Tomorrow would be the first step. She would compete in the sword fighting competition, the first female ever to compete. Her age dictated she would fight with the juniors; her skill promised to win her a championship. It was a huge honor to be included. She wanted to make her benefactors proud and, truth be told, knock a few of the boys out flat.
Late the night before the competition, sweat burned into her eyes and her wild dark hair snapped like a whip behind her as she ran through every move she knew.Coup de Jarnac,coup de main,coup de grace. She was in the equipment room, where she practiced during the day with the rest of the boys in her class. But now, she was alone. She lunged forward and caught an imaginary opponent on the knee. She dodged a slice to her belly and swiveled around to land an uppercut to the jaw of another. She extended her sword again, preparing to launch a plunging cut to the neck of her next opponent, but before she could find her balance, she hit a hollow in the dirt. Her feet flipped into the air, her sword spun off to the side, and she landedhard on her back, the sharp release of breath ripping through her with cat’s claws.
She stared up at the ceiling, blinking in a daze. But her senses came back with crushing clarity when she heard a sudden burst of laughter from the entryway.
“Alex,” he called. “You must not dothatat the competition.”
“Monsieur?” she choked out the words, scrambling up just enough to drop into a bow. “What are you doing here?”
“Get up,” he said, still teasing. “I came to practice for tomorrow. I’m glad I won’t have to do so alone."
Alex grabbed her sword and stood tall, though she wanted to run screaming in the other direction. No one ever came down here late at night when she practiced in her boy clothes. Of all people to show up… As he came towards her, the edges of her vision rippled and blurred until the walls, the racks, the floor fell away, and there was only him. He was tall, confident, and carved from stone; his light brown hair, cut short and clean, the unrestrained strength humming just beneath his clothes. She knew his face by heart—every angle, every expression— but his eyes made her suffer the most, casting spells on her with every glance. At nineteen years old, he was already an accomplished soldier and a battlefield over which girls much older and more sophisticated than her fought.
Philippe.
She did not want to be in love with him.
She was, however, stupidly in love with him.
“Were you watching me?” she stammered.
“Yes.” He said, his dark eyes glowing gold in the light from the oil lamps. “You’re better than when you’re in class.”
She blushed. “They won’t fight me if I win every time."
He smiled. “Let’s see if you are ready for tomorrow.”
She hesitated. “But... we are alone.”
“Afraid I’ll hurt you?” He raised his eyebrows and unsheathed his own brilliant, powerful blade.
She lifted her sword, feeling very unsure of her skills when they were to be measured against his. Philippe, home to compete in the master’s portion of tomorrow’s competition, often came to the class to help the studentspractice. She’d sparred with Philippe before, many times. But never alone. Never without rules. She suddenly became aware of why it was inappropriate for a young man and a young woman to be alone together.
He lunged forward and whacked her sword. The strike came hard and splintered her balance. He struck again. She blocked him. Barely.
“Fight back,” he said. He throttled her harder, sending her back a few steps. “Don’t make it easy for me.”
She swallowed hard and struck at his flank. He smacked her away like a gnat. She was better than this, but looking into his eyes was difficult, and she knew she was outclassed, outmatched, wildly unprepared for such an experienced partner. Desperate, she lunged forward. He dropped down, dodging the attack. Then, with no time for her to stabilize, he swung his blade around to swat her.
Right across her bottom.
Alex froze at the sting and looked at him with her mouth open in shock.
He raised his eyebrows. “Mad yet?” he asked.
All at once, her skills rushed back into her rattled bones. She launched herself at him, cracking her sword against his. The onslaught came unexpectedly, causing his confident smirk to retreat. She pushed him back with delight running through her. He was not an easy target, but she would not be dominated without a fight.
Alex had learned that boys fought with a teeth-bearing savagery that she didn’t have. They ignored the rules which she had memorized. It made men dangerous. She knew this was what kept them alive in battles and what fueled their arrogance outside of the ring. She wanted it, whatever they had, but her gentle nature was behind every parry and every cut. She worried that this thing men had was decidedly male, and she would never unlock the unrelenting power she saw in them. Instead, she relied on her wits. Most of the time, it was all she needed to outmatch her young opponents. And though Philippe was as sleek and smooth of a fighter as they came, she was going to gamble that he didn’t know about the soft patch of dirt that had flattened her moments before.
His moves were powerful and fast, and she could not manipulate him with ease. They cracked blades like lightning. Her muscles burned, but she refused to give up her sword. She’d realized she could move him by applyingjust the right amount of pressure. Too much and he would take over. Too little and she’d lose all control. She leaned to the side and he came after her. She arched back to bait him, and he thrust his blade towards her. She guarded and countered, moving them both steadily to the target. They were getting close, but with excruciating slowness, and she didn’t know how long she could hold out. She swallowed hard, panting, her heart breaking out of her chest.
Then, like an earthquake shattering a mountain peak, his left foot caught the weak spot in the dirt, and he stumbled. His stance weakened for just a second. She wasted no time, cracked him hard on the knee, and knocked him to the ground. She swung her sword and held it right to his neck, her exhausted muscles spasming as she did.
Breathing hard, he broke her gaze to look to the floor where he had fallen. Then his eyes came back to her. “I do believe you cheated,” he breathed, an amused expression on his face.
“I have no idea what you mean,” she teased, the point of her weapon at his throat.
He threw his sword to the ground, conceding her win. He laughed, unrestrained, then grabbed her blade and pushed her back. “Come on, little fox,” he said, calling her by the nickname he had given her years before. “Let’s go down and cool off by the river."
