Royal Rebellion {on hold}

Chapter 12

Whack! A head flew off. Slice! An arm fell to the ground. Thump! The dummy fell over and rolled, spewing straw everywhere. I paused, panting. The scattered dummies lay around me. I lowered the wooden sword in my left hand and raised my right to wipe the sweat on my forehead. The sun was beating down on me and my chest was heaving up and down from exertion. The hot season would start to wan in a month or so.

I unbuttoned the top few buttons of my shirt and sighed, switching the sword to my right hand and flexing my left. This was the first time I'd really got to practice sword fighting since father gave me the wound in my hand. It was healed but still new.

I went over to the side of the training area and accepted water from a servant. It was fresh and tasted sweet.

Just as I'd started again, a voice rung out in the courtyard.

"Ah, brother! Dear brother!" Darrel sneered. The servant with the water shuffled back into the shadows. Lucky him.

I stopped slowly lowering the sword and relaxing my stance slightly.

"Darrel," I said stiffly. I watched him warily, remembering the way he acted last time we saw each other. I tensed a bit as he passed the rack of wooden practice swords and easily picked one up, swinging it around him with a practised ease.

Darrel slowly sank into the ready position and without warning, he attacked. I gasped, quickly bringing my sword up to block his. We sparred across the courtyard.

Suddenly, I saw an opening and using all the strength I could, I whacked Darrel in the ribs. We paused. The whole courtyard was silent. I swallowed suddenly fearful as I Darrel and I stared at each other.

With a small growl, Darrel flipped his sword in a complicated move and suddenly, my sword was clattering to the ground three feet away. The next blow to my ribs, stunned me but I dove past Darrel to my sword. As I twisted around on the ground, blocking another strike, anger coursed through me. I've been so weak my whole life. Training was training was it not? And you got hit in training.

On an angry wave, I surged upwards and met each of Darrel's strikes with my own. He hit me on the arms, torso and legs but I ignored it and forced him into defensive, hitting him too. Something flickered in his eyes before they were one again the colour of rocks in the sea and the pitch black night.

A blow to the stomach made the breath woosh out of me. He struck my left wrist and I automatically dropped the sword. It clattered to the stones once again as Darrel rained blows onto me. I was on the ground, his knee stabbing into my back and the wooden sword pressing into my neck. He leaned in to whisper in my ear.

"Good. But not good enough." Then, he got up and walked away, throwing the sword to the ground. He didn't look back.

I got up and dusted myself off. As I watched Darrel's retreating back, a new feeling stirred inside me. The servant came running. He was still carrying the water tray.

"Your highness, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I snapped, still angry. He flinched back slightly and I instantly buried my anger. "Sorry," I said in a softer tone this time. "I've had a rough morning." I accepted the water and cleaned up before heading back to my room. This daring, dangerous fury in me was so, so new.

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This room was on the bigger side, but it was still nothing compared to the grand library. This room was like a mini library filled with the history of our country and the biographies of past rulers. The grand library had history books too, but this private room held bloodier and more accurate texts; no glorifying needed.