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As the darkness of the dawn withered away, Reki rose from his four-postered bed. Instead of calling the servants, he pulled on a simple rose tunic and fitted on a purple waistcoat over it. Then a simple pair of breeches. He turned to the mirror and sighed. Ridiculous. He was far too overdressed for what he was about to do, but it couldn’t be helped. His mother had insisted that he had to look in top shape for the whole of the betrothal period. 'Proper’ was more important than ‘practical’.
He cracked open his bedroom door and slipped into the dim hallway of the west wing of the castle. Thick velvet curtains still hung over the windows, waiting for sleeping servants to open them. Reki smiled to himself. Perfect.
He found his way to one of the hidden servants’ corridors and slipped inside like a phantom.
Reki wouldn’t usually go for his sword practice at such an hour in the morning, or even so secretively, but now things were different. Ever since he had shown up.
Prince Langa was akin to a ghost, that is if ghosts were remarkably stuck up. When Reki had been a child, he had heard stories of Langa’s kingdom back from the days of the Great War. He had heard of their single-mindedness that allowed them to push forward no matter the cost. Of their thick skin that allowed them to survive harsh winters. But most of all, of the thick crust of ice and snow that coated their hearts and made them immune to cries of mercy.
Reki had never believed any of these rumours, and he still didn’t. But hell, if Langa didn’t act like his arteries were too frozen to pump human blood.
His practice range was separated from the stables by a length of thick green bushes that stretched taller than his height. The emerging sun rays lit the tops of his training dummy. Rips and tears marred its potato sack skin. He would sometimes ask one of the stable boys, Miya, to spar with him if he wanted some real competition, but he suspected that he’d be made into horse feed if he dared wake him up early.
He bent down to open the chest that contained his swords and picked out a rapier. Its point glinted in the sun after he shed its scabbard.
Prince Langa reminded him of a sword whose scabbard was always kept on, hiding its blade from the world. No matter how much Reki had tried to be friendly, he was always ignored or rebuffed. Gods above. He looked at Reki like he was a cockroach. Reki wasn’t exactly thrilled with his arranged marriage to the prince of a kingdom that had been their enemy little but a decade ago either, but at least he was trying. Langa was making an already vexing arrangement far more painful than it needed to be. How were they supposed to get married if they couldn’t even pretend to like each other? He didn’t even want to think about what the failure of their marriage would mean for their kingdoms. War. Civil or otherwise didn’t make much of a difference. Possible famine if another trade embargo was taken.
Reki thrust his sword at the dummy with a grunt, using it as an effigy for his frustrations. The dummy spun defencelessly, its wooden sword no match for his rapier.
Stupid war. THWACK. Stupid marriage. THWACK. Stupid—
Langa?
Surely enough, Prince Langa stood before him in all his pompousness, wearing an off-white blouse, dark baggy pants, and a crimson red cape. His expression was unimpressed as always.
Reki scoffed. Think of the devil… “Why’d you show up here in your pretty clothes?”
“I could ask the same of you.” Langa eyed his waistcoat.
Something about his gaze heated Reki’s cheeks, so he glanced away. “No matter. I guess you may watch me as long as you don’t distract me.” He wiped the blade down with his shirt sleeve, an action that would likely have made his mother faint had she been there to witness it.
Langa tilted his head in the infuriating way he always did. “Why would I distract you? I want to spar with you.”
Reki frowned. Spar? “Is your mother making you play nice with me?”
The aloof prince shrugged, eyeing Reki’s sword chest. “I suppose. She did say that I should try to be more friendly.”
I’ll say. “How did you even know that I practice sword fighting? Did you spy on me?”
Langa glanced to the side with a sheepish pout. “I…don’t get a lot of sleep at night. He nodded towards the castle that hung over them. “They put me in a room with a window that looks over this area.”
Reki cursed under his breath. Of course. Langa had to be the most enigmatic man he had ever had the misfortune of interacting with. First, he acted like Reki was less significant than a weevil under his shoe, and now he was spying on him in the wee hours of the morning? He had to give props to whomever Langa’s politics tutor was; he was a master of mind games. Perhaps even Machiavelli’s successor.
“I’m really not that bad at fighting.”
Reki raised his eyebrow. “Who taught you then?”
“My…father.” Langa’s eyes grew foggy and distant. He swallowed. “He used to practice with me.”
“Oh.”
All Reki knew about the late King Oliver was that he had died several years before the arrangement was even made. He suspected that Langa's kingdom's motivation for the marital alliance was to prevent any war while their young and inexperienced future king was being groomed for the throne.
Still, something about Langa’s expression at the reminder of his father unlocked something soft in Reki’s guarded heart.
“Hey!”
Langa looked up in surprise. Reki nodded toward his sword collection.
“Take a rapier to make it a fair match,” Reki smirked. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you!”
“No need.” Langa’s face set in a determined expression.
Reki frowned in response. Who does this guy think he is?
Once Langa had taken a nearly identical rapier, Reki decided to go over the rules. “These rapiers are as blunt as you are, so don’t worry about being maimed.” He gestured to his chest, sides, and neck, which Langa’s eyes followed with keen interest. “Essentially, if I fail to block your sword from hitting anywhere above my upper body, you score a point. Whoever scores five points first wins the match. Understood?”
Langa nodded.
“Alright, let’s begin.”
Reki took an en Garde stance, standing sideways to Langa with his right side leaning towards him. His left foot tilted 45 degrees to his right. He had taken this stance so many times it came naturally to him.
Which was why Langa’s godawful stance nearly made him fall over in shock.
“What are you doing?”
Langa looked down at himself and shrugged. “Fencing?”
“Not like that!” Reki tutted. “Here.”
Reki dropped his rapier and came to Langa’s side. “First of all, keep all fingers on the hilt at once. I know I said these blades are dumb, but they could still give either me or you a broken nose if they fly through the air.”
“Oh.” Langa tightened his grasp.
Reki rounded towards Langa’s backside. “And your stance is abysmal. You were faced completely frontward from my perspective. If you were in a real fight, you’d be leaving all your vital organs open to be impaled!”
“Well, it’s good that this isn’t a real fight, isn’t it?” Reki could hear the smugness dripping from his voice even without seeing his face.
“Don’t tempt me,” Reki muttered under his breath. “You need your dominant side facing towards where I would be standing so that you can parry my attacks.”
“Alright.” Langa faced the left side of his body towards the phantom of Reki’s footprints.
Left-handed? That’s rare… Usually, even if royalty were born left-handed they would be forcibly trained out of it.
“Almost. Let me adjust you a bit…” Reki placed his hands on Langa’s waist over his orange cummerbund and guided him further to the left. “Make sure to place your left foot in front of your right, since you’ll be using the extension of your right leg to drive your strikes, and—”
“Um…” Langa's voice trembled.
“What’s the matter?” Reki glanced up to survey the situation. The tips of Langa’s ear had turned unmistakeably red.
Oh.
Suddenly he became aware of the compromising position they were in.
Reki took a step back. “I’m deeply sorry! I didn’t realize—” It was normal in Reki’s experience for people to take a more hands-on approach in their fencing instruction. He hadn’t realized that their arrangement could make things more…complicated.
“It’s alright,” Langa muttered, not looking back at Reki.
“Well then,” Reki said, ignoring the heat that had flooded his cheeks once more. “Let’s begin!”
Reki retook his stance against Langa, their opposing stances complementing each other like yin and yang. I’d better let him approach first to give him a fair shot. It’d be unfair to strike first when he’s so inexperienced.
“Alright, we advance on three. One, two, thr—”
Air whooshed past Reki’s ear as Langa’s sword tapped his shoulder. Reki didn’t move an inch, his eyes blown wide in shock. Langa’s face was cold yet determined, his eyes as hard as hail. For a few moments, they remained in this position, as the leaves from the hedges around them danced upon their descent, and the sun continued its ascension above the horizon.
“I—” Reki’s mouth opened and closed as he thought of what to say. “You…before the count was over.”
“Oh.” Langa moved his rapier off of Reki’s shoulder, tilting his head to the side. “Was it a good attack though?”
Reki only grunted, looking away. It had been a very good attack. Too good for someone who didn’t even know the proper stance. Lightning quick, and just as powerful. But there was no way in hell he was ever going to admit that.
He and Langa moved back to their positions. This time, Reki was not going to wait for a second on his attacks.
“One, two, three!”
Langa surged up towards him again, but this time Reki was prepared. He turned his body farther to the right and parried Langa’s strike. He caught Langa’s eyes widening from the corner of his eye. With a smirk, he twisted his hilt in a riposte and caught Langa’s side.
“Touché.”
Langa pouted in response, to which Reki stuck out his tongue with a chuckle. To his surprise, Langa let out a little smile.
The two sparred for several more rounds. Their fighting gained intensity as Langa became even more confident with his stances and positions, and Reki got more invested in their matches.
When it came to their fifth and final match, Reki and Langa were somehow tied. Reki was more skilled at parrying the more tactical aspects, but Langa was wicked quick and had near-unbreakable focus. It came to the point where they were locked together by blade, their faces mere centimetres apart. The resolve was written all over Langa’s icy face. Reki’s heart beat wildly in his chest. He was in a tricky situation. If he moved his sword an inch, he could tap Langa’s head and win the match. But to do that, he would leave himself open to Langa’s attack, and that would spell loss for him. He gritted his teeth. Damnit. He would have to risk his position and hope that he would get his hit in before Langa did.
SCHING
Before he knew it, Langa’s sword was touching his body. But his sword was—
Right at Langa’s shoulder.
Reki looked up into Langa’s frosted eyes and swallowed. “I think that’s a draw.”
“Oh.” Nevertheless, Langa didn’t relent, as if he was stuck in some sort of trance.
Reki’s eyes dipped to Langa’s lips, blushed pink by the crisp morning air.
I wonder…
DING DONG DING DONG
Their gazes snapped up to the bell tower that hung in the middle of the castle.
“I guess it’s waketime now,” Reki remarked, wiping the sweat off of his forehead. That was odd.
“Ah.” Langa blinked. “I should probably get back to my quarters then.” He flashed a slight smile. “It was nice sparring with you Reki!”
Langa handed Reki his rapier and ran off in the direction of the castle.
Reki was left wondering how he had managed to thaw.
