by Neha Yazmin
“What are you doing with my crossbow?”
Chapter 2
This was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. He felt like screaming. Frustrating as it was, Wyett knew that the Adgari wasn’t lying when she told him, “His Majesty gave this to me in thanks for saving his life.” Of course, his father had given her Wyett’s crossbow. The King was making ridiculous decisions lately. All of them related to this ridiculous girl. Assigning her to Wyett’s chambers was the most ridiculous of all.
Wyett hadn’t planned to speak to his father about her today, or any other day, since he had an understanding with the Head of the Royal Guards with regards getting rid of her, but he couldn’t ignore this. The crossbow is mine. His eighteenth birthday gift from his father. Why had he given it to her? Without telling Wyett?
Sure, the King didn’t need Wyett’s permission—he could give this girl all of his children’s belongings if he wanted to—but Wyett deserved an explanation. And that was exactly what he planned to demand as he headed towards the dais.
“Come with me,” he barked at the girl as he walked past her. She obeyed.
He sensed that Erisa was following, too. He supposed he should have said hello to her, but the two of them had drifted apart in the last couple of years and hardly exchanged pleasantries these days. She wasn’t offended by the fact that he hadn’t acknowledged her.
Wyett stopped in front of the Throne and bowed to his father, the girl halting beside him. Erisa walked to his other side, as though declaring her allegiance to him.
“Father, it has come to my attention that my crossbow has ended up in someone else’s hands,” he said carefully, politely.
“So soon?” his father said, sighing. You found out so soon? was what it sounded like.
“Was I not supposed to find out?”
“It’s no secret.” The King waved a hand at the girl, indicating that she was carrying the weapon out in the open. Not a secret at all.
“Are your reasons for giving it to her a secret?” His words were even more careful now, even more polite.
The King shrugged as he said, “You don’t use the thing, so I thought Aaryana could have it.”
“I don’t use a lot of things, Father. I hope they don’t get reallocated, too.”
His father didn’t comment.
Wyett took a deep breath. “I would like my crossbow back. It is one of my favourite things that you have given me.”
“The abandonment of the gift says otherwise,” the King said without emotion. “Regardless, it belongs to Aaryana now, and she is clearly using it.”
Wyett kept from gritting his teeth. “As Your Majesty wishes.”
He was about to bow and leave the room to go break something, when the girl cleared her throat. This time, he did grind his teeth together. Lucky for her that she’d addressed his father. He didn’t know what he would have said or done to her if she’d approached him. If she said Wyett could have his crossbow back, he might just be tempted to break her.
“Your Majesty,” she said softly, “with your permission, I will gladly return this to you.”
“I have no use for it,” the King said with a shrug. “It’s yours to keep, if you want it.”
“I want it,” she assured him. “But not at the expense of displeasing the Crown Prince.”
Wyett waited for her to turn to him so he could tell her exactly what she could do with the damned crossbow. But her eyes were fixed on the King. His father took a long time to respond.
Finally, he said, “The two of you want the thing, but I don’t yet know how much you both want it. The both of you have earned it, by different means, but I know you’re not going to share it. And it can’t be split into two…
“I think that the two of you should compete for it. A duel, with the weapons of your choice. Show me who wants it more.”
How atrocious! His father was being ridiculous again. Yes, Wyett wanted his gift back, but not so much that he wanted to expend time and energy on her.
“That won’t be necessary, Father. The girl can keep it. I don’t want it that much—”
“Don’t worry, Your Highness,” the girl said to him, her voice low but silky. “I’ll go easy on you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” he snapped at her.
She smiled. “You don’t have to be afraid—”
“Afraid of you?”
“Of losing to me too badly. I’ll make it painless.”
He laughed so loud that Erisa jumped in fright. “If anyone should be afraid, it’s you.” Because he was going to make it very painful for her.
She lifted an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because you’re not going to have legs to stand on by the time I’m done with you.”
So, it was set. Aaryana would duel with the Crown Prince this afternoon. Myraa would have said that it wasn’t the best idea, fighting the Crown Prince—the man she wanted to seduce—but Aaryana’s initial approach in winning Wyett’s heart hadn’t exactly yielded good results. Might as well try something completely different. Go head-to-head with him, warrior-to-warrior. He would hate her either way, but at least this way, she wouldn’t feel so disgusted with herself.
And he definitely wouldn’t be able to call her a whore.
First, though, she needed to shut her eyes and lie in bed for a while. Sleep would be welcome but she was sure it wouldn’t come. Swapping her jacket and pants for her nightgown, Aaryana told Jeena to wake her up at four o’clock—half an hour before the duel was to start.
She would treat it like a Task, one of those where warriors from faraway lands came to fight with the would-be Heirs in the Stone Ring. Neither challenger nor Heir would have seen the other in battle, so it was a case of learning to read your opponent as you blocked blows and threw punches, as the match went on.
At the threshold of her bedroom, Aaryana remembered to ask Jeena, “Where would one go if they wanted to get their hair dyed?”
“You want to see Madam Varda, my Lady. She’s the best beautician in Roshdan.”
“Who’s the worst beautician in the Island?”
“My Lady?”
“Which beautician hardly gets any clients at all?” When the servant became even more perplexed, Aaryana said, “Jeena, I need you to find me the worst beauty parlour in Roshdan and book me an appointment.”
“Why?” Jeena asked, bewildered.
“I guess I want to help the needy. Give my custom to a sinking business rather than one that’s already flying without my money.”
Shrugging, Aaryana got into bed, wondering how good a fighter Wyett was. Seth said he was “the best”, so he must be better than the Royal Guards and everyone in the Palace. Wyett himself had mentioned saving his father when the rebels last attacked, meaning he was more capable than Micah. But how did he compare to Aaryana, someone who had trained since the moment she could lift a sword? Someone who’d learned from fighters of various Islands? Someone that beat Micah easily, a man that must have grown up with the same training and facilities as Wyett.
She hadn’t been able to decide whether to let Wyett win or beat the hell out of him before she drifted off to a deep sleep.
Seen as this wasn’t an official competition, the duel was taking place behind the closed doors of the Palace’s indoor training hall. Only Erisa and her mother joined the Royal Family to watch the fight. Aaryana wasn’t sure if they’d been invited by the King or had begged to come along. And of course, the hall was full of guards. She should stop noticing their presence. There wasn’t a single nook or cranny in this castle that they didn’t inhabit. Here, they lined the walls, stood behind the Royals sitting at the far end of the room.
The sparring ring was in one corner of the hall, close enough to the guards that they’d be able to tackle Aaryana to the ground if it looked like she was going to land a fatal blow on the Prince. She kept her features neutral as she threw her sword from one hand to the other by its hilt, Wyett twisting his own blade in his hand before her
.
She wished she could have brought Micah’s sword, but she didn’t think it was the best time to reveal it. The generic weapon she’d picked up from the selection spread out on the table along the eastern wall would have to do until she bought her own weapons. The victor’s prize—the crossbow—was sitting at the very edge of the table, waiting for Aaryana or Wyett to claim it after the conclusion of the match.
When Jeena had woken her up half an hour ago, Aaryana’s mind was made up: She was going to do her best to win this match. Show them what she was capable of. Wyett didn’t want the crossbow as much as he was making out; his issue was with the fact that Aaryana possessed it. He wanted to win it back only so she wouldn’t have it.
If he won it back, he’d leave it to gather dust, for the metal to rust, just to rub it in her face. To rub it in his face, Aaryana would make sure to carry it during every shift outside his bedchamber. Should she win this fight.
No, she had to win. Her seduction skills had left a lot to be desired; perhaps her fighting would impress him? Yes, he’d hate her for humiliating him in front of his family and all these guards, but deep down, he’d admire her talent and abilities.
Wouldn’t he?
Hoping she wasn’t putting an axe through her own feet, Aaryana lunged for the Crown Prince of Roshdan when the King called for the duel to begin.
Grunting, Wyett arced the girl’s sword up and away from him with his own blade for what felt like the thousandth time and tried to bring it around to block her next attack. Lightning quick—she was lightning quick. Faster than anyone he’d ever encountered. His size and muscles would have been no match for her if she wasn’t so light on her feet, if she wasn’t so efficient in her moves.
She was leading this dance, setting the rhythm, her sword slicing through the air, her ponytail whipping about her face. He wasn’t losing, but if she carried on like this, he couldn’t see himself winning.
There was determination on her face. She wanted to triumph over him. So, why hadn’t she taken those two chances early on in the match to take the victory? Maybe she wanted to make a spectacle of him? Perhaps she wanted to showcase her skills, everything she had in her arsenal? The flips and jumps, the way she twisted on her feet, rolled on the floor, the way her sword drew circles and squares and all kinds of nameless shapes in the air.
Or, it could be that she was simply warming up.
Not that Wyett wasn’t improving with every second, watching and learning the various ways she chose to attack and defend, but he knew he was giving it his all and had the sneaky suspicion that she was holding back. Yes, in the beginning, when she’d nearly had him down on his knees, twice, it seemed as though she was all in, too, unleashing everything upon him. Since then, she’d reined it back. As though she’d decided to take her time with him; she’d win, anyway.
He wasn’t sure what that meant about him. That a girl, a Princess one year younger than him should find it so easy to beat him. He knew that she’d been training since she was able to walk, just as he had, but Wyett had been training for longer. And yet, she was obviously the best fighter now residing in Roshdan. That title had belonged to him, ever since he’d beaten the legendary soldiers at Sidkat—soldiers he’d trained and lived with for a number of years.
This Adgari, when she decided to end it, was going to bring him down easily. If the bar was set so high in Adgar, it was lucky that the Island was so far away from Roshdan.
Aaryana was impressed. The Crown Prince was doing well. He had the skills and the stamina, the desire to keep going. She could tell that he’d been training since a young age, that he trained long and hard on a daily basis. But his was a different kind of training. He practiced and kept himself in shape in case the rebels attacked, in case of an invasion. All the while knowing that he’d have guards to help him keep the enemy at bay.
If he went to war, he’d have an army behind him. It gave one a certain kind of security. Everything didn’t depend on you and you alone.
Aaryana on the other hand, had trained to ensure victory in The Contest year-after-year, to pass monthly tests in front of the entire Island, knowing she’d walk into the Stone Ring alone. No back up, no army. This made for a warrior that was a weapon herself, a warrior that didn’t need to know there were others fighting alongside her. A warrior that was built to do it all herself.
Wyett was a worthy opponent. If he’d seen her fight before and had spent a couple of weeks practicing for this duel, she knew he had the ability to make her sweat. Just a little. If he was the best that Roshdan had to offer, she understood why the rebels had so easily taken down the King’s guards by the coast.
Fortunately, Micah wasn’t half as good as Wyett, otherwise the rebel leader would have killed his uncle before Aaryana had even reached them. The guards and Royals of this Island had a long way to go before reaching the standards set in Adgar.
This suddenly got her thinking: Was it a good idea to demonstrate just how superior her abilities were, how deadly she was? What if Wyett—if not the King—saw her as a threat to the King? What if he deemed her too dangerous to keep in the castle? Keep alive, even.
The Crown Prince wanted to get rid of her; she wouldn’t put it past him to suggest that she might use her considerable skills to bring down the Royal Family and take the Crown for her own. She could see it now: Wyett arguing that since Aaryana had lost the chance to become Queen of her home Island, why wouldn’t she set her sights on the Roshdani Throne?
Honour. She had honour. And respect for King Keyan.
“What?” Wyett panted, his sword pushing hers, trying to force her out of the sparring ring.
Up until now, Aaryana hadn’t let him get into a position to do that, because he was physically stronger than her. But she didn’t spin away like she had on previous occasions when he’d attempted to use his strength to overpower her.
A weakness—she had to show a weakness. She had to lose this duel.
She held her ground but he was gaining on her; her feet would soon give way a step. Once outside the ring, the win would go to Wyett.
“What has honour got to do with this?” he asked through gritted teeth.
Aaryana raised an eyebrow in question and then lowered it. She must have said the word honour out loud and not realised it. Fine. Good.
She told him the truth. “I have honour. I would never kill for a Throne that’s not rightfully mine.”
“What are you talking about?” He leaned forward, pushing at her blade, forcing her backwards.
Aaryana pushed back with all her strength, and managed to hold her ground. Yes, she had given him the means to beat her, but she wouldn’t yield so easily. He would notice it immediately if she lost on purpose.
“I’m not your enemy,” she breathed. “I will never hurt your father.”
“I would never let you,” he snarled, and with one final push, he shoved her out of the ring.
Aaryana went stumbling back a few steps. When she looked at Wyett, his expression was stormy. Something dangerous glittered in his green eyes. Suspicion? Hatred? Realisation that she’d let him overpower her?
Acting oblivious to the narrowing of his eyes, she gave Wyett a low bow and then one to the King. He was smiling broadly, as was Seth, even though the young Prince’s skin was pale, and dark smudges were framing his eyes. Quin was frowning. Erisa and her mother wore identical, triumphant grins as they applauded.
Slowly, the King rose to his feet, clapping. “Congratulations, Wyett. Has there been a single duel that you’ve lost in the last decade?” He looked proud, happy.
Wyett bowed. He was unbeaten in the past ten years? Impressive.
The King turned to Aaryana and said, “How peacefully will he sleep, the man that will be lucky enough to call you his wife.”
She didn’t know what to say to that so she just bowed her head again. She was exhausted. Her body seemed to realise that she didn’t have long to recuperate before her shift started and her eyelids began to droop.
“Are you alright, Aaryana?” The King didn’t miss anything.
Shaking her head and swallowing her yawn, she said, “Just sleepy, Your Majesty. I didn’t get much sleep after my shift.”
“Then you must rest before you go back on duty.” She heard the words behind the firm ones he’d spoken out loud: I don’t want you falling asleep when you’re supposed to guard my son’s door.
“Straightaway, Your Majesty.”
Wyett came to his quarters much later than he had last night, probably to hold off from seeing her for as long as possible. Aaryana had expected as much. What she hadn’t anticipated was that Seth would be a few paces behind him, breathing hard. Wyett was walking so fast, no doubt to avoid sharing this narrow passageway with her for longer than necessary, that Seth was jogging to keep up with him.
It struck her with a thump to the heart, how frail the youngest Prince seemed to be. How tired. More than he’d been on the last few occasions she’d seen him. A sudden urge to protect him rose in her chest, to tell Wyett to slow down. But she stared ahead and pressed her lips into a line as the two Princes entered the bedchamber behind her.
Seth, to his credit, paused for a beat to wink at her. She couldn’t stop the grin from stretching her mouth, even though she still worried about why he appeared to be unwell.
Aaryana couldn’t make out individual words but it sounded like a mild argument was raging between the brothers. Nothing that made her want to barge in and throw herself in front of Seth, though she vowed to do that if Wyett’s voice turned aggressive. Right now, he just sounded persuasive, obviously trying to convince his little brother to grant him a favour.
And that favour was: Coming into the hallway and holding her former crossbow up to her. The door shut loudly behind him.
Seth said, “He wants you to take it back.”
