“That’s because it’s not your business. I didn’t call you here to gossip about my personal life. I called you here to brief you on how to perform my duties while I’m gone.”
“I know how to perform your duties. How long do you think we’ve been doing this together?” Loran sat straighter. “And what personal life? You don’thavea personal life. You have work, and me, and the king. That’s it.”
Choosing to ignore that, Killian said, “I want you to add a few more men to Fyar’s escort as well as on night guard. I’ll tell the men not to speak of my absence more than necessary. The less people know, the better.”
Loran sighed, exasperated, but thankfully didn’t push further. “Have a little faith. They know better than to run their mouths.”
“I know they do. I just—” Killian trailed off.
“You’ve just never been away from the palace for this long. Yes. Yes. I understand. I’ll keep them in line.”
Killian pursed his lips.
Loran rolled his eyes. “Go take care of whatever it is you need to take care of that’snot my businessand then hurry back. It’s only a couple weeks, Killian. We can handle that muchwithout you.”
“I know you can.” Killian let out a long breath. It wasn’t them he was worried about. “I leave the palace in good hands.”
After briefing Loran on the specifics of what would be expected of him during Killian’s absence, he hadn’t been able to bring his focus back to any of the paperwork that he desperately needed to finish before he left. His mind wandered, working over scenarios of what could possibly be waiting for him back home in Turell; each scenario worse than the last.
Killian had walked the palace perimetertwicebefore giving up and huffing his way over to the training grounds on the northeastern side of the palace. Loran had given Killian an offensively knowing look, but graciously allowed the captain to join the drills he was running with some of the Guard.
The Guard who exchanged looks behind Killian’s back and nudged at each other trying to convincesomeoneto ask him what had him in such a mood.
No one was eager to volunteer for that particular honor.
Nevertheless, never one to miss an opportunity for a good fight, Dantel, a long and lean elf with a strong, handsome face challenged Killian nearly the moment Loran called that drills were over.
It was the perfect chance to work off a little steam.
Barred swords—even wooden training swords—Killian and Dantel sparred bare fist against bare fist.
Aggressive, Dantel had moved first. Using his entire body to try and force Killian out of the sparring circle, which would be an immediate loss for the captain. Dantel threw heavy handed punches and precise kicks aimed at Killian’s core.
Grunting under the weight of Dantel’s attacks, Killian plotted. As one of their newer recruits, Dantel was still young and too eager to prove himself, he was prone to dropping his guard after an attack. All Killian had to do was watch and wait.
Seeing Dantel twist away after landing a particularly nasty kick aimed at Killian’s ribs, he saw his chance. His fist connected. Killian felt Dantel’s nose break with a satisfying crunch before he dropped down low to the ground and swept his leg wide. Carrying Dantel’s legs out from under him.
Dantel went down hard on his back into the sand, his breath knocked out of him with a sharp gasp followed by a series of gurgling curses.
Loran called Killian’s win.
There came some loud cheers from the side, leering calls from the spectators that had gathered to watch one of their own take on their captain.
“That time was better,” Killian said, helping Dantel up. “You lasted almost a full minute.”
Dantel grimaced, blood dripping down his nose. His voice gravelly and wet when he spoke. “I’ll beat you one of these days.”
“Sure, you will,” Killian replied, clapping the young guard on the back. “Go get Hokda to patch you up.”
With a respectful nod to Killian and then Loran, Dantel retreated. His peers following his example and making themselves scarce before Loran decided they all needed more training after seeing Dantel lose his fight.
“That went well,” said Loran snidely as Killian approached.
“He’s improving,” chided Killian. Then, “Slowly. He may very well beat me someday. Someday far, far away.”
Loran humphed and crossed his arms over his chest. A sliver of theenilon his left wrist showing when his uniform sleeves rode up. All the King’s Guard had one, a single band, around their wrist or their ankle. Their own oath taken to Fyar the day that they joined the Guard.
Killian knocked his fists together, his grin spreading slowly across his face. “What do you say, Loran? Up for a fight? This would be your, what, two hundredth loss?”
