its cold winds and icy conditions only to be named Wynter. I'm almost sure his parents had laughed coming up with that.