A Curse so Twisted And Cruel.

The Guards Training grounds.

They won't know. I try to convince myself, as I make my way to the guards training grounds, the stolen... ehm, borrowed grey uniform stiff on my shoulders.

I came across it during one of many explorations through the castle, and snuggled it to my room, but not before getting lost on the way there. The castle is absolutely enormous.

And, although that makes it difficult to find the same place twice, it does become much easier to avoid, well, people in general. As well as a certain king.

It helps that he's hardly ever in the castle to begin with. I wonder where he goes. Probably places where he can kill more innocent halflings. I think bitterly. The thought causes the permanent ache in my chest to tighten.

I really, really hope that they made it to Magen okay. And I hope that they don't try to look for me. That will most probably end badly. I'll make it to them. Somehow.

I've asked Meredyl when I would be able to leave, and she said only in a few weeks time, since the damn wound was taking forever to heal. Not to mention that it got infected a few days back, and is becoming a real painful nuisance.

I stop and wipe a bead of sweat from my brow. Not only is this uniform long for me, it's also hot and uncomfortable. I can barely walk in this, how the hell am I supposed to fight?

I sigh, the heavy shoes weighing my feet down as I trudge through the trees to the nearest grounds, where the scuffles and grunts of flying fists and the dull thunk!of wooden swords are in full swing.

I stop just behind one of the many pines that edge the circular clearing of men in the same garb as me, moving as swiftly as the horrible uniform would allow, against their opponent, a chunky wooden sword in hand.

I raise my own wooden weapon, carved from a crooked branch with one of the scalpels I snatched from Meredyl's healer case. At the time, I was worried that it would be blatantly obvious that it was carved unprofessionally, and they would quickly realise I was an imposter.

But if I do get found out, it would be for the opposite reason. The guards fake swords are heavy, rough pieces of wood, which probably give splinters. Mine, on the other hand, is as smooth as I could make it, straight as an arrow, and won't give me an arm fracture every time I pick it up.

Maybe I should go into carving. It's quite a fulfilling art, except for the aching hands, back and fingers. Not to mention the abundance of splinters, cuts and overthinking.
Nah. Not for me. Maybe as a hobby...

I'm wrenched out of my trailing thoughts when a guard with light blonde hair crashes into the tree beside mine. He slides down it, and I notice an odd bend in it I'm sure wasn't there before. Ouch.

The man blinks, unfocused, before his opponent strides forward, a bored look on his striking features.
His almond brown hair gleams gold in the rays of sunlight that filters through the trees.
He has a straight nose and full lips, his eyes a light hazel.
Also, I note with a twinge of jealousy, the hideous clothes the rest of us are forced to wear, doesn't look hideous on him. In fact, it flows over his toned body like a second glove, the dry grey colour hightening the golden brown of his hair.

I watch as the other man stands up, holding the tree for support.
He's breathing heavily, and there's still an dazed look in his eyes. I bite my lip, wondering if he's going to be okay. That was a pretty serious blow he took.

"Hey Henry!" A voice calls out from behind. A short but well-built man steps forward, and the brown haired man, who I assume is Henry, turns to him, a scowl on his handsome features.