Ever since the day I became the king's third hand, the crown prince has looked at me differently. His eyes dart back and forth nervously, he shoves his hands into his pockets and forces his smiles. There's nothing ordinary about him anymore, not when he's around me. After all that time it took for him to heal, and he's back to behaving like a different version of himself, a prince I haven't yet met.
Often times, I find myself wishing for the prince I met when I first arrived at this castle.
Precisely why I look into his fake expression of joy upon seeing me, and say, "I don't really have the time. I just left a meeting and—"
"Then you have the time," Silas interrupts. "I was just on my way to the training room, I thought you'd like to join me for a round or two." Flashbacks of a bedridden prince come back to me. At the time, all I wanted was for him to improve, but it never came, not until we left again. We, as in...
I don't give myself the opportunity to finish the thought. I nod. "I guess that won't take too long. Besides, we have yet to spar together."
Silas splays his arms wide this time giving me a real grin. "All the more reason to knock me on my ass when you win," he jokes.
"I may have improved on my skills, but I don't think I could beat a prince in a duel," I say confidently as we turn, heading in the direction of the training room.
All the king has me doing these past weeks is building muscle I'll use during battles or duels between those that wish to beat me. I have little, started with hardly anything, and am working my way into the warrior he wishes me to be. I've noticed changes, precisely in my arms and shoulders—along with a slight muscle definition in my legs. It's nothing compared to the female warriors and guards I've seen in the castle, but I'll get there. Someday. That'll take years to build up, years I'll have.
I'm always the first one to unload sacks of grain from wagons and carry water buckets into the stables, no matter how many times the servants plead to let them do the job rather than me. King's orders, I tell them. Often times, if I notice anyone needs a job requiring strength, I step up and do my best until my arms are burning and I can't feel my fingers.
Binx would tell me I'm overexerting myself. I tend to disagree.
In the training room, the ceilings reach higher than I could ever touch. The vaulted top cascades into a mezzanine and a loft for viewers to watch the training, specifically those of importance. The velvet chairs just beyond the white banister are proof of that as is the gold-plated torches and braziers. Unused, rather for looks.
Silas straps on a leather breastplate as I do the same, as well as pauldrons over the shoulders, metal poleyn's over our knees, and vambraces strapped to our forearms. Armor for training doesn't hold a requirement, but there's no sense in not wearing it. Half the battle is suiting up for the war, then fighting it. If you can't properly protect yourself, you're as good as dead.
I pick a sword from the back wall stocked with weapons. It's a boring sword, the pommel is a simple diamond, and the handle is leather. What a contrast.
Instead of opting for a weapon he's not familiar with, Silas chooses the sword at his belt and draws the gleaming blade from its sheath.
"That's quite a sword you have there," I compliment.
Silas smiles. "The blade was specifically forged for my hand to fight in battles once I'm king." He points the tip at me as we stand face to face in a training square.
The rest of the room is empty, none of the guards are training today as they're too busy preparing for the king's departure to the battlefield. That is not a meeting I want to take part in, although the king's phantom call may reach me soon and I'll have no choice but to go.
YOU ARE READING
Aligning the Forgotten ✓
Fantasy[Book 3 of the Grounding the Storm series] Renit's worst nightmare has come true. Roux isn't at his side, and he's banished from his throne and his crown, leaving him nameless and on the run. While trying to escape his father's cruel reign, he has t...
