The Sculpture And The Sculpted

Chapter 36

"Of course," Hannibal said, bowing lowly for Will. He knew that the motion would only cause that much more distance and distaste between them, but Will was correct. Hannibal had been in no place to interrupt such an altercation, even if it was the correct thing to do. He held no power here. He had no title, no land, just a station in the king's army. He was not above Will in any sense of the word and the weight of that reality had never been so heavy before. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. I will excuse myself for the evening. Call on me if you need me."

Hannibal straightened himself up from the bow, a frown on his face when he was met with a bubbling rage behind Will's stone cold features that were suddenly so much sharper than they had been minutes before.

Hannibal strode past Will without another word, sending an apologetic look towards the duke before he left the room. He could hear footsteps trailing behind him, though he didn't dare turn around to see who they belonged to. They didn't belong to Will, that much he was certain of.

His fingers struggled with the fabric around his neck, pulling it loose from the tight and choking grip it held. It had been so long since he had worn proper garb that he felt strangled in it. It was too tight, unable to breathe, too heavy. He needed out of it. Needed an escape.

He had made a mistake tonight, one he knew would be reprimanded and most likely in front of the other courtiers and subjects so that Will could make his point. It was what any ruler would do, should do. Hannibal knew he had over stepped, knew it wasn't his place to speak, but he had been wronged too in this situation. He had been part of it as well, and if the duke's hand was anything to go off of, they had all become victims in the acts that they had danced through. Hannibal deserved just as much say in the matter as Will did. He believed he held the same level of anger towards the duke that Will did. The only difference was their placement on the food chain.

For now, the energy drumming through him was loud and demanding and before he knew it, his feet were taking him outside and into the night, towards the barracks where whoever was left of his men would be waiting.

Even the footsteps behind him finally caught up, both Brian and James trying to gain his attention. He ignored their calls of his name and their attempts at explanation for the king's harshness. It wasn't until Hannibal reached the weaponry, pulled the expensive fabric from his body and had a sword in hand did he finally turn to look at his friends.

"I am not in the mood for excuses," he stated firmly, cutting the two men off. "Now, either scrimmage with me or find Brown so he can fight me." Both Brian and James stared at Hannibal for a long moment, James with his mouth open as if he were searching for something to say and Brian with arms folded over his chest in annoyance at the sharpness of the orders. "I am still your commander. Either pick up a weapon or find me Brown."

"Bastard," Brian grumbled, heading into the weaponry shed and finding his own sword. Hannibal watched as the man tested the weight in his hand before he started off towards the patch of grass their normal bats were conducted on.

Hannibal followed after the dark haired man, surprised when James hurried after the two of them, having found his own sword.

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows across the field and glinting gold off their blades. Hannibal's feet found solid purchase and he stretched out his shoulders and rolled his neck, steadying the grip on his sword.

"You're finally back and what do we do?" James mocked with a roll of his eyes. "We fight because you can't learn to stay in your place."

"Ready?" Brain questioned, his own irritation edged in his voice and the glare of his eyes.