Renard turned to Selene, chest heaving lightly from exertion.
"It’s been a while since I’ve moved. I feel... rusty." He flashed a charming smile.
"Why don’t you send your strongest knight, Lady Selene?"
His grin widened.
Selene paused, just for a fraction of a second.
Her erald eyes flicked toward the guards, then back to Renard.
A soft, unreadable smile curved her lips.
"Very well," she said, her voice composed. "One of my knights will indulge you."
She raised a finger, gesturing to the nearest guard.
"Fetch Sir Hadric."
The guard bowed and quickly turned, disappearing around the far corner of the courtyard.
A few minutes passed in taut silence.
Then the sound of armored boots echoed across the stone path.
Clank! Clank! Clank!
Sir Hadric arrived.
A man in his mid-thirties, tall and broad-shouldered, his plate armor polished but battle-worn.
A faded green cape hung behind him, pinned at the shoulder with the barony’s crest.
His jaw was square, with a light stubble covering his face.
A thin scar ran across his left brow, stopping just before his cheekbone, an old wound.
His eyes were steady, cold.
Not cruel. Just used to violence.
He stopped before Selene and gave a short bow, his voice low and respectful.
"My Lady."
Selene nodded.
"Sir Hadric, Lord Renard wishes for a friendly spar."
Hadric straightened and turned toward Renard.
The young noble stood with his arms folded, an amused smile tugging at his lips.
"Friendly, of course," Renard echoed, stepping forward. "Just want to see how the Glimor knights are compared to the capital’s training."
Hadric inclined his head.
"As you wish, my Lord."
But inside—
He was already gritting his teeth.
Show-off noble brat...
He recognized the type.
Renard wasn’t here to train.
He was here to peacock in front of Lady Selene.
To throw his weight around, maybe even bruise a knight or two to boost his ego.
And Hadric? He was the unlucky bastard chosen to be the stage for it.
He let none of that show, of course.
He wasn’t a fool.
Not with the count’s son staring at him like a cat sizing up a bored mouse.
If I humiliate him, I’m done.
If I go too easy, he’ll keep pushing.
So, he would do what knights in his position had always done.
Keep it clean.
Keep it brief.
And keep his damn head down.
The courtyard fell quiet as the two n took their positions.
Renard loosened his shoulders, drawing a slim blade with a smooth hiss of tal.
It was narrow and curved slightly, the kind favored by aristocrats who wanted both style and speed.
Hadric drew his training sword, a heavier, blunted version of his usual blade.
Still enough to crack bone if used with intent.
The steward gave a quick nod, stepping back.
"Begin."
Renard didn’t wait.
He lunged forward, fluid and fast, his blade flicking out in a sharp arc toward Hadric’s side.
Clang!
Hadric parried with ease, twisting his body to redirect the blow and counter with a short jab toward Renard’s shoulder.
Renard slid back just in ti, boots skidding slightly on the stone.
He’s fast, Hadric noted silently, brow furrowing. Faster than I expected.
They circled.
Renard smirked, brushing his fringe back as he feinted high, then spun low and aid a slash at Hadric’s thigh.
Hadric sidestepped and caught the blade with his guard, shoving Renard back with the flat of his sword.
"Not bad," Renard said, grinning as he recovered his stance.
Hadric didn’t answer.
His eyes sharpened, his movents tightening.
Another exchange followed.
Clang! Clang!
Blades clashed.
Steel rang out across the courtyard.
Renard moved with an elegance that belied his spoiled reputation, footwork precise, attacks unpredictable.
He fought like soone trained extensively. Not so pampered noble hoping to impress.
Hadric was forced to step up his pace.
He t every blow, countered every strike, using his weight and experience to pressure Renard.
A few tis, he nearly broke through, but each ti, Renard danced out of reach, smirking as if enjoying the thrill.
A particularly sharp exchange ended with both blades locked, faces inches apart.
"You’re strong, Milord." Hardic muttered.
Renard just smirked in return.
They broke apart again.
Clang! Clang!
Another flurry of strikes.
This ti, Renard drove forward with real force, using his speed to slide past Hadric’s guard and plant the edge of his blade lightly against the knight’s side.
"Yield?" he asked, voice casual but cocky.
Hadric glanced down, then gave a slow nod.
"Yielded."
A soft clap ca from the edge of the courtyard.
Selene was watching, her arms crossed.
Hadric stepped back, eyes lingering on Renard’s sword.
He’s good, the knight admitted to himself, adjusting his stance.
Too good for a pampered brat who’s never seen a real battlefield.
Still—
He could’ve ended it.
In just two moves
But.
He let it go.
Because if there’s one thing Hadric had learned in his years serving noble houses, it wasn’t the sword that got you killed.
It was pride.
Renard, wiping his blade with a cloth, didn’t seem to notice, or care.
He turned to Selene, smiling.
"I must say, your knights are sharper than I expected."
Selene inclined her head slightly. "We train well."
Renard sheathed his blade and gave Hadric a respectful nod.
Hadric returned it.
As the duel ended and murmurs began to spread among the onlookers.
Selene turned to steward and spoke in a smooth and authoritative.
"Let Lord Renard refresh himself. Prepare the guest chambers again, and make sure he’s served sothing fitting."
"At once."
Renard, still smiling and only lightly winded from the spar, gave a courteous nod to Selene, then turned to follow the steward inside.
His guards trailed behind him.
Selene stood motionless, watching them disappear through the arching doorway.
Then slowly, her gaze drifted.
Settled.
Pierced.
Right onto Alaric.
He was still on the balcony, arms folded.
Watching from the start.
The mont her eyes t his, he straightened reflexively. Back stiff, arms lowering to his sides.
Selene said nothing at first. Her face calm, unreadable as always.
Then her lips parted.
"Co here."
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