Taking the castle halls at random, she found herself in a section of the castle that she had never been to before. Her footsteps echoed in the unfamiliar wing, and a cold draft rolled in from a window that had been left open.
Ancient-looking shields lined the walls, their metal dulled with age, and faded banners hung limp between them.
Elizabeth paused before a torn standard, a silver stag on a blue field, its fabric so fragile it might crumble to the touch. She had never seen such a standard before. Come to think of it, she didn’t recognize most of the standards in the hall. Several were torn and dirty at the edges, as if they had been ripped from ramparts.
A chill crept up her spine as she looked from banner to banner. These weren’t decorations—they were trophies. Each torn standard, each dented shield, told the story of some lord’s defeat.
Elizabeth stopped before a banner set apart from the rest—a golden lion rampant on an emerald-green banner. Her brow furrowed. The house sigil looked familiar. She’d seen it before, but where?
Two suits of armour flanked the green banner like silent sentries, their visors dark and empty. Unlike the others, the green banner was clearly set in the center of the hall, in a position of pride. It was the most ragged-looking, and was torn at the edges, with what looked like a muddy handprint in the corner.
She peered closer at the dark stain. Not mud—dried blood, rusty brown against the vibrant green. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. A keepsake from a battle.
A heavy oak door loomed at the end of the hall with two crossed swords gleaming above the iron handle. Elizabeth’s pulse quickened as she approached. What would she find on the other side?
She glanced over her shoulder, but she was alone. She listened carefully and heard something that sounded like a scuff, followed by a series of soft thumps. She brought her ear closer to the wood. The muffled sounds grew louder.
Filled with a sense of apprehension, she carefully cracked open the door and peered inside.
Her eyes widened.
The room was a giant gymnasium, filled with mats and racks of weapons. Heavy leather bags hung suspended from the ceiling on chains, and there was a pile of pads and dummies in the corner. Inside the room, she saw firsthand that demons were not just supernaturally gifted with muscle. Apparently, they had to work for it just the same as mortals, because in the middle of the room, standing on the mats and heaving with exertion, were two demons.
Asmodeus looked sweaty and disheveled but otherwise in fair spirits. He saw her and gave her a friendly nod.
Caspian, on the other hand, didn’t even see her, lost in his focus. He attacked a hanging leather bag with fury as he feinted and came in low. His back muscles rippled under his tunic, soaked with sweat, as his fists collided with the bag over and over. Gods, he was vicious.
Caspian stood and glanced at Asmodeus. Noticing the direction of Asmodeus’s stare, he turned and saw her, blinking in surprise.
As their eyes met, he scowled and brushed a sweaty lock of hair off his face. He was breathing heavily, his chest visibly rising and falling as he caught his breath.
“Elizabeth.”
“Oh, hello,” she said brightly. “My apologies. I was just exploring the castle. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
As she made to leave, Asmodeus said, “We can teach you if you like. We practice every morning.”
Morning? It was nearly evening.
She hesitated. “No, thank you. I fear that it would be unseemly for me to learn how to fight.”
“As you wish,” Caspian said, his tone unsurprised.
“If you won’t join us, then I’ll just have to beat Cas senseless again. I don’t mind!” Asmodeus grinned and made a playful hit to Caspian’s stomach.
Caspian retaliated, and soon, the two were fighting, each trying to land a hit. Asmodeus retreated a few steps and gave a battle cry, trying to headbutt Caspian in the stomach. Caspian was forced two steps back, and then the two demons started to wrestle.
Asmodeus was grinning like a fiend, and even Caspian wore the barest shadow of a smile as he tried to place his friend in a headlock with his elbow. Asmodeus grunted and threw him off in a strange maneuver that her brain couldn’t make heads or tails of. Asmodeus swept Caspian’s legs out from under him, and they warred on the mat. Caspian ended up on the bottom, yet somehow still wrestled him into another headlock.
Elizabeth watched in fascination as his bicep squeezed Asmodeus’s throat. Asmodeus snarled and struggled, gasping profanities.
"Tap, or I’ll break it," Caspian grunted.
Asmodeus yelled, “NEVER.” The words came out muffled and half-choked. “Never give up—never surrender!”
The two spluttered and heaved, then Asmodeus shoved him off somehow. The two circled each other, leaving her standing in the doorway, completely ignored.
They grappled and laughed like overgrown children. She shook her head at the absurdity of monsters play-fighting.
