Page 26 of Esperance

Argent grunted as he dodged Carver’s latest strike. “You’ve been practicing.”

“No. I’m just better than you.”

His friend chuckled, even as he swung—Carver jumped back.

Several blows later, Carver had the tip of his blade at Argent’s throat.

The prince was breathing hard and sweat coated his brow, but he surrendered with a smile. “I’ll let you have this victory.”

Carver snorted, going for an unaffected air even though his spine dripped sweat. “I’ll let you think youallowedme that victory.”

Samuel stepped forward. “You’re both incredibly skilled,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind a lesson or two.”

Argent nodded to Carver. “He’d be the better teacher.”

Rivard rolled his wrist, letting his practice blade swing as he stared at Carver. “Care to spar?”

Carver’s grip on the hilt flexed.

Argent spoke before he could. “Perhaps you and I should spar instead, Rivard. Carver and Samuel could—”

“Yes,” Carver said, his gaze firmly on Rivard.

Argent muttered a curse, but Carver ignored him as he shifted to face Rivard. His gaze was sharp, and he didn’t blink as they dipped into abbreviated bows.

Carver could hear his father’s voice in his head, telling him of the stupidity of this, but he ignored the warning as he attacked.

Rivard met him without hesitation, striking back with more force than Carver had expected. He’d been practicing. But then, Carver had, too. He’d fought for his life on a battlefield more times than he could count.

Rivard hadn’t.

The fight was brutal. The leaden sword clipped Carver’s arm more than once, which would surely leave deep bruises, but he didn’t slow. He beat Rivard further and further back, until they left the dirt yard and nearly spun into a group of watching clerics.

Argent yelled something, but Carver’s attention was fully on Rivard.

They exchanged a few more blows, then Rivard surprised him with a hit to his jaw.

Carver’s head snapped back, his face sparking with pain. His grip on his sword clenched.

Mere seconds later, he shoved Rivard to the ground.

Rivard fell hard in an ungraceful sprawl and his sword bounced away. Carver set his mock blade against Rivard’s heaving chest and leaned down.

Rivard flinched as the blunt tip dug into his chest.

Carver enjoyed seeing that spark of pain too much. He kept his voice low as his eyes bored into Rivard’s. “It would be wise of you to stay away from me.”

The other man’s face turned red. “You act as if I’m the only one who made mistakes. I’m not the only one to blame for what—”

“Don’t,” Carver warned, increasing the pressure of the blade against Rivard’s chest.

He hissed in pain. “Let me up.”

Carver didn’t move.

Rivard’s glare sharpened. “Let. Me.Up.”

Argent’s hand was suddenly on Carver’s shoulder. “Stop this,” he ordered quietly. “You’re making a scene.”

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