“Good,” Gervais said, still smiling. “You are skilled, young prince, most skilled. Again?”
Felix could not refuse in front of his father’s guard and his sneering attendants. He saluted the prince, their swords crossed again, and this time Gervais broke through his defense in a moment, touching him hard on the shoulder. Felix turned away, cursing under his breath, his ears red with embarrassment.
“Come, you cannot be finished,” Gervais cried. “You are doing so well, Prince Felix.”
Felix could hear the laughter behind his voice, and the blood roared angrily in his head. He saluted, assumed first position, and this time was quick enough to go on offensive first, surprising the other prince for a moment. But Gervais laughed even as their swords met, and the next moment Felix felt a hard slap against his thigh.
“Indeed, you will make a fine swordsman someday,” Gervais said.
“Again, Prince Felix?”
Nothing in this world seemed half as important as permanently removing that grin from Gervais’s face. But Felix knew after three encounters that he couldn’t hope to touch the Prince of Beauclair. They crossed swords again.
“When I defeated the Count of Elbeuf,” Gervais said, “the most famous swordsman in his demesne, I performed just this maneuver.” He feinted, Felix fell for it, and the next moment was struck hard on the arm. “Again, Prince Felix?”
Felix ran through his mind any possible ways he might decline and yet retain an inch of dignity, and found there were none. He saluted, and they engaged.
“When I encountered the Baron Dronhim of Milden,” Gervais said, “I tried this.”
Felix attempted to parry but was too slow, and the wooden sword hit his other arm. He wondered how many bruises his attendants would count and snicker over when they helped him to dress that evening.
“Again, Prince Felix?”
“A moment!” Felix panted, turning and stalking a few paces away to catch his breath. He placed a hand on his side, where a cramp was developing. Closing his eyes, he growled between his teeth, “If she marries that goblin’s son, why I’ll . . .”
He opened his eyes and saw Aethelbald standing a few yards away, arms crossed. Aethelbald looked at him, his mouth a straight line across his face, and raised his eyebrows.
Felix drew in a deep breath and turned back to Gervais. “I’m ready, prince,” he said and saluted.
Gervais smiled that brilliant beam of his and saluted back. Then he lunged. Felix’s feet moved in the intricate pattern he’d practiced yesterday, a little clumsy but just quick enough, and his sword arm darted out. He staggered at the end but turned his head to watch Gervais’s wooden sword fly through the air and clatter in the gravel behind him.
Even the attendants stopped whispering.
Felix leapt forward and smacked Gervais, who was still recovering his feet, hard on the thigh. “Touch!” he cried. “Match!”
Gervais swore roundly and backed away, rubbing his thigh. “What did you do?” he demanded.
Felix grinned at him and shrugged. “I disarmed you! Another, Prince Gervais?”
Gervais swore again, under his breath this time, and went to retrieve his own sword from the edge of the yard, leaving the wooden sword where it lay. “Enough for today, Prince Felix,” he said. “Perhaps again tomorrow. We shall see.”
He buckled his sword belt about his waist and strode from the yard without another word, passing Aethelbald. The Prince of Farthestshore put out a hand to arrest him and said something too low for Felix to overhear. But Felix did not care. Inside he was bursting, and it took all his concentration to maintain a cool air as he scooped up Gervais’s practice sword and went to put it away.
“When I defeated the swaggering prince of Beauclair,” he whispered, smiling fiendishly, “I used this little maneuver. . . .”
–––––––
Una spent most of the rest of the day inside working at her tapestry. It felt safer inside. Safer from what, she could not say, but safer for sure. Nurse was discerning enough to sense that her princess was in a delicate state of mind and let her alone, though she did notice that Una tangled her thread rather more than usual.
Una hardly saw her work. She kept reliving the events in the garden that morning and found, to her frustration, that she could not enjoy the memory of Gervais’s romantic song, overshadowed as it was by Aethelbald’s rudeness.
How dare he take her hand like that? Pretending concern! As if she wouldn’t know if she had damaged her own hands.
Monster hopped into her lap and started chewing on her thread. Una watched him do it without seeing until he had unraveled half an armored bean man. Coming to herself suddenly, Una growled, “Monster, you beast!” She tossed the cat over the arm of the chair, then set to embroidering with more will than ever, determined to dwell on Prince Gervais.