Chapter 3｡｡
The sun, a cold white coin in a pale sky, beat down upon the training yard. A few other princes stopped their practice, a low ripple of anticipation spreading through the crowd. Kael tossed a training sword to Corvin, the wood a dead weight.
Kael Umbraea (Crown Prince)
Pick it up,
Corvin’s lips were a thin, crimson line. He took his stance, his form as fluid as water. It was an elegant, beautiful pose. And utterly useless.
Kael attacked with pure, unthinking force. He wasn’t sparring. He was punishing. The heavy wooden blade whistled through the air, and Corvin, with the grace of a dancer, sidestepped it.
He was a whisper of a man, avoiding the blow rather than meeting it. A ripple of disappointed murmurs went through the crowd. They wanted a show of weakness.
The exchange continued, a grotesque ballet. Corvin dodged, wove, and deflected, his every movement a display of agility. He was a shadow fighting a stone wall, a fleeting whisper in the face of an avalanche. He couldn't return a single blow.
Kael, his face twisting in disgust, ended the farce with a final, brutal lunge. He slammed his sword hilt into Corvin’s midsection with a grunt of satisfaction.
Corvin's breath left his body in a strangled gasp, and he stumbled backward, collapsing to the dusty ground.
The laughter was immediate and deafening. Kael stood over him, the sun at his back, a triumphant silhouette of power.
Kael Umbraea (Crown Prince)
He dances,
Kael announced to the crowd, his voice full of contempt.
Kael Umbraea (Crown Prince)
But he does not fight
Corvin lay there for a moment, the world spinning in a haze of pain and humiliation. But as Kael turned to bask in the applause of his peers, Corvin, a boy of porcelain and pain, looked up.
His green eyes, so often filled with a quiet, ancient sadness, were now like chips of fractured emerald.
Corvin Umbraea (Prince)
A fighter requires a body,
Corvin said, his voice a low, steady whisper that seemed to cut through the air.
Corvin Umbraea (Prince)
But a king requires a mind. I have one, and you, brother, have neither.
The laughter died. Kael froze. He turned back, his face a mask of sudden, cold fury. He understood the insult. He didn’t have the words to fight back. He only had his fists.
But Corvin was already pulling himself from the dust, his movements still graceful, despite his pain. He had spoken his piece, and for a fleeting, beautiful moment, he had won.
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