CHAPTER 3

Pierce stood in the palace courtyard, the sun casting a warm glow over the scene. He was dressed simply in trousers and leather boots, the muscles in his arms and chest tense as he gripped the wooden blade in his hand. Across from him, his squire Erik was clad in protective gear, the leather armor gleaming in the sunlight.

Their wooden blades clashed with a resounding thud as they tested each other's strengths and abilities. Pierce's mind, however, was preoccupied with the events of earlier in the day, his father's words echoing through his head as though freshly spoken.

"As a prince, your duty is to your people," King Cedric Montclair had asserted, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "Lorath is a good conquest. We need the witches on our side if we must stay relevant in times to come."

Pierce, bristling with defiance, had cut him short. "How about what I want? My duty to myself?"

But the queen, Isadora Montclair, had intervened, her tone gentle yet firm. "You must listen to your father, Pierce. Our kingdoms need this alliance."

The memory of the confrontation ignited a spark of rage within Pierce, a visceral reaction to the pressure and expectations placed upon him. In a sudden outburst, he lashed out wildly, catching Erik off guard and striking him in the side of his torso with a forceful blow.

Erik stepped back, uncertainty clouding his eyes as he assessed the situation. He could see the anger boiling beneath Pierce's surface, and he knew he had to tread carefully. But his hesitation only seemed to stoke the flames of Pierce's fury.

"Stop holding back!" Pierce's voice thundered through the courtyard, sending a shiver down Erik's spine. Without a moment's hesitation, Pierce charged forward, his wooden sword raised high.

Erik barely had time to react, dodging out of the way as Pierce's blade crashed into the ground, splintering into a dozen pieces. He watched as Pierce's frustration seemed to escalate, his master's rage palpable in the air.

"You're not in your best mood, sire. Perhaps we should spar another time," Erik suggested, his voice tinged with concern.

"Nonsense!" Pierce's response was swift and harsh, his eyes blazing with intensity. Without another word, he disappeared into a nearby shed, emerging moments later with a sheathed sword in hand.

Erik watched with apprehension as Pierce unsheathed the sword, revealing its gleaming silver blade. A collective gasp echoed through the courtyard as the onlookers beheld the weapon in awe. Even Erik couldn't help but feel a sense of unease at the sight.

With deliberate steps, Pierce approached Erik, his movements calculated and precise. The boy instinctively took a step back, unsure of what his master had in store. The tension in the courtyard was palpable, every eye fixed on the scene unfolding before them.

Pierce closed the distance between them, his eyes ablaze with determination as he exchanged swords with Erik. The weight of the silver sword felt foreign in Erik's hand, registering the glaring reality of his current situation at the back of his mind - he had to fight his prince.

"Fight me, and don't hold back," Pierce commanded, his voice laced with urgency.

Erik hesitated, his concern evident in his furrowed brow. "Are you sure, sire? You do not seem yourself. Perhaps—"

But before Erik could finish his protest, Pierce cut him off with a sharp shout. "Fight!"

With lightning speed, Pierce lunged forward, catching Erik off guard. The force of the impact sent a shockwave through Erik's body, forcing him to brace himself for the onslaught.

As they clashed, Erik could sense the intensity of Pierce's determination. It was as if his master was fighting for something more than just victory. With a swift movement, Erik managed to slice Pierce's sword in half and deliver a sharp blow to his arm.

Pierce winced in pain as the silver blade cut into his flesh, the poison searing through his veins. But he refused to let it slow him down. With a defiant grin, he locked eyes with his mother through a nearby window, a silent challenge passing between them.

"Now that's more like it," Pierce declared, his voice dripping with confidence.

Ignoring Erik's suggestion to pause, Pierce pressed on, his movements swift and calculated. With a flick of his wrist, he drew a small pocket knife from his belt, the glint of metal flashing in the sunlight.

"We'll fight some more," Pierce declared, his mischievous smile belying his true intentions.

In one swift motion, he delivered a precise strike to Erik's wrist, causing the boy to cry out in pain and drop his sword to the ground with a resounding clatter.

The weight of the expectant silence in the courtyard was almost suffocating, each person present eager to witness Pierce's next move, to gauge his response. Pierce could practically feel their collective anticipation, their silent urging for him to either continue the fight or call it quits. "Damn these expectations," he muttered inwardly, frustration simmering beneath the surface.

Meanwhile, Erik's wound was already beginning to heal, albeit slowly, but the lingering fear in his eyes was unmistakable. Just then, Pierce's loyal companion, Gavin, appeared at the entrance of the courtyard, nonchalantly munching on an apple and addressing Pierce with a casual tone. "Now that's enough, your royal lousiness," Gavin called out, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

Pierce shook his head with a wry smile, a silent acknowledgment of Gavin's intervention, and deftly launched the knife into the air. With remarkable agility, Gavin caught it effortlessly, his movements fluid and practiced.

Throwing on his shirt, Pierce approached Gavin with an easy grin, their camaraderie evident in their playful banter. "Well if it isn't my handler, in the flesh," Pierce teased as they exchanged a warm embrace.

Clasping Gavin's forearm in a gesture of camaraderie, Pierce engaged in a brotherly shake before being pulled into a heartfelt hug. "When did you return from the lower provinces?" Pierce inquired as they began to make their way out of the courtyard and onto the bustling streets beyond.

As Gavin and Pierce strolled through the bustling streets, Gavin filled Pierce in on the latest gossip from the lower provinces.

"Just a little before sunrise. If you’d come with me down there one of these days, you’d find that it was no place fit for a prim and proper prince like yourself," Gavin teased.

"At least it was better than sitting within the confines of this glorified prison," Pierce scoffed.

"I must agree you were missing out on a lot. The lasses down there gave a man the best time in bed," Gavin winked and laughed momentarily, while Pierce shook his head at his old friend’s lifestyle.

They both heard Erik running after them, “My liege!” he called after Pierce, and Pierce rolled his eyes, while Gavin playfully nudged him in the ribs and urged him to be more polite to the boy.

They turned around and waited for him to catch up to them.

Erik came to a halt and bowed before them, holding a luxurious leather-bound water flask adorned with intricate gold embellishments.

“My liege, Sir Blackwood. I was wondering if my liege would care for some water after the sparring session, and I’ve also instructed the maids to run a bath, which I shall return to inspect to make sure that it is just to your liking, and…” Erik began saying, arm still outstretched, offering the flask of water to Pierce.

"Don’t bother yourself, lad. I’ll be taking this one to have a proper drink at the Howling Wolf’s Tavern," Gavin interjected, leading Pierce away.

Gavin led Pierce away and Erik called out behind them, “But my liege, shall I have the kitchen prepare something for when you return?”

“Take the rest of the day off, Erik,” Pierce said without looking back