Page 94 of The King’s Commander

That Aldwine chuckles infuriates me even further.

“She’s right. You do not understand her at all. And that is why she will not see you. Go home. Go back to the king.”

The man is actually serious. “Why are you here? Did she send you here to talk to me?”

Again, silence.

“If I do not know her, it’s because she will not let me attempt to.”

Aldwine shakes his head. “That’s where you’re wrong, Southerner. Aedre let you in where she denied all others.”

I ignore the pain caused by his words.

“I will not leave without at least speaking to her.”

Aldwine is quiet for a moment, and then, unexpectedly, he pulls out his sword.

“She says you are a man of honor.”

I hold my stance, prepared to fight but not really willing to do so. Not with him.

“I am.”

It is the truest statement I’ve made all day, and nothing I’ve said today was a lie, even to Stokerton.

“Then give me your word. If I defeat you, you’ll respect Aedre’s wishes and leave Murwood End without causing her further pain. If you win, I will take you to her straightaway.”

There is no decision to make. I will not lose.

“Done.”

He puts his sword up. And for a wretched moment, I remember who trained him.

I hear my own mentor’s voice in my mind: A man assured of victory means as little as a man who wishes never to die.

Albertus would chide me for accepting a challenge with a potential outcome I find unacceptable. But he did not account for the purpose of the challenge being a woman. And for Aedre, I’ll not lose.

Aldwine is deft in his initial attack, his training serving him well, and in no time at all, the small courtyard begins to fill with observers. I can sense the presence of my men, likely curious as to the nature of this challenge.

I sidestep his strike, surprised at his skill. Though I anticipated he would disengage, his quick lunge puts me on the defensive.

With blow after blow, the clang of our swords ring out. Without shields, it is a very different fight, blocking impossible. Instead, I catch his strikes by deflecting them. Aldwine does the same. Although I hate myself for it, part of me does hold back. Our swords are not blunted, and it wouldn’t bode well to injure Galfrid’s son. Nor would Aedre thank me for hurting her friend.

The thought of Aedre finding out I injured Kipp stays with me. It’s hard to banish, and so I try to put a quick end to our challenge. It’s my downfall. Aldwine takes advantage of a slight slip on my part, and the tip of his sword is pointed directly at my nose before I can fully bring my own down to parry it.

I raise both hands, indicating that I yield.

It is my first loss since my trainer died. Even sickened, the man could anticipate my every move, and only once, in all the years that we trained together, did I ever gain the upper hand.

From my observations, Kipp Aldwine is all his father says of him, and more. A highly skilled swordsman, a man determined to protect those he loves. One who others clearly look up to and support, even if he is a reluctant leader.

On the battlefield, a loss meant death. Here, in this small makeshift training yard, it means something nearly impossible to consider.

“Leave Murwood End, if you are truly a man of your word.”

Aldwine puts down his weapon to cheers from his people. I know my own men are behind me, but I do not turn to look at them. Instead, I stare into the eyes of a man destined to be king. How can he not recognize the royal blood that courses through his veins?

“I am, and I will. But I tell you this, Master Aldwine. You were born for the role.” I lower my voice. “And I would gladly serve you.”