a Brawl for Breakfast

"Perhaps, if you had skipped those last few glasses of wine you wouldn't be as slow this morning." I duck under Ezra's striking sword, dancing to stand behind him. His mocking words fuelling my desire to beat him at this, just once.

"What's your excuse then, brother?" I whisper in his ear before pushing him forward, tripping him. He rolls over mid fall, sword at the ready to block my strike before he has even reached the red mud tiled floor of the training room. He kicks me in the stomach, knocking all of the air out of my lungs. The leather armour vest I was wearing over my cotton tunic doing very little to protect me from the knock.

We have been training like this since I was 12, it started much gentler of course with basic sword play using a stick but what as I got older Ezra and our tutor became more and more aggressive, switching to blunt metal swords.

"What would you do in a real battle? The enemy will not be gentle." Master Rein would say when I would cry because I wasn't strong enough. He would then teach me that if I cannot be stronger than my opponent I have to be faster, outwit my opponent. This is one of the things I believe gnomes do very well, boys and girls are given equal opportunity to fight. Other things are not quite as equal though.

I stagger back, the course tiles beneath my feet suddenly unsteady. Ezra leaps off of the floor, his long hair fighting the restraint of the tie and falling in his eyes slightly. I dive towards the blunt training sword he had smacked out of my hand before kicking me, doing a forward tumble. I use the motion to keep going and ending back up on my feet, sword ready to block whatever Ezra is planning on throwing my way. We circle, facing each other, panting. Ezra has a glorious excitement glowing in his eyes, the smirk on his lips almost hidden by his lush brown beard.

"I am not slow, little sister." He pounces, our swords singing the song of smiths and throwing the occasional spark across the room. His footwork mimics mine, but Ezra is bigger and therefore slower than me, I simply need to wait.

Ezra is a very quiet fighter, the only noise he makes comes from his breathing or his sword. I am however a loud fighter, I yell and swear, which master Rein used to reprimand me for. He said that passion shows more than you want your opponent to know. It shows your next move, your weaknesses and strategies. I disagree, I firmly believe you can use it to distract your opponent.

Zion looks up at my grunts and growls occasionally from where she is scratching up a wooden post built specifically for her in the corner of the room. When we started training I would leave Zion to her own devices but when I would return with scrapes and bruises she would get very unsettled and she wouldn't let anyone touch me for days. This bear would growl at my own mother with the force of a thunder storm. I explained what was happening but we found she only truly calmed down when she could see me training.

"Where did you disappear off to last night? You know you'll cause a scandal if you keep running off with Prince Arrow." Our dance slowed for Ezra to voice his concern about my virtue.

"I did no run off with Arrow. Besides, how many women have you smuggled in and out of this castle?" I strike back, making Ezra chuckle. He has never really laughed, it's always just a strange stomach sound.

"What were you up to then? You know father nearly burst a blood vessel when you came in off of that balcony with Arrow trailing you."

"His serpent mother decided to corner me and accuse me of killing her husband by simply existing. Arrow was merely seeing if I was alright." I hold my sword by the blade, our code for a pause, to take a sip of water from the table set up with fruit and bread. I really did have too much wine last night.

"Be careful what you say, Celine. The walls have ears you know. And I love you too much for your tongue to get you killed." He picks up the other clay cup, inspecting it thoroughly before taking a sip. The sniff he gave the water really emphasised what he was insinuating.

"And yet you still want to marry me off into the woman's waiting claws, where it would be far easier to poison me." I set my cup down a little harder than I intended to.

"Cel, you know that I would change this if I could. I would let you marry whoever you want. But this is important. This marriage would mean our people will finally start getting along. No more stories of gnomes being tortured by nymphs on the boarders or entire Slesouport towns being butchered by gnomes. Our people need this. Besides, there are worse matches than Arrow."

"Says the man who gets to choose his wife." I shrug his arm off of my shoulders. The heaviness of his words weighing me down enough. He looks at me with a sadness I suppose you can only feel for a sibling who you cannot save from their fate.

"Would you like to beat me up some more, little sister?" Ezra knows that there is nothing else to be said about my engagement, at least nothing that would make me feel any better. His way of praising my fighting skills is offered up as a substitute olive branch.

"I was doing nothing of the sort but it would be rude to decline that offer, brother." Our relationship has always been about dancing around tough subjects and finding small patches of common ground. This was one of those bits of common ground.

I lunge at Ezra, smacking his sword out of his hand. My agility finally outweighing his strength. The hilt of his sword caught hold of his shirt sleeve, the sound of cloth ripping was followed by the loud clang of metal on the tiles.

"I told you to wear the cuffs!" I twist my hand at him, the cuff of my shirt protected by the straps of leather I wrapped around them and my hands, like boxing gloves.

We ripped every single one of our shirts like this when we started training with the metal swords, so mom made us mend them ourselves. I eventually got tired of it and figured if we have armour for our chests, why not our wrists too. It does definitely help with the never-ending stream of bruises and scratches the blunt blades leave on our hands and wrists.

"Excuse me, your highnesses, I have been sent by king Aiden to remind prince Ezra that the hunting party will be leaving shortly." The messenger boy bows and disappears as quickly as he had spoken.

"Why, when I know I have a darling sister who would mend it for me." I roll my eyes at Ezra, trying to tuck his torn cuff into the shirt that he doesn't have to change. "Now, let me go kill some wild boar with my future brother." He takes my head in his hands and presses a kiss to my slightly sweaty hairline.

"Shoot him for me." I give him my best puppy dog eyes.

"Who? Dad or Arrow?" Ez whispers back before bolting out of the room.

"Both!" I laugh after him and pick up some grapes, throwing one into my mouth.

"Assassination plans shouldn't be made so publically, Princess." The ever familiar voice of the mysterious Mars makes me jump and choke on the half chewed grape in my mouth. His tall frame is lazily lounging on the windowsill, as if it is the most comfortable seat in the entire castle.