Heartless by Anne Elisabeth Stengl Page B

looked down at Felix.
    “Who was he?” Felix asked. “What was that about?”
    “No one and nothing concerning you, Prince Felix,” Aethelbald replied.
    He looked at the sword at Felix’s side. “Have you come to practice?”
    Felix grinned and drew the practice sword, pointing it at Aethelbald’s chin. “Do you feel brave, Prince of Farthestshore? I think I might trounce you today!”
    Aethelbald’s mouth turned up in a half smile, but he shook his head.
    “I must settle some important business first. Perhaps later.”
    “Why later?” Felix said. “You’re here now! The business will wait for a match or two.” He heard one of his attendants snort and glared back at the three of them. They assumed straight faces and pretended to be interested in other things in the yard. Felix whirled back to Aethelbald and said in a lower voice, “They don’t think you’ll practice with me again. They think you were just making a fool of me yesterday and are now bored of me.”
    Aethelbald eyed them, then turned back to Felix, pushing aside the wooden sword still pointed at his face. “What do you think?”
    “I think you’re scared to spar with me! I think you’re afraid I’ll beat you this time!”
    Aethelbald shook his head. “Baiting doesn’t work on me, Prince Felix,” he said and started across the yard.
    Openmouthed, Felix watched him go, then suddenly brandished his sword and called, “Fine! Be a coward!” Listening to the snickers of his attendants, he turned and, growling like a hurt dog, lunged at one of the practice dummies so hard that it nearly fell off the pole. “Don’t need you anyway,” he muttered, rolling his shoulder muscles and twisting his neck. He took first position and prepared to spring at the dummy again.
    “A fine stance,” a thickly accented voice cried. “You have surely been trained by a master, Prince Felix.”
    Felix paused, his sword arm suspended before him. Prince Gervais stood at the edge of the yard, his fists planted on his hips and a long sword sheathed at his side. Felix nodded curtly and completed his lunge, less vigorous than the last one but more precise. He smiled, tight-lipped, admiring his own work.
    Gervais applauded. “Very nice, young sir,” the Prince of Beauclair cried. He stepped into the yard, removing his sword belt as he did so. “Tell me, Felix, have you another practice sword? I should be honored to spar with you if you are willing.”
    Felix looked at the smiling prince and recoiled at the idea of a match with him. Every movement Gervais made was full of a dancer’s grace, just the sort of form Felix’s own master had been struggling to beat into him over the last few years. But his attendants were watching and whispering to each other again. Felix felt his hackles rise, but he said, “I’m willing if you are, Prince Gervais.”
    Gervais smiled at the boy, a smile that Felix wanted to smack off his face, and called to one of the guards. “Bring me a weapon.” He set aside his own sword and took the wooden one offered to him. Felix watched him stretch a few moments, and his heart sank. Even in his stretching exercises, Gervais had the look of a master.
    The two princes took positions across from each other and saluted. Immediately after, Gervais’s sword arm extended, his torso inclining forward, his hand rising to shoulder level as he advanced. His movements were so quick and fluid that Felix could only just parry and leap back, avoiding a touch by inches. His heart quickened, pounding in his throat as adrenaline rushed through his veins. Their swords crossed, wood thunking heavily on wood. Felix parried three times, a fourth, and then felt the slap of the sword on his leg. It hurt, and he bit back a curse behind a grimace.
    “Good,” Gervais said, still smiling. “You are skilled, young prince, most skilled. Again?”
    Felix could not refuse in front of his father’s guard and his sneering attendants. He saluted the prince, their