Crown of Iron (Book 1 of the Crown Trilogy)

Sixteen

"Lady's choice."

I lift a brow and place my hand on the pommel of the sword at my side. It's a bold move, but I have little room for anything less.

Kyron shakes his head, and his lips form a straight line. "Let's save killing each other for another day. Pick a mock weapon and stop stalling, princess."

"I'm not stalling." I snatch a wooden sword comparable to mine out of the cabinet.

Kyron selects his sword, and we join Terro on the sideline. He holds open a leather sleeve, and Kyron dips his sword into it, leaving the blunt blade covered in red dust. I follow suit, and Terro explains, "Today's match is to the death." He wiggles his eyebrows. "First to strike a fatal blow, leaving a distinct mark over a vital organ of their opponent, wins. And there you have it, do whatever it takes to survive."

Sweat breaks out along my hairline and my face must go pale because Kyron says, "We can always postpone until you're ready."

It's hard not to think I'm in over my head. Terro would be better off telling us there are no rules. This is nothing like the way I used to practice with Leif. There were no hands and feet, just flimsy metal against flimsy metal. We were also not fighting with so much at stake.

I shake my head and take a step back. "I'm ready."

Kyron walks to Greer and removes his jacket, and I make my way to Ulric. "Don't try anything fancy and keep your sword up and your eyes on him at all times. If you see an opening, take it," he says while I unbuckle my actual sword and hand him my jacket. "Just put in your best effort."

"I'm going to do more than that. I'm taking him down and starting my training." I take the canteen Ulric offers me and gulp the watered-down whiskey inside. It burns my throat and distracts me from my worries, calming my frazzled nerves.

I move to the center of the field, and Kyron joins me. He raises his weapon and slices the air between us, coming just short of hitting me in the gut.

I stumble back, saying, "You could have warned me!"

"You think the enemy is going to send a letter letting us know when they plan to attack?" He swings again and this time, I block him. "This isn't a tea party; it's war. There is no warning or holding back."

Gone is the compassionate man who taught a boy to chop wood, and in his place is a fierce soldier. The constant smile wore with the children is now a harsh scowl. The gentleness he used when carrying Mia vanished into deadly movements. On this field, I face what many Stigian warriors saw before they took their last breath.

Our weapons repeatedly cross with a crack and plumes of red. Kyron never lets up. Every step he takes is an advance, forcing me back. He slams his blade against my free arm, leaving a dusting of crimson on my sleeve, and I yelp at the sting.

The crowd cheers for their general, wanting to see him take me down.

I slash my sword in a sloppy swing, trying to reciprocate his blow, but I only slice through the air.

"Quit wasting my time and fight," he commands.

I double my efforts with jabs and cuts, but he deflects every time, sending vibrations up my arm. His movements are short and rapid; it's a comfortable tempo for him, so I switch it up, arching my swing wide and slice back to the other side. The tip of my blade brushes his forearm; the mark is nothing more than a dot, but it's enough to energize me. I advance, keeping my focus on his weapon and swinging in broad strokes.

His jabs and quick movements falter against my advances, and my confidence grows. I might take him down!

Kyron lifts his free hand—a flaming ball of light forms in the center—and the soldiers erupt in a chorus of cheers.