Set The Roses Aflame

Chapter One: The Beginning Of It All

"I should've known girls in frilly dresses aren't fit to be swordswomen." 

I want to reach over and slap the smirk off his ruddy, freckled face. How naïve. I don't think he realizes how much I pity him in this game of ours. If I wanted to win, I'd have him on the ground blubbering for his mama, preferably with that sword of his snapped clean in half. Maybe a bloody nose too, if I'm feeling particularly vindictive. 

Instead I channel my irritation into another swing that comes up just beneath his knees, giving him no time to dodge. My aim is true as he howls in frustration and crumples under the weight of the wooden blade making contact with his kneecap. He spills to the ground in a whimpering heap as I leap to my feet, barely winded from his earlier shot to my ribs. He only clipped me, after all. No reason to give him the satisfaction of knowing it still smarts. 

"Huh. Seems like blundering, useless boys with no brains such as yourself aren't fit to be swordsmen either." 

We've been going at this for nearly an hour, though it feels like I've just started. I can feel the sweat beginning to soak through my clothing and my cheeks feel hot from exercise, but I feel at home and in my element as we dodged and struck. It's even more amusing to me that I've been more successful at blocking and countering his attacks in a frilly, pastel pink dress than he's been in plain working clothes. And I can tell the humiliation of that fact is getting to him, slowly poisoning his ego. 

If there's one thing that keeps me going, it's seeing the smug, snide expressions of men who underestimate my talent slide right off of their faces when I land them on their asses with nothing but a wooden training sword. My real sword is at home- lying carefully on it's proper shelf and in dire need of a polishing. It's my own rule of thumb- unless in real danger, I don't use my sword on people. Unless it's just to scare them, of course. No harm in that. 

Several of his friends whistle and taunt from the neighboring bushes just behind the hill as Luke springs to his feet, face red with indignation and spitting several furious curses in my direction. "Shut up, all of you! She didn't win! I'm still in this!" 

I give him a patronizing, syrup sweet smile that makes him glower. "Is the little boy okay? How's your boo boo?" 

Furious spit gathers in the corner of his mouth as his nostrils flare like a bull's. From the bushes, several boys hoot and holler- most teasing directed at Luke for his earlier loss. 

"What are you, a pussy? Can't manage one decent hit on a girl?" one crows. 

"Find your balls and hit her harder!" 

"You can't lose to a pretty princess like her!" 

"Show this little girl who runs this shit!" 

Their crowing only makes me more eager to knock both the pride and the teeth out of him. I can tell he's getting serious now- spurred on no doubt by the taunting of his friends. I smirk lazily, throwing my arms open wide in a mocking gesture. "You heard them, Luke! Go on, show this little girl who's boss. Unless you'd rather forfeit now, save yourself the humiliation." 

"You'd love that, wouldn't you!" he snarls, arching his arm for a swing, which I easily block. We resume our fight, Luke's attacks growing more aggressive as he's goaded on by his friends spectating from the bushes. He manages to slam the sword down on my wrist, causing me to bite my lip as a flare of pain spits up from the bruise. I return a blow and swing the wooden sword in a jab at his gut, causing him to yell out and fall to the ground once more, clutching his stomach in pain. 

"Downed again?" jeers one of his friends. "Man, you really are pathetic!" 

I ruffle my skirts idly, smirking at the rage that twitches at the corners of his mouth and eyes. Nothing is more hilarious than watching the boys who underestimate my sword skills convulse in anger as I win against them with little effort. I almost wish he'll try a bit harder.