Odessa

Chapter Three

Odessa stepped into the sunlit courtyard, lifting the hem of her dress as she went. The pebbled path snaked through emerald grass, which shimmered with morning dew. All around the splendid garden, pink blossoms bathed themselves in sunlight.

The courtyard was surrounded on all sides by an impenetrable, ten-foot stone wall. Odessa used to practice here with her daggers for hours on end.

But it was not her daggers she carried with her now. In her right hand, she clutched a brilliant sword with a silver, ruby-encrusted hilt. It was her father's sword; it'd been his favorite weapon, but Odessa had never been strong enough to use it. She hoped that, over the past few years, she'd built up enough muscle to change that.

Odessa held the magnificent blade up to the sun, catching the light. She grimaced; just as she'd feared, it was quite heavy.

But that wasn't enough to discourage her; she couldn't fight without a weapon, and fighting was her life's passion. Besides, being able to use only one type of weapon didn't make her a very good warrior. She had to be flexible.

Can I even swing this? she thought, skeptically weighing the weapon in her best hand.

Odessa lifted the sword and attempted to twirl it, the way she'd seen her father do it when she was a girl. Her wrist twisted awkwardly, causing her to yelp and drop the sword; it fell into the grass with a soft thump.

The knight gripped her wrist in agony, a hundred curses slipping between her gritted teeth.

A low chuckle sounded not far away: "Having trouble, dear Odessa?"

Odessa looked up, her face flushed pink with embarrassment.

Prince Roric stood but a few yards away, watching Odessa's display with amusement. His mane was as long and golden and hers, and a sunny goatee clung to his chin. He was tall, well-built, handsome, dignified--everything that a true Thestrian man ought to be.

Odessa withheld the impulse to wrinkle her nose.

"You're gripping it too hard," Roric said as he strolled toward her. His verdant eyes captured her gray ones and held them there. "It's a weapon, not a squirming animal." He came so close that he could reach out and touch her, which was entirely too close for Odessa. She tore her eyes away from him and cast them downward.

"Good morning, Your Majesty," she grumbled to the ground.

The prince chuckled again and put his fingers underneath Odessa's chin, lifting it. Odessa closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip -- a habit she resorted to when under stress.

"Why 'Your Majesty?'" Roric asked confusedly. "We've been friends forever. You've always called me 'Roric.' Why should that change?"

"I'm only giving the Crown Prince the respect that is due to him," Odessa answered flatly.

"None of that," Roric insisted. He released Odessa's chin, and she dared to open one eye. "Now, would you like some help with your sword?" Roric looked at the grass where Odessa had dropped the blade. It beamed up at him.

"Do as you wish," Odessa sighed.

Roric gingerly picked up the sword with both hands. He showed Odessa how he held the hilt. "Now, if you want to twirl a sword, you should start on the side of your body opposite the hand you're holding it." He did it slowly first, for Odessa's benefit. Then, he backed away and executed a perfect twirl--the blade flashed by so quickly that Odessa almost missed it.

And Roric didn't stop there--he went on to perform strategic maneuvers that could be managed only by the practiced swordsman. He lunged and swiped at an invisible enemy and parried pretend-attacks, looking as graceful and deadly as a lion.