A Court of Blood and Feathers

10

Branwenn

"You're kidding, surely." Was the first thing out of Ianto's mouth before Del slams his fist into Ianto's shoulder, causing both to growl once more at each other. 

I allow myself to raise my eyebrows as any indication of surprise at Teagan's announcement.

The male looks unsure now, shifting from foot to foot, his now materialized wings twitching nervously under my gaze.

"And?" I voice

"And what?" he echoes back.

"Was that supposed to impress us?"

Delwyn coughs in surprise and shock behind me as Teagan stares at me in disbelief at my sudden change of respect. Or better lack of it.

"Excuse me?" Teagan snaps back at me, now looking a tad insulted.

Why am I doing this? I'll tell you why. The prince of the entire freaking Night Court just waltzed into an Illyrian war camp. The one where I currently reside and am trying to make a name for myself. This news changes everything and how I perseve him now.

1) He just demanded my respect by dropping his name and then flashing his powers.

After taking so long to gain respect in this cold-blooded camp, especially after tonight, no. He will gain my respect.

2) I make allies through demonstration of my potential. 

I am not about to let this one slip through my fingers. But not tonight, or next year, or 10 years from now, will he be my ally. No. I am skilled enough to see that it will take a long time for Prince Teagan of the Night Court to come to his full potential. So for now, I will treat him like any other fellow soldier who has too much ego and needs to be taken down a peg.

"You heard what I said, Teagan," I flinch internally, hearing my late-mother faint and slap me at the same time at my disrespect. Addressing royalty by the first name by their first name. But if I was going to do this, I have to do it right. Even if I am signing my own death warrant.

Teagan's jaw seems to be dropping lower and lower by each word I utter.

"I said, was that supposed to impress us? If so, I can speak for all three of us when I say, we've seen much more impressive and interesting displays of power that are actually useful. A word to the wise," I raise my golden brown eyes to meet his own pale purple ones, "If you want to survive this war-camp, I suggest that you don't continue going around and flashing those pretty ashen wings of yours. Because I can tell you now, someone might decide you look like a broken bird and decide to break those wings off. Now if you'll excuse me, my friends and I must be off now." I begin striding away, leaving a dumbfounded prince in my wake with his giant Irish wolfhound. 

Ianto and Delwyn jog to keep up with my precise stride towards my personal tent.

"Are you crazy, Branwenn?" Hisses Delwyn, his face still holding immense shock.

"For a smart soldier, that was a pretty stupid move," comments Ianto. 

"I know what I'm doing, shut up you two," I grumble back at the two flanking me. "I always have a plan." With this, I leave both the males looking confused as I jog off to my tent.

***

Four silver siphons glow on the tops of my hands and kneecaps as I watch from the edges of the sparing ring quietly. Hands clasped in front of me in a disciplined stance, observing Devlon scream in the mud as two other males tussle at his instruction. He's clearly not happy with how neither has succeeded in usurping the other and the fighting technique is becoming sloppier by the minute.

I allow my mind to drift. A rare action but today was sunny for once. 

I contemplate one of the subjects that constantly swim in the back of my mind. My mother's death. Paradoxically, I try not to dwell on it too often, or at least not in public when I do. The ashwood and iron infused metal feathers that had rained down that day on the Dawn Court Palace still haunt me. The taunt pink scar tissue under my rib cage where one had impaled my stomach and had taken forever to heal still itches to this day when I remember it, burrowing and burning its way to my core. 

I shiver as the memory grips me. 

No. But the true question that keeps me up at night is Who? Who sent those evil items and decided to kill my mother? Out of everyone in the palace that day, my mother was the only one slain and I the only other injured. Why?

Until this day none of these questions have been answered. Many times I have sent correspondence with Lord Thesan of the Dawn Court and all have been replied to with the same message.

No progress or information has been uncovered.

It has been almost 20 years since that day. I will find out who is held accountable for this act. Eventually, I will find out. One day.

"Teagan!" Devlon roars from the depths of the sparing ring, covered in mud up to his shins. "Get your skinny ass in here now! It's time to get your feet wet and see what that sissy palace training has done for you."

A corner of my mouth tilts upwards in a slight smirk as I pity not only the thin prince but the poor soldier who will have to either beat down or wimp out on this fight with the heir to the throne.

"Branwenn! I see that smirk. You too."

"Shit," I cuss under my breath. I shouldn't have been so cocky and obvious. Wincing, I climb over the ghetto fencing of a few boards and step a foot deep into sludge. So much for clean sparring gear today.

I can see Teagan visible swallow as I square up on my side of the ring. 

"Welp, have at it," grumbles Devlon, taking a step back and leaning against the side of the fencing.

Biting my lip, I stand straight, not leaning into my natural fighting stance. Preferring to analyze the prince first. Sizing him up, I can tell he's more of the book type than the fighting type. His time is clearly wasted here when he could be packed away in a classroom learning how to coordinate attacks and battle strategies than fighting overpowered Illyrian warriors. 

I have two options here. To bow out and allow him to take me down. Or to not hold back and make this quick.

Praying to the Cauldron, I take the latter of the two.

The fight was over as soon as it started. Teagan visibly mustered all the courage and strength his body could supply. Before he even moved, his core tell-tellingly stiffening, told me all I needed to know of where he would strike. I deftly sidestepped his punch to my left side, swinging in with my elbow, connecting with his temple with a crack!

Teagan hits the ground with a gross squelching noise of the mud suction, I walk away without looking back at my future Lord whimpering on the ground.

"Couldn't have taken it easy on him, Hannerling?" scoffs Devlon, not even batting an eye as grumbles circulate the sparring ring outskirts of fellow warriors.

I pause and cock my head to Devlon, my face schooled into an impassive expression. "I"m sorry, Lord. Was I supposed to hold back?"

Devlon sighs in annoyance at my curt response and shakes his head, "No. You may return to training in the other side rings then."

I jerk my chin in a tight nod and march off to one of the side courts. Planning my next moves as the rest of the weaker female warriors watch on, jealousy and cut-throat envy in their eyes. I ruffle my charcoal feathers and flare my wings slightly, staring them down, daring them to try anything. They turn away quickly and go back to observing their fallen prince in the sludge.