Page 45 of The Crown of the Dark Prince
Irritation flushed through me. I didn’t want to talk or process my feelings. I wanted to punch and kick and hit away all the anger and sadness that felt like it was eating me alive.
I slashed my blade towards him. He barely avoided it.
“Or,” he panted, ducking another strike, “perhaps a sparring match is exactly what you need. Acontrolledsparring match. Withrules.”
I lunged again, and he dodged dramatically, twisting his body like he was performing some kind of elaborate dance.
“Are youmockingme?” I snapped.
“Only a little bit.”
I swung again, but this time he miscalculated, his boot catching a patch of ice. With an undignified squawk, Rankor went down, landing flat on his back. He blinked up at me, stunned, then groaned, sprawled in defeat.
“Well,” he huffed. “I hope this was cathartic for you.”
I pointed my sword at his chest. “Get up, Rankor. You’re a war-hero. Stop pretending like anything I’m doing is actually hurting you.”
He faked another wheeze. “Or I could just stay here and reflect on my life choices.”
I jabbed the blade forward an inch, and he sighed dramatically before dragging himself to his feet.
Before I could swing again, Kent’s voice rang out across the yard.
“Enough!”
The sharp command cut through the cold air like a blade. I turned, startled by the raw authority in his tone. Kent never raised his voice. From across the training yard, he approached us with measured steps, his jaw tight, his eyes burning with an anger I had never seen directed at me before.
“Take the boys back to their lessons,” he instructed Rankor without breaking stride.
Rankor hesitated, his gaze flicking to me. For once, he didn’t have a quip. With a frustrated sigh, he handed his sword to Kent and gestured for the boys to follow him toward the castle. Their protests faded quickly, leaving Kent and me alone in the yard.
I squared my shoulders. “If you’re here to lecture me—”
Kent didn’t let me finish. Without any warning, he swung the sword mercilessly toward me.
I barely managed to parry. The impact sent a jolt through my arms, and before I could reset my stance, he struck again—fast, sharp, relentless. I moved instinctively, forced to react with more precision than before. Unlike Rankor, Kentwasn’tholding back.
“You’re angry,” Kent said, swinging the blade toward me.
“Obviously,” I snapped, deflecting another blow.
“And you’re lying to yourself if you think this is just about Clay.”
His words hit harder than his sword. My grip faltered, my arms dropping slightly.
He took advantage of the opening. With a swift step, he hooked my ankle and swept my legs out from under me. I landed hard, the breath knocking from my lungs. The sky spun above me, framed by the snowfall.
“You rejected him,” Kent reminded me, his voice implacable.
I gritted my teeth as I pushed myself upright onto my elbows. “He lied to me.”
“No, he didn’t,” Kent countered, his blade steady at his side. “He made no claims about not having the same restrictions thatyouhave when it comes to romantic entanglements. In fact, at least he washonestabout his feelings for you. Can you claim the same?”
I rolled to my feet just as he leveled his next strike at me and his blade grazed the ends of my hair. Frustration boiling over, I lashed out wildly, my form unraveling.
“Now you’re just sloppy,” Kent observed, deflecting each strike with ease. “Did I strike a nerve?”
I had never seen Kent like this. He was always so reserved, socareful, always tiptoeing around emotions to keep from upsetting anyone.
