Sleep had brought a parade of dreams, all of them terrible. He'd fought demons endlessly as they emerged from corpses whenever one of his fellow fighters fell. When he wasn't fighting, he was healing those who had survived the battle. No one wanted to be there.

When he woke, light was peaking through the curtains. The sun had risen, just as Marigold had promised. That her words had been proven true made Solace trust her a little more, but he was still a bit wary of everything. Shortly after waking, Lorrie had brought breakfast, and he’d eaten at the table Marigold kept all his hair products on.

Then Sir Davis had arrived, made him stretch, and taken him over to the training yard. The yard was a rectangle bordered on two sides by the L-shaped building and the other two sides had a framework filled with lattice. Vines had grown over the lattice, finishing the enclosure. The ground was hard-packed dirt. The sun was fully up, blazing in a pale blue sky with whisps of white gathering like wads of hair in the distance. The yard was empty except for Sir Owen, who looked like he’d already “run out of fucks to give” for the day.

Solace’s gaze strayed to the roof of the building, wondering what the large canvas covering a section of it was for.

"Good morning, Sir Owen," Solace greeted.

"Morning, Your Highness," he greeted with his odd accent.

Patrick addressed Solace, "Your Highness, are you rested enough to stand?"

Solace shakily got out of his chair. Reed held the metal sticks toward him and waited for Solace to take them.

"Wait," Lorrie objected, "He'll get blisters. At least give him gloves."

Reed rolled his eyes. "Of course, protect his pristine hands." He gestured at Patrick. The knight nodded and went toward a door on the short side of the building. Lorrie followed.

Gazing at the man, Solace wondered if punching him in the mouth would do any good. Given his lack of strength, he suspected Reed would only shrug it off as a fly's bite and be more inclined to beat the pulp out of Solace. I'll hit him later when he least expects, he decided. After I've gained the strength to defend myself from his retaliation.

Lorrie returned with gloves after a moment and helped get them on as she said, "I'll have gloves tailored for you along with boots."

As he adjusted the too-large gloves, Solace said, "Pain is weakness leaving the body." Although the context was during the worship of Jorhnak, which Solace never intended to do again. Taking the sticks, he stood ready for further instruction. To his surprise, the sticks were almost too heavy for him, and he had to transfer one to each hand. They couldn't have been more than a few kilograms. This, too, disappointed him.

"It sounds like a wise saying," Patrick said. "Though I am unsure where you might have heard it. No one here would have said such a thing to you."

Reed swung his arms to loosen them. "Oh, there's been plenty said in his presence."

Lorrie glared, "Then you must have taught him that vile word."

"What?" Reed asked.

"I called Lady Petunia Breath-whatever a bitch," Solace explained as he moved his feet shoulder width apart as Patrick was directing. "A spade is a spade, is it not?" He grinned at Reed's dumbfounded expression.

Lorrie gasped. "Highness!"

"What? To her face?" Reed demanded, fighting a grin.

"She's not warranted that.” Solace waited a beat before he added, “Yet."

Reed’s control of his face cracked. He bent forward, leaning on his knees, to cackle until his face was red as his hair.

Patrick got his attention by half-heartedly kicking him in the thigh. "Mind yourself." He left Reed rubbing his wound and chortling to return to Solace. "I would advise against calling ladies such things, Your Highness. It would give you an unnecessary reputation. Hold the bars like this.” He adjusted Solace’s posture and guided him in lifting the bars correctly.

“Can’t say I care about reputations.”

“You should!” Lorrie admonished. “You are a Crown Candidate!”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

Reed shoved his hair back from his face with a grin. “King Gwain needs an heir. You weren’t an option until yesterday, so they set up this competition to pick the best person to lead the kingdom later. Before, it was Lord Elliot Harthford and Lady Gwenivar Lorraine. So you’ve thrown your hat into the ring?” He snorted as if the idea was stupid and Solace had no chance of winning.

Irritated, Solace chucked one of the bars at him.

It landed only a meter away and rolled.

Reed bent and picked it up, but before he handed it back, the knight snapped his gaze to the right, looking past Solace. His expression was no longer amused.

Turning to look over his shoulder, Solace found a stocky woman with dark hair standing in the archway of the training yard enclosure.

“Sir Blanch, did you forget something?” Reed asked, sticking the bar into Solace’s hand as he strode past.

Approaching, she held up a piece of paper.

Taking it, Reed glanced it over, then looked at her. “And you’ll abide by this?” he asked.

“Yes. That’s why I got Sir Fisk to sign it. Do you agree?”

Reed sucked his teeth and folded the paper slowly. “Fine. Long as you don’t whine about losing later.”

“I’m here to learn, Sir.”

Reed visibly flinched at being called sir by this woman, as if he’d not expected it.

“Sir Owen?” Patrick asked.

“Clear His Highness to the side over there, Sir Blanch wants an unofficial duel.” Reed folded the paper again and stuck it into his pocket.

Patrick flinched this time, going stiff like he’d been struck in the back of the head. He turned back to face Solace. He was pale as he herded Solace to the far wall, clearing the training yard.

“What is going on?” Solace asked in a whisper.

The Vice-Captain looked like he didn’t want to answer. He licked his lips and took a breath as Reed and the woman took places in the center of the yard.

“The high nobles have a dueling system,” Patrick explained. “They challenge someone to a fight, and it’s… winner takes all. Everything you own, your money, title, house, family. But… the law states that someone of lower rank can’t lift a weapon toward someone higher. So if Reed hurts Blanch in any way… Nyltia Bless, why did he accept this? Has he really given up?”

Feeling shaky, Solace sat in his chair again and rested the bars on his thighs to watch the fight.

Reed and Blanch saluted each other, then drew swords.

Whatever anxiety Patrick was feeling, Reed did not share.

Sliding his foot back, Reed lifted his sword up, blade dropped down and across his body, hilt high.

Blanch set her feet, blade pointed up.

At some unseen signal, they burst into motion. Blanch lunged forward with a slash.

Reed deflected and sidestepped. With a twist of his sword, he threw her arms high and slapped her in the ribs with the flat of his blade.

Blanch staggered with a grunt.

Lorrie’s hands flew to her mouth as she gasped.

Catching her balance a few steps away, she reset her feet and came at Reed again. Her expression was determined. Changing the angle of her sword, she swept it downward.

Again, Reed deflected by lifting his hilt high. The blades sparked as hers slid down the length of his sword. Instead of attacking, he rushed her, pinning her sword between her body and his. She backed away, stumbling until she tripped over her feet and fell.

Reed backed off and waited for her to get up.

Solace wasn’t well versed in sword fighting, but he’d seen enough knights in action as Dunn to realize that Blanch wasn’t that good. Reed was only doing basic things to set her off balance. This girl would die if a real threat came at her.

She wasn’t finished. Blanch scrambled to her feet and rushed him with a wild swing, perhaps trying to mimic what he’d just done to her.

Reed shifted his balance and stepped aside, giving Solace clear view of his face. He looked bored.

Blanch went stumbling past, helped along by a swat on the back with Reed’s sword.

“Seems to me that Sir Owen is handily winning this,” Solace said to Patrick. “So what does he get for winning?”

“He can’t win. It’s not allowed.” Patrick couldn’t tear his eyes off the fight. Blanch had turned around to deliver two quick slashes. Reed deflected them both, then counter attacked after the second, disarming her entirely.

“But it seems like he did win,” Solace said.

Reed lowered his blade and waited while Blanch retrieved her sword. “That enough for you?”

The woman’s expression was dark. She slammed the blade into its sheath and stomped out of the training area without a word.

Sheathing his sword, Reed flicked his hair back over his shoulders. He didn’t look like he’d broken a sweat. Rightly so, considering how laughable a show that had been.

“Honestly, that was pathetic,” Solace commented. “And she’s a knight? A fully commissioned knight?” Solace thought something was off about their fight. It was… naked. As if they could have taken far more damage than they should have if something had gone wrong. That they hadn't gotten hurt was because Reed had full control of the bout from start to finish. “Though it’s reassuring to see that my guards know what they’re doing.”

Reed looked the direction Blanch had fled as he walked over to Patrick and handed him the paper from his pocket. “Yeah, well. That’s about what you can expect from Eastern Barracks. They’re all high nobles over there. All in all, she knew which end goes toward enemy.”

Patrick finished reading the paper, still looking pained. “Reed. No one is going to believe this. Why did you accept it? You threw her on the ground! You hit her! You know Fisk isn’t going to honor this!”

“So what?” Reed gestured at the canvas-covered roof.

“I’ve been meaning to ask about that,” Solace interrupted.

“That ain’t your business,” Reed retorted firmly, then turned back to Patrick. “And this ain’t yours,” he snatched the paper back from his Vice-Captain, stalking out of the training yard.