RE: Monarch - Chapter 205: Fracture XII

A challenge. One likely designed to test my limits while reminding me of my limitations. Nothing particularly surprising. If I looked at the sequence of events rationally, from the skirmish where I punched him in the face up to now, it was strange that he hadn’t done this sooner.

I was ready for it. Had been ready for it.

What was surprising, was that he intended to administer that challenge himself. It wasn’t about besting him, of course. He was a king of unreasonable expectations, but that was more unreasonable than most. More realistically, he wanted a good showing.

Still, his readiness, his attire, the slab of metal on a stick all spoke to his intention. There was no getting out of this. Not now.

So I searched for it, sifting for a nerve, a spark of rebellion, some natural curiosity of how I’d stack up against him.

I dug deep. And came up with nothing.

There was a rustling of leathers as someone stood beside me. “There’s got to be a more effective alternative.” Mari said. She was high-strung at the best of times, but somehow looked more ill at ease now, her back ramrod straight.

“What the fuck did you say?” King Gil snapped, leveling his attention on her in an instant. The air grew heavy with tension.

Mari, to her credit, weathered the storm well, wavering, yet never succumbing to the pressure. She lowered her eyes, showing respect that did nothing to soften her words. “I fecking said, your highness, that perhaps there is a better way of testing my captain than a spar.”

“There some criticism you’d like to air on the subject of how your king raises his son, Banner Lieutenant?” He growled.

Mari didn’t blink. Instead, her eyes grew cold. I was about to get between them, when she spoke. “Few years back, I served as a training officer in another unit. Littered with boys not yet men, though I’ll go to my grave attestin’ that they showed more heart than any battalion twice their size. We had a standout though. Half-elf lug named Arion. Wasn’t much between his ears other than flowers and poetry, but the man was built like an ox and had a mastery of the oversized bastards you lot favor. Mauls, axes, feck-off-swords. Didn’t matter what. When he swung it, it was like watching an artist work.” She cocked her head. “Remember ‘em?”

“No.”

“Well, at the time you knew his name. On account of all the people whisperin’ to each other that he might be the better fighter. Better than even the Doomsworn King.” Mari grimaced a tight smile. “Course, that couldn’t stand. Wasn’t long before Arion got a gilded invitation. Come to the palace, test his mettle against the King, in the spirit of friendly competition. And we all know how that went.”

My father’s brow furrowed. And not in a way that struck me as demonstrative. “Obviously, we don’t, as I have no memory of the man. If this is a stalling tactic, your prince would be better served—”

Mari’s voice was raw. “Took you seven moves to kill him. The first six were variations on a basic kata. Familiar. Probably put him off his guard. Made him think you were taking it easy. The last caved his skull in like a ripe grape.”

There was a long silence, before recognition flickered in King Gil’s visage. “Ah. The knife-ear built like an orc. I remember.” He crossed his arms. “You are complicating a more simple explanation with malice, lieutenant. Gil shifted his attention to me, wary. “Does all leadership in your regiment have some deep-seated issue with me? Or is it just these two?”

I took the opportunity to put a hand on Mari’s bicep in appreciation. She’d bought me time to recover, find my way through the malaise. I half-shrugged at my father. “I’d like to hear it. The simpler explanation.”

King Gil rolled his eyes. “You are clearly not yourself. If you were, you would not dare to question me so. But given the circumstances, I will answer regardless. What do you know about the Elven Bloodsworn?”

“Nothing.” I said, surprised. Of the three primary nonhuman races, the elves had been second on my list to contact after the infernals. Not for any preferential reason, simply because the alternative—the dwarves—were notoriously difficult to work with and had more bad blood with humans than the other two put together. As such, I’d studied the Elves extensively. And the term Bloodsworn had never come up.

“Not surprising.” King Gil pointed his two-hander’s blunted blade downward, and rested his arms on the pommel, looking equal parts irritated and bored. “They are not openly discussed amongst the elves, secrecy surrounding them exceeding even the usual knife-eared taciturnity. Most men who meet them in battle do not live to tell the tale. There are few fighters among the demis I respect,” His eyes shifted towards Sevran before they returned to me. “Even fewer institutions. But the Bloodsworn earned that respect. In iron. They use magical reinforcement to grant them far more practical advantages than magic typically lends. Toughened skin. Muscles bulging with mana and the strength of a dozen men. They should not be fought in pairs, and are never to be taken lightly.” Gil gave Mari a stiff smile. “Your recruit was one of them. In addition to his build, his fighting style, the tattoos around his neck. There was no mistaking it. As such I was forced to take him seriously. Unfortunately—for him—he did not grant me the same respect. Engaged me without utilizing his reinforcement.”

Mari turned an intensifying shade of red the longer the king spoke. Nevertheless, with considerable effort, she clawed the rage back. “And now, the prince has returned, an unknown quantity, trained by the upper echelon of infernals in both magic and martial combat. You’d need to take him seriously as well, yes?”

My father’s expression was stony, as he turned towards me and nodded. “Aye.”

It was a clever trap. One that raised Mari’s estimation in my eyes. I’d expected her to navigate politics the same way she navigated combat. Bluntly and passionately, leading with heart rather than head. She was clearly savvier than that. I just wasn’t sure it would make a difference.

With a relaxed motion, he swung his blade up and rested it on his shoulder. I immediately tensed and instinctively reached for my hilt. No matter how relaxed or passive he appeared, it didn’t matter. My father loved a surprise attack, ending a conflict quickly and definitively. His change in stance was meant to look casual, but the truth was, with the sword on his shoulder, we were both easily within striking range. I ignored him and watched the blade. It was both heavy-looking and considerably long, at least as tall as me. But for a high steel blade, it lacked the usual sheen.

Smith’s barely touched it. Untempered.

I returned the gesture, simultaneously summoning water and navigating it from around the back of the fountain, attempting to mask my focus as I led a small stream of water through the grass towards his feet. As far as I could tell, he didn’t notice, his attention entirely fixated on Mari. Something akin to respect flashed through his eyes, gone in an instant, replaced with casual disdain.

Instantly, I grew more wary. That Mari was only indirect in her insubordination shouldn’t matter. The king would only see the insubordination. The only reason she wasn’t bleeding out on the ground right now with me above her, negotiating for clemency, while Maya tended her was because Gil was pleased with her resistance. Which meant he was testing for it. If he pivoted right now? Changed the terms? It wouldn’t be because of Mari, brave as she was. It would be because he intended it from the start.

“Perhaps, there is wisdom to your words.” My father cocked his head, flexing his fingers on his hilt slow and thoughtful. “What then, boy? What would be a proper contest?”

“Haven’t had a decent joust in a while.” I tried. It was the one martial event where I’d stand a chance against him. Assuming I dodged the lance and didn’t take it on my shield.

“Thought you hated horses?” The King frowned.

That’s right. I hadn’t really taken a liking to the beasts until I was thirteen or fourteen. In my defense and opinion, a horse was terrifying when it was twice as tall as you.

“Let’s say I’ve expanded my horizons.”

He waved dismissively. “Regardless, a joust is too simple. Too quick. And no more a show of capacity for leadership than a spar.” All at once, his expression went cold. “Ah. I have it.”

I braced myself.

“Your sister has expended her usefulness here in Whitefall.”