Sword against him

Inside the castle, the sword room Celeste stumbled into alongside the maids had numerous mats on the neat floor, various swords displayed on walls. The only purpose was playing with swords; practicing, winning, or losing. In the center, she noted a monstrous wolf-headed pommel sword. Its exotic engraved blade was dug into a big stone, shiny and enclosed by a tall glass box.

A guard handed Celeste a sword in real quick before he lunged back to the door and declared.

"The Prince is here."

Everyone bowed and snapped their attention to the entrance where stood the most beguiling and stunning creature. The soon-to-be king of the Winderfell Castle.

Tristan gave a curt nod to make these people mind their own business before he trudged forward and reached Celeste's end who had strengthened her back. The sight of her in white sanctified his regard as he studied her natural features. "Do you hate blood?" He asked and grabbed a sword from the wall.

Her brows ceased. "Why would I hate blood?"

His dark eyes shifted downward as he removed the scabbard and the sharp blade of it ensued a hissing whisper in every niche. "Just one simple question... Do. You. Hate. Blood?"

By such a cold commotion, dispassion shivered her spine. She shook her head. "I don't." Since childhood, she killed those wild animals in forests. When she threw bows at them, blood was the only thing that amused her.

"Good." With that, he threw off his coat and revealed his tunic and long tight fitting pants. As he slowly lifted the sword, Celeste rushed at him. He dipped, weaved right as she was about to reach him, and slashed downwards. Presuming a high guard, he threw an overhand cut. She parried and he cut from the other side, and she again parried.

At that moment, Celeste realized she was escaping, not fighting back. There were times when she fought for life with death. She was good at this, good at protecting herself. But now, she had to fight back, protecting herself won't help.

They moved, back and forth until his pace stalled, pulling his eyes up from the sword to her slim face–contorted with enthusiasm. A subtle sneer took place in a corner of his lips as he noted how sharp her jawlines were, and how deep and warm those blue eyes were below her thick brown brows. She got a small nose, and full lips so alluringly pinkish.

Melding his mind on the fight, he resumed with an overhand cut that she managed to escape bending herself. Next moment, she threw her hands up before she parried high, with the blade's point towards his face. She missed the thrust as Tristan leaped backward and whacked the blade using his and then cut at her hand.

Blood drenched her thumb from an open wound created by his blade. Whilst hissing to her own guts, she gritted her teeth and her expression twisted to the sudden discomfort.

Tristan dragged the sword down. "You do hate blood, lady."

Without replying, she dodged to her side and returned similarly. Even though it was so close, it didn't hurt him as he lunged away, grabbed her about the shoulders and drove his knee up. Although Celeste spun just in time, the strike landed on her back. But this time, it didn't bleed and was surprisingly gentle.

He then held her hands on back, and jerking the sword away, he pulled her against his chest. She struggled in vain, but could not best the larger man in a grapple.

Defeated, she sighed while stooping her head back to look up at him and witnessing the glint of amusement on his face. The scent from his body that calmed her nerves was so sharp and overwhelming–laced with cinnamon, warm and sweet, with a hint of spice.

"Does it hurt?" He asked.

Her face contorted as his grasp on her hands twisted and she felt the pain crept across her finger. Yet, gritting her teeth. she shook her head. "It hurts to lose." Nothing hurt her more than losing. She despised failing, losing, giving up, and anything that proves her vulnerable.

After staying silent for a while, Tristan breathed harshly. From such a close distance, her scent invaded his sense. She didn't smell like other girls who came into his bed chamber. She smelled so different–the kind of a nostalgic blend of spring blossom and a fresh winter breeze, the kind that plays lullabies to hearts. That friend or whatever of hers must have savored every bit of it, so deeply he wouldn't regret.

"However, I still wonder who is that friend and what's his name." He spoke, his brows heaved up in curiosity.

Celeste's face went blank. "Pardon? Who are you talking about?"

He grunted and let her hands slip loose. "The one who is to blame about taking your innocence."

"You can find him out without any struggle." Facing him, she answered with her foreign words.

And that disturbed him to hell. "Then why can't you just tell me?" He strode away and grabbed his coat from the floor.

"Because–" With that, she offered him a confident look as she wiped her sweats from the forehead and added. "–that would convey my defeat."

He buttoned up his shirt faster before the maids could reach and assist which would be only confining at this moment. "Should I make him defeat instead?" Muttering, he brushed his clothes and began trudging toward the door until she spoke and her voice echoed in the empty room.

"Milord..."

His steps froze. Without looking back, he inhaled deeply and proceeded to say. "I was just wondering if you are brave enough to hold that sword against me because none of the subjects survived without shaking or collapsing. Nonetheless, hence, you are, you won. Congratulations. Later, Trevor will enlighten you about the food tasting job. Remember, right after three days, you will need to choose the one that suits you."

Celeste bowed after he left. But within the leisure she struggled to stand still, three maids had entered and were already in front of her, almost running as if in haste and dragged her to the west side of the Windslor castle where they perched her in the infirmary and a nanny cleared her wound, medicated the cut to heal.

"Are you a guest?" The nanny asked.

She shook her head. "I am the new trainee."

A soft chuckle was noted from the nanny which indicated amusement. "Then, you are unlucky." She said whilst wrapping the robe around her finger.

"For being a trainee?" asked Celeste who was sitting facing her.

She chuckled again and then, shook her head. "For being taken care of."

Celeste didn't add a word to waste her energy, already assuming her answer wouldn't be straight. Everyone here was too bizarre to the point that the momentous felt utterly unrealistic and pointless to ask anything usual.