Behind the Royal Mask

The Duel Between Cousins

The training arena buzzed with activity as the sun stretched its light across its sandy grounds. There were more than usual number of people due to the news of the duel between the two cousins. Alaric and Cedric has finished with the morning warm up and Alaric was now adjusting his sword belt, scanning the crowd as he did so.

"I can't wait to see Caelon tasting the dirt," Cedric said, brimming with excitement.

"Caelon is trained enough to give me a fair fight," Alaric reminded, fastening on the leather chest piece, "Though I am not planning on giving him the chance to knock me down."

"Well, the lady you want to impress has arrived, Your Highness," Cedric said.

Alaric's gaze sharpened as it settled on the scene before him. Beatrice entered, moving gracefully through the bustling arena, Caelon's possessive hand resting on her waist. She smiled politely at something Caelon was saying, though her gaze occasionally flitted around, almost as if seeking someone else. The sight of Caelon's familiar hold stirred a flicker of annoyance in Alaric that he quickly buried beneath his usual composure.

Beatrice finally caught Alaric's eyes and passed him a faint smile as she watched him walk towards them.

"Since we didn't have much time to interact," Caelon said, "How about we have coffee in the afternoon? Just you and me?"

Beatrice nodded and said, "It would be lovely getting to know more about you, Your Highness."

"Caelon," Alaric greeted, approaching them, "Lady Anya."

"I hope you are ready for the duel?" Alaric asked Caelon.

Caelon turned from Beatrice to face Alaric, an easy smirk gracing his features. "Ready to win, you mean? I'd hate to disappoint all these spectators."

Alaric chuckled, tilting his head toward the sparring grounds. "We'll see who's disappointed."

Beatrice went to sit on the shaded benches, accompanied by Derin and Elara. The crowd fell silent, a hush of anticipation spreading. Alaric held the sword steady in his hands, his face devoid of any emotions. Caelon, on the other hand, had a devious look in his eyes. With a sly grin, he made the first move, lunging at Alaric with surprising speed.

Alaric parried just in time, their swords producing a metallic ring in the air as they clashed. Alaric countered but Caelon sidestepped with ease, twisting just enough to avoid the blade, and let out a mocking laugh.

"Is that all you got, cousin?" Caelon sneered, his voice loud enough to be carried over the crowd.

Alaric remained unfazed. He was trained for this and wasn't going to let Caelon rattle him. He aimed for a series of strikes, each one perfectly executed, keeping Caelon on the defensive. The crowd gasped at the flurry of blows, admiring Alaric's strong and graceful movements.

Caelon attempted to regain control by feinting a high strike, only to spin and bring his blade low. Alaric anticipated the move, blocking it with expert timing and returning with a quick jab that grazed Caelon's shoulder.

"Getting warmed up now?" Alaric quipped, a hint of amusement in his tone.

As soon as he spoke the words, Caelon's demeanor shifted. The mocking look disappeared into something more serious and darker.

"I'll show you warmer," Caelon snarled, lunging forward again. Alaric saw him bringing down his sword onto his injured shoulder. While it had stopped bleeding, it was still a fresh wound, throbbing now and then. Alaric felt the wound throb as he deflected the blow.

As Caelon continued pushing against him, he kept looking for openings to strike Alaric's shoulder. How could he have known about his injury?  Alaric thought.