Upon reaching the training yard, Trynne felt a flash of hotness come over her. Her forearms were still lethargic from the morning’s activities and the once empty yard was bustling with young men. Trynne had never seen it so crowded. There were young people everywhere, and the sword masters were all leading groups of boys and young men through different drills and exercises. Small rings of adults were also cloistered together, the older men sparring with wooden blades, the younger ones sparring with steel swords that clanged and tolled like bells as they moved. Trynne and Morwenna were not the only ladies in the courtyard, however. It seemed half the maidens from the palace had assembled to gawk at and encourage the men. The smell of sweat brought back more memories of the morning, making Trynne feel light-headed.
As they wandered in a bit, Trynne spied Prince Elwis with a crowd of young men from Brugia around him. They were wearing training gear as well, though the gear was more black than brown and full of buckles. Elwis was scowling at the noisy crowd, and his scowl turned into a sneer when he saw them. Trynne’s cheeks flushed.
“I don’t like him,” Trynne said under her breath.
“Who? Elwis?” Fallon said. “He’s a fop. He doesn’t know anything.”
“He insulted Lady Tryneowy yesterday,” Morwenna said softly, casting a wary glance at the stuck-up prince.
“How?” Fallon demanded, whirling and gazing at Trynne.
“It’s no matter, Fallon,” Trynne said, shaking her head. “Let it be.”
His lips curled into a snarl. “Tell me,” he demanded of Morwenna.
“He disparaged her looks in a manner not befitting a prince or any man,” Morwenna said. “He said she was ugly, which is not only discourteous, it’s also a lie.”
A flush of anger spread over Fallon’s cheeks as he looked from Morwenna to Trynne. Then he whirled and started right toward Elwis.
“Fallon, no!” Trynne gasped, reaching for him, but he was already well on his way. Morwenna’s eyes were bulging with surprise as well.
Prince Elwis’s mouth tipped into a smirk when he noticed Fallon’s approach. His arms were folded across his chest and he looked as if he were about to start laughing.
“Hail Prince of Atabyrica,” Elwis said disdainfully, offering a meager bow. “You’ve decided to join us at last—”
His last words were cut off when Fallon punched him in the face and sent him staggering back into his companions, who gaped with surprise.
Fallon jabbed a finger toward him. “If you ever utter another insult toward any woman, Elwis, then I swear by the Fountain—！”
There was blood dribbling from Elwis’s nose and his lip was already turning puffy as he grazed it with his gloved hand. The look on his face turned from pain to surprise, then fierce anger. He dropped his hand to the wooden sword at his waist and pulled it out.
“Prince Fallon!” someone shouted and threw him a wooden sword.
Trynne clutched Morwenna’s arm as the two young men flew at each other with the wooden sabers. The swords were made of sturdy pieces and clacked against each other like battle staves. Fallon ducked as one sweep came toward his head and then countered with his own. Trynne’s heart nearly ruptured with fear as she watched the two young men collide, their size not that different, their aggression equally ferocious.
The fight lasted hardly a moment. Elwis trapped Fallon’s hilt, then stepped in and clubbed Fallon in the groin with his fist. As his adversary doubled over in pain, the Brugian prince brought his elbow up to catch his nose. Fallon toppled backward, stunned and in obvious agony. Elwis sneered down at him and then slapped the flat of the blade down against his unprotected head, hard enough that it cut his ear on a snag of wood.
Staring down coldly, Elwis lifted his weapon again to continue beating the helpless man. Without thinking, Trynne let go of Morwenna to charge in and block the blow, but another beat her to it.
It was Captain Staeli, who caught the attack on his own short sword. The wooden sword split apart like wood from an axe. Trynne’s protector stepped in and backhanded Elwis across the face with his fist, sending the prince to the cobbles.
Then he drew his other blade and faced the young men of Brugia with defiance in his eyes. “’Tis not the way of Virtus,” Captain Staeli said in a low growl. “I mean that for both of you sorry cubs! Now get you gone ’fore I thrash you both!”
Looking mortified and repentant, Fallon obeyed. The Prince of Brugia’s face was a mess of blood, but he didn’t look injured, only angry.