Page 29 of Keeping a Nymph’s Heart

A door to one of the rooms across the hall creaked open, and Owain abruptly dropped his hand from Orla’s cheek, but the damage was done. Lord Calix looked at him with narrowed eyes, trailing his gaze pointedly to Owain’s hand before turning and walking towards the palace entrance.

Shit.

Orla instructed Owain on how to get to the training grounds but decided to spend time in the gardens working on her magic instead of joining him. He hadn’t expected her to join, knowing the sights and sounds would overwhelm her.

Owain rounded one of the palaces large turrets. A half-enclosed space that looked similar to a coliseum, with a dirt floor and elevated seating surrounding a sparing floor, came into view. The training grounds were situated far from the palace gatehouse, near a part of the palace that Owain hadn’t been to before. On the walls were various practice weapons, wooden swords, practice bows and arrows, and wooden shields of various sizes. A large building around the back of the structure held the palace armory.

Barracks for the warriors were situated outside the space as silver-and-blue-clad warriors filled the area, preparing for the day’s work. Many warriors glanced Owain’s way, but no one was brazen enough to approach him. Feeling the heat of someone glaring at him, Owain turned to find Ser Oleander scowling in his direction.

The deep thunk of wooden weapons and the scuff of boots on the packed dirt sounded throughout the training ground. Owain spent a few hours watching the warriors spar. They were well trained and fierce but seemed young and to lack experience. On more than one occasion, he heard them talking about the Hero of Fontina with reverence. They frequently noted that they wished she was there to train them now that she returned to the palace.

After watching a sparring match between a tall, dark-haired woman called Yanez and a wiry man called Brene, that had ended with Brene flat on his back and Yanez looking triumphant, Owain had enough of watching. He walked over to Brene and offered him a hand. The male looked suspicious of Owain as he rose from the dirt, dusting off his leather armor.

“Your footwork could be improved; you’re off balance, making you unstable.” Owain looked at Brene. He looked young, no more than twenty-four, if that.

“I’ll take my training tips from my commanding officer, thank you very much,” Brene said curtly.

“I don’t mean any offense, just trying to help. Our kingdoms are allies now, after all, and I am here at the behest of your king.” Owain flashed a small smile that he hoped didn’t belie his true intentions.

Brene surveyed Owain before he continued to speak. “Is it true you’re being guarded by Lady Orla Afeani?” Brene couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice as he asked. Owain merely nodded. “What’s she like? I’ve always admired her, but we haven’t seen her down here since she returned to court.”

“She’s fierce, powerful, surprising.” Owain didn’t have to lie when thinking of Orla. All those things were more than true. And sharing that with this male may help him get the information he needed. “You seem young to be in the arm. You must have entered into the king’s service after Fontina.”

“I did. In fact, a lot of us did. We lost most of our seasoned warriors to your father’s war.” He stood at his full height as if to challenge Owain to disagree. The effect was lost by the fact that Owain was much taller and bulkier than the lean male in front of him.

“If you’re all so young, then none of you have actually witnessed the inside of a battlefield. No wonder your footwork is so sloppy.”

“We may not have experience on the battlefield, but we are as fierce as any warrior in Edam. Even more so. Plus we have the Hero of Fontina backing us. Your lot would do well to remember that next time you want to wage war against us.” Brene spat near Owain’s feet before stalking away towards the barracks.

It boded well for their plans that the Emmentalian forces were so green. One hundred years of war between their two kingdoms had meant a lot of casualties, but most of those casualties died at Fontina, and their military knowledge died with them. Though Edam also suffered many casualties, many of their seasoned warriors hadn’t been at Fontina.

Gwayne, the vainglorious idiot that he was, hadn’t wanted them there to steal his glory of being the one to kill Orla and Rhyan. He had injured her witch friend at Sirene a few months earlier, trying to break up the feared trio. Though his brother was a fool, his quest for glory had played to Edam’s advantage. Owain would meet with the Edamish lords that evening to share with them what he had learned. Hopefully, that would appease them while he sorted out how to keep Orla safe during the coup.

A few hours after watching the army and gaining information about their numbers and fighting styles, Chrys joined Owain. Chrys was obviously still upset with Owain, if his clipped greeting and tight jaw was any indication.

“Any updates?” he asked, not meeting Owain’s gaze.

“A few. We can talk more with the others this evening,” Owain replied, watching a pair of warriors take to the sparring grounds.

The two males stood in silence for a while as the dull thud of practice swords filled the air. When the two warriors finished sparring, Chrys motioned for Owain to take to the ring. It had been moons since they had been able to spar. As adolescents, they settled all their disagreements on a sparring mat. Even now as adults, they would spar to let off steam. But since arriving in Imsil, they hadn’t had the time.

They both grabbed practice swords and began circling one another. Chrys had always used Owain’s size against him. He would typically charge first and try to get Owain off balance, but today he hung back, waiting for Owain to make the first move. Owain lunged, and Chrys used the opening to strike him hard on his exposed rib. Hard enough to reveal his continued anger at his friend.

Shaking off the blow, Owain lunged again, feigning left but moving right. The move caught Chrys off guard and he faltered, allowing Owain to land a strike in the same area Chrys had struck him. The two continued like that, striking and moving, until they were both slick with sweat.

“You’re out of practice,” Chrys called as he struck Owain again, this time a hard strike to the kidney that pulled a loud grunt from Owain.

“I’ve been rather busy. Turns out being heir to a kingdom takes up an inordinate amount of time.” Owain lunged at Chrys again, but he was getting sluggish and missed his target, giving Chrys an opening to strike him.

“Is that what kept you busy? Funny, I thought it was a pretty nymph you’re fond of that’s been taking up your time.”

Irritation ran through Owain. Chrys had already made his thoughts on Owain’s feelings about Orla perfectly clear. Using his irritation as motivation, he bent down, swiping his legs at Chrys and catching him off guard. Chrys landed on his back with a grunt. Owain stood over him, practice sword pointed squarely at his chest.

“I know what I’m doing, Chrys. I won’t fail the task I’ve been set. There’s too much at stake. Now yield.”

Chrys dropped his sword and held his hands up in surrender before Owain helped him to his feet. “I’m worried about you, Owain. Patrin and his lot are not thrilled with you at the moment.”

“When have they ever been thrilled with me,” Owain retorted.