Casian stared at the letter he had received just moments ago, now opened on the small, personal table which he used for all of his business.

  …and thus, I would be delighted at the opportunity to duel with you, but as I am loath to impose on you or your schedule, I would request that you get back to me with a time you would find best…

  Casian stared, blankly, unmoving.

  …I unfortunately feel the need to clarify given circumstances and what is typical, that I am not requesting a duel for the right to court Lady Rosalinde, but rather looking specifically to duel you, in a friendly bout.

  That, Casian thought, had not happened before.

  Casian leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. Then again, staring at the letter, with the symbol of the royal family’s seal stamped on the envelope. He had long since grown accustomed to reading flowery declarations of intent from nobles eager to pry their way into a relationship with Rosalinde, but this? This was uncharted territory.

  He normally burned those letters, anyways. He couldn’t be bribed, or coerced.

  What in the world was Casian supposed to do with this? Did the third prince just find him fun to fight? Did Casian look like someone who enjoyed recreational combat?

  Casian decided not to consider that last question.

  He tapped his finger against the table, staring still at the letter as though he could get it to reveal a deeper meaning. Unfortunately, it remained, same as it was– a very polite, very insistent request for him to schedule Casian beating him into the dirt at his earliest convenience.

  …He could say no?

  No. That would invite questions, at minimum. He considered his schedule, his workload, and the list of things that needed his attention.

  Training, a part of his mind whispered, seductive and delightful as much as miserable, It could all be used for training.

  Then, after a moment of deep, soul-searching introspection, realized the actual, true problem he had at play here.

  …He did not know how to politely turn down a prince’s request for a friendly, no-stakes duel without making it sound terribly like an insult. He also did not know if he particularly had it in him to deny a prince anything. He briefly considered seeking Rosalinde for advice, and then remembered the situation they had been in for the past few years, and immediately reconsidered with a vehemence that bordered on religious.

  That meant, by sheer process of elimination, he would likely have to fight him.

  Casian hit his knuckle against the table with a dull thunk. He looked back down at the final line of the letter.

  This would be a long week.

  …Additionally, if it would not be too forward, I would very much enjoy the opportunity for conversation and tea with you sometime, likely either before or after the duel. It is, of course, not a requirement, but I believe it would be a pleasant occasion.

  Almost instinctively, Casian began planning how he would slot in the time for tea alongside the duel. He was not raised to deny the crown anything– a non-required request from the crown was required, as far as he was concerned.

  Casian exhaled slowly, rubbing his face with both hands before letting them drop back onto the table. A duel was one thing– familiar, rote, something he could be prepared for. But tea? With a prince? A standing member of royal authority, however diminished?

  There was no winning here.

  …If, or rather, when he accepted, he would be stuck making small talk with the prince either after a duel where he had just beaten him, or speaking with a man who he would be about to beat. Declining, he decided, was unfortunately never much of an option. His family had a reputation and a duty to uphold. The Everstead family- for what little value he placed in the name- did serve the crown, and did so absolutely.

  He could already see the inevitable conclusion. He would agree, because he had no choice– duty bound as he was. He would fight, and win, because there was no other option– he briefly, considered the idea of throwing the match in case the prince was looking for some form of appeasement, he could do it for a member of the crown if it wouldn’t put Rosalinde in harm’s way– but ultimately his reputation as undefeatable and unstoppable meant that throwing the match could also be a sign of disrespect.

  It could also be a sign of weakness that his family did not currently need.

  He pressed his lips together, grabbed a fresh sheet of paper, and picked up his pen. Silently, he cursed himself for not taking the time to ever learn the third prince’s name, but it was too late now. Worst case scenario he could defer to a sense of loyalty to the crown and refuse to call him by name because of that.

  It was going to be a very, very long week.

  —-—

  The prince had cordoned off an entire courtyard. Not– to allow people in, he had just laid claim to a courtyard and had a small cadre of servants and guards redirecting anybody who got close. A servant had quickly grabbed him and led him to where the Third Prince was sat, golden hair lightly fluttering in the wind, some four or five servants closely at hand, and at the sight of him–

  The Third Prince’s face shot into a beaming, wide smile.

  “Casian!” the prince called, as though they were old friends who hadn’t seen each other in years rather than distant acquaintances who had perhaps exchanged three sentences in total, at most. “You’re here!”

  Casian inclined his head slightly. He had, indeed, made it. He stood, waiting.

  One of the nearby servants tapped the prince on the shoulder before leaning in and whispering something to the prince’s ear.

  “-Oh! Right. Come, come, sit!” The prince gestured enthusiastically to the elegant tea setup before him, nearly knocking over the sugar bowl in his excitement. One of his servants silently stepped in and caught it before immediately fading back into the background.

  Casian eyed the situation warily.

  “I thought it best to start with tea,” the prince continued cheerfully, reaching over to the kettle and pouring with a flourish that- as Casian briefly opened his third eye- made all of his servants tense, not that you could see that outwardly. “Fighting is important, of course, but a proper gentleman must always extend hospitality first.”

  Casian took a seat, accepting the cup that was thrust into his hands.

  “I wasn’t sure what you liked,” the prince confessed, leaning forward slightly with an eager, expectant expression that somehow seemed as refined as it was genuine. “So I just asked for everything. Oh! Would you like sugar? Honey? Milk? One of my servants says that a pinch of salt can sometimes bring out the flavor! Or was that for stew? Hm.”

  He turned to his nearest servant, who– without once looking up from where he was adjusting the tea tray– muttered, “That was for stew, Your Highness.”

  “Ah! Right, thank you, Martin.” The prince nodded sagely, as though some grand truth of the universe had been revealed to him.

  Casian took a cautious sip of the tea, warmth spreading through his fingers and settling into his stomach. It was… pleasant. Very well brewed. Casian had the impression it had not been the prince who brewed it. The third prince leaned forward.

  “So, Casian,” he began, voice bright. “I heard about your recent encounter with the Second Prince! I must say, you really must know how to handle yourself in a duel, I heard that he had left dissatisfied!”

  Casian shrugged, attempting to maintain a neutral expression as he wondered if this was some form of abstract torture. He saw one of the servants further away outright cringe.

  “...Admittedly, Your Highness, I am not exactly pleased with my conduct in regards to my duel with the Second Prince.” Casian lightly grimaced. He would have preferred to show nothing, but in this case it would likely be better to be genuine. “...I have a handful of hot-buttons, so to speak. I had gotten unreasonably heated. I would offer him my apologies, but I doubt that I can reassure him of an apology’s veracity.”

  Perhaps, Casian mused, I should have been prepared for the possibility of my ill-thought out actions catching up to me.

  The Third Prince’s expression shifted off of its enthusiasm to concern, brows furrowing. “Oh! I wouldn’t worry too much about that. Lucien can be a bit sensitive at times, but I know he’s stronghearted! Why– when we were younger, people would say some of the most awful things. I’m sure he’s quite good at letting it roll off his back by now.”

  Casian’s lips twitched in something that, maybe, if one was exceptionally generous, could be close to a smile, if a pained one. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but that is not as much of a comfort as you likely hope it is. I did not say much, but I am fairly certain the little I did say-” Casian struggled for an infinitesimal second, trying to figure out how to rephrase I analyzed your brother in an attempt to find the most psychological damaging thing to say and I am fairly confident I succeeded as quickly as possible. “-would leave a mark, so to speak.”

  The Third Prince blinked, his golden eyes wide with surprise. “Oh! I hadn’t realized it was that serious.” He leaned back, eyebrows raised as he considered Casian’s words. “You really think he’ll hold a grudge?”

  “I would not put it past him,” Casian replied, then swiftly added, “Nor blame him.”

  If the Third Prince did not know the specifics– that meant the Second Prince had likely downplayed the severity of it all, which was both good, and bad. He could get ahead of it by being honest, at least.

  “I… let my emotions get the better of me. It was not a matter of banter. I was doing my best to hit him where it would hurt.” He sighed, frustration washing over him for a moment. “I know I was in the wrong, and I regret it.”

  The Third Prince frowned, face clouding quickly with concern. “You really think he’d take it that badly? I mean, Lucien can be sensitive, but I’ve always known him to have a strong sense of humor…”

  “I must insist that is the case, as much as you may doubt it.”

  The Third Prince briefly looked baffled at the concept of someone saying something that could upset his brother, before nodding, resolute. “Then you should apologize,” he suggested, voice earnest. “If you feel bad about it, you owe it to him to make it right. Everybody has their moments, right? You’re not a monster for making a mistake.”

  “...I will take that into consideration, Your Highness.” And he would, as much as he loathed the thought. It would likely be better to address this at some point than to let it boil into something more unpleasant or violent.

  That seemed to settle the matter, as far as the Third Prince was concerned. The large smile slowly began to return to his face, like it was the inevitable, natural state of things. “See! Already on your way to mending things!” He clapped his hands in delight, pleased with himself. “But! Speaking of duels, I’m looking forward to our little sparring match! The first duel ended so quickly! Why– I must admit I’ve been looking forward to this!”

  Casian raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the admission– and the enthusiasm behind it. He had little doubt that the result of the duel would be no different than the first. “...You have been looking forward to this?”

  “Of course!” the prince exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “It’d be a waste if we didn’t get the chance to properly enjoy it! I have no illusions about my skills, but the more I fight, the better I can become.” The prince slowed down after that.

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  “And– if I may confess, I find watching you in action inspiring.”

  Casian blinked. The Third Prince seemed to cotton on to his confusion.

  “Why– You’re like a hero from old story books! An undefeated duelist defending his sister’s honor!”

  …Wouldn’t the Third Prince be one of the people assaulting his sister’s honor in this scenario? This was not what he expected from the Third Prince. This did not quite fit what he had modeled of his behavior from their brief duel.

  Behind the prince, a servant– Martin– offered him an apologetic grimace.

  Casian cleared his throat, trying to navigate the unexpected flattery. “You may want to reevaluate your definition of a hero, Your Highness. I assure you, I am not as noble as you make me out to be.”

  “Don’t be modest!” the prince insisted, waving a hand. “You stood up for your sister, and you’re not afraid to fight for what you believe in. That’s heroic in my book!”

  “I appreciate the sentiment,” Casian continued cautiously. Given by the nod one of the servants gave him at the answer, it had been the correct choice. “...but I can’t say that I fight for the recognition.”

  The Third Prince nodded– fast and easy, smiling wide. There was almost something dog-like about his actions and demeanour that he could not shake, now that he had seen him engage in a prolonged conversation. He was refined, yes, but there was a deeper undercurrent of genuine engagement with the conversation. “I had figured as much!” Reaffirming this seemed to increase the Third Prince’s judgement of him. “But- I also assumed that you would enjoy the fight, at least a little! I know I certainly do, on occasion. Something about the rush– being tested! It’s exhilarating.”

  Casian had never dealt with this sort of… reception, before. He searched for what would be appropriate to say.

  “...I cannot say that I dislike every fight I am in, Your Highness.”

  “See! That’s the spirit!” The Third Prince exclaimed, leaning back, grin satisfied. “You’ve got that fire in you! It makes the duel exciting! Not fighting for titles or glory; testing our skills, seeing how far we can push ourselves!”

  Casian considered this. He would not say that the prince would be pushing him very far. “I suppose there is merit in the challenge, although I tend to duel for more… personal reasons.”

  “Ah, Reasons!” The Third Prince waved his hand dismissively, excitement unabated and unstoppable. “We all have our reasons, but it’s how we approach it that matters! You’ve got to embrace the joy of it all– can’t have every fight be about winning or losing!”

  Casian believed he was beginning to understand the Third Prince, at least a little, and made an overture. “...Something tells me you find joy in everything, Your Highness.”

  The Third Prince let out a long, loud laugh, filled with life and mirth.

  “Why wouldn’t I? Life’s too short to not enjoy things! If I’ll be a prince, then forgive me for doing my best to enjoy it. Fighting can be just as good a way to have fun as any other.”

  The prince’s tone was unbelievably earnest. Casian shot a look at one of the servants and only received a grave, pained nod in return. Gods above, help him. He had not called him here for some political game or for an attempt to get around his defense of Rosalinde. The Third Prince was not immune to his sister’s charm– he was just so foolish as to be charmed by literally everything.

  No wonder he was often followed by a small army of servants. No wonder the duel in the first week happened the one time he had seen him not be surrounded by servants. He must have slipped away in the bustle of the newly arriving students.

  Casian resisted the urge to grimace for entirely unexpected reasons.

  “You are certainly… unique in your approach.”

  “Why thank you!” The prince beamed. “I aim to be! I want to bring that joy to others. It’s important to lift those around you up– it is practically my duty as a man of the crown!” Martin, behind him, was clearly looking on at the prince in some form of fond longsuffering, now that it was clear that Casian had peeked past the masquerade.

  “And if I can improve my skills while having fun– that’s just a win-win!” The Third Prince leaned in closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “So– what say you? Up to a duel?”

  …Hadn’t he already agreed, in his letter? Why call him out here and ask him again?

  “...If it is to help improve your skills, Your Highness, I cannot help but oblige.” Strengthening the personal skill of the Third Prince could only be beneficial to the crown, certainly? Casian wanted to grimace at the paper-thin justification to himself.

  He didn’t want to say he was ‘up to do’ anything.

  The Prince, visibly perked up at that response. Had he been expecting him to say no? He proceeded to knock back his entire cup of tea in a maneuver that made Casian want to violently shudder. He, instead, set his tea down. He would drink it after the duels at his own pace. Not… that.

  “Wonderful! Let’s do it now!” The Third Prince was already getting up. Casian restricted himself from sighing and stood up and started to make his way to the center of the courtyard.

  The Third Prince took up a stance, hand on his saber, smile wide and honest. He looked like he was bristling in anticipation.

  Casian summoned armor from the dirt, and did what was all-too familiar to him. The confines of the stone-suit, he could recognize, a minor comfort. The stone facade of a slotted helm curled over his face in a motion that almost felt loving. Opening his third eye showed the silhouettes he expected and no more. The physical enhancement made him that much faster, that little bit more. The regeneration, really, just helped cope with the stress. Casting was like running- the more you drew, the faster you were moving. Pulling a little from four disciplines could be as draining as pulling four times as much from one.

  Much like running, as well, if you were sufficiently motivated, you could do it until you just died, body giving out completely to the stress. Regeneration magic helped as an eminently powerful stop-gap. Being sufficiently skilled with healing magic meant one could refill someone else’s capacity to perform magic– but with his usage of it, it just reduced the strain from balancing so many disciplines at once. He shifted his arms to a straight sword and hammer. It would also, he supposed, heal him in the case he got hurt, but that was a rarity these days.

  One of the servants sighed and swiftly moved to the center of the field between the two of them to prepare to declare the beginning of the duel.

  The servant’s voice was quiet, but calm. “First to yield, or first to be incapacitated, loses. No lethal blows.”

  Casian nodded. The Prince nodded.

  The servant’s arm went down, and the prince bursted forward into a lunging sprint, sparks trailing.

  Casian, this time, didn’t wait. Teleporting to the midpoint to intercept him, crickets howling and sword-arm already swinging.

  The Third Prince, in a move defying what was expected by those following typical physics, immediately flew backwards in response, feet loosely skating against the ground in a long backwards walk, sliding like he was on a set of skates, strides long and smooth– covering move distance than his strides would realistically allow.

  Casian teleported ten paces to the right in an instant, crickets screeching. After there was no unexpected explosion, he relaxed slightly. Lightning– lightning was one of the few things he could not reliably outspeed. At least in projectile form. If the prince was using himself as some sort of guiding rod for that maneuver, and had let the trail of sparks move forwards…

  The Third Prince visibly concentrated, smile dimming but still there, as he took off in a beeline towards him yet again, body now surging forward in those long, sinuous strides, like he was merely skating against the ground than actually touching it. Sparks, yet again, trailed after him.

  Casian’s mind blurred, considering. His third eye inspected closely the space between the Third Prince’s shoes and the dirt floor of the courtyard.

  He’s somehow using lightning to affect the level of friction he has against the ground.

  Casian teleported to the Prince, further away this time, but within striking range, arm already extending with a spear on the end of it.

  The prince smoothly slid back into the sparks he left behind, like someone being dragged by a fishing line, before immediately skating forwards again. Casian started shifting stone downwards, shortening his spear.

  He teleported away from the questing slash of the saber that would’ve made contact with his armor, small pockmarks of soot left behind from small, hungry strands of lightning reaching out.

  The Prince visibly spun around, looking for him– the moment he did, he was off again, like a horse at the races. Long, languid strides and pulling forwards like he was drawn in by a greater force.

  Casian let him cross a bit of distance. Imagining it in his head, rolling the idea over. He didn’t nod– as it would risk giving away his plans– but he would have otherwise, as he decided on his course of action. The prince grew closer.

  Casian performed a number of actions in quick succession.

  First, he teleported behind the prince and left behind a small, unobtrusive stone object with nary but a few clicks. He could technically have accomplished this without getting close, but it would be less draining to teleport and do it directly. Then, he teleported in front of the prince, crickets howling, who immediately swung, lightning sparking.

  He teleported out of range of the swing, announced by pops, and the prince’s hand rose up– in a moment that Casian could swear felt slower, almost glacial with the adrenaline and enhancement magic– ready to blast lightning, and he teleported towards the offhand, forcing the maneuver to accomplish faster in a blast of firecracker’s noise, the saber-arm of the prince, Casian began jabbing forward in a furious lunge, kicking off the dirt with a shortsword in hand.

  He felt more than he heard the blast of lightning that went off no more than three feet from the side of his head, the prince’s face losing composure for a moment and entering an almost comical state of shock as he bounded backwards.

  And then his foot got caught against a stone doorstop. He didn’t so much fall as he did smoothly slide from standing to sideways on the floor in a near instantaneous movement. Casian shifted his feet to regain his footing from the lunge and then–

  He teleported–

  The Prince’s hand was raised, static crackling-

  He teleported again, watching a furious crack of lightning and a boom of thunder pass by where he’d been less than a second ago.

  The prince hauled himself backwards into a roll, and Casian interrupted, teleporting with pops sounding and hitting him with a straight-kick in the midst of the maneuver, sending the prince sprawling.

  Casian didn’t move. A half-second later, strands of lightning bounded off of the prone form of the prince, lashing out in all directions furiously. Casian thought. Considered. He moulded a fairly simple construct. A small stick made from stone, featureless, almost a tube, weighted slightly more to the back than the front. Around 2 centimeters in diameter and a foot-and-a-half long– or about a third of a meter if you were Drakonis– satisfied, he teleported closer to the form of the prince now preparing to get off the ground, all the while moulding a few more.

  He threw the stick. Hard. It missed. He felt the way his body moved through his third eye- felt the way the stone had been perfectly weighted. The error was on his behalf. He readjusted, body and reflexes moving faster than thought.

  He threw another stick. Slightly less hard. It hit the prince who was thrown, sprawling, onto the dirt again. He threw another stick, and the prince’s saber flashed out and hit it aside in a terrible Clang!

  “...Yield.”

  He hadn’t ever needed to poke at somebody because they had dedicated enough energy to learning how to stay away from him like this. He could’ve chased him down, dodged the lightning, and hit him in between casts, but this was just safer, and easier. The prince gathered himself to his knees. He ignored how it felt a little comical.

  “Come now, Casian! I won’t give up that-”

  Casian teleported and booted him in the chest before throwing another stick straight at his chest. This time, with feeling.

  “-ea-oof!” The prince wheezed.

  “...Yield, please.”

  “I yield! I yield!” The prince coughed, on his hands and knees. “Goodness. You’ve got quite the throwing arm. You must have practiced.” The prince smiled at him. “Seems I’ve been foiled!”

  …Casian had never had to throw something like that before. He hadn’t really considered it, either.

  He’d be practicing his throwing now though. That was an oversight he had to correct.

  The servants rushed in, their expressions hovering between exasperation and resignation, as if this outcome was inevitable. Given that from one of them cringing earlier at the conversation about the Second Prince, it was likely that the extent of what he could do when… bothered… had spread around amongst the staff, at least a little, they likely did know that the outcome was inevitable.

  Still, one of them handed the prince a handkerchief, while another offered him water, hovering over him like they were resisting the urge to just pull him to his feet. The Third Prince, still grinning despite his breathlessness– and how he had just been pelted with literal stone– waved them off with an easy laugh.

  Casian let the stone helm he typically adorned himself with melt away, ignoring the pang of disappointment at having to go unprotected.

  “Ah, what a fight! I can’t say I expected to be pelted with sticks, but that was certainly effective.” He took a long sip of water, catching his breath. “Tell me– be honest!-- did you come up with that mid-duel, or have you always secretly been such a menace with your throwing arm?”

  Casian considered how to answer that– disregarding the idea of him lying to any member of royalty under any circumstance that was not extreme, as the idea was ludicrous. He wasn’t sure he would use the word menace as the appropriate adjective, all things considered. But he was unsure how to properly articulate that he’d simply never been put into a situation where he had no good choice other than to throw things before.

  “Adaptability is a crucial aspect of combat.” He decided on, after a few moments thought.

  The prince let out a bark of laughter. “I’ll take that to mean, ‘yes, I am naturally terrifying and only just realized it.’” He clapped a hand to his chest dramatically– before pausing after performing the motion in a pained grimace– “ow.” He turned to one of his servants. “Martin, please stop me if I’m about to do that again.”

  “...What was I saying again?” The Third Prince shook his head. “Oh! Yes.” The third prince– gently– clasped an arm to his chest dramatically. “What an honor to be the first to suffer from your impromptu artillery, Sir Casian. I am glad to have been able to expand your toolkit the same way you have expanded mine!”

  Casian decided that he did not need to engage with the comment about him being capable of acting as artillery.

  “You have an interesting technique, Your Highness. Reducing friction between you and the floor to enable you to better give chase to a more mobile opponent is an impressive development.” Casian added, after a brief moment of thought. “Especially only two weeks after our first duel.”

  Casian had thought it was strange that the Third Prince hadn’t challenged him again– he still spent time in Rosalinde’s orbit, he knew. He must’ve been developing this technique in the hopes of being able to do better the next time. Two weeks was an okay turnaround for a new technique, he thought?

  Casian realized he did not, perhaps, have the strongest grasp of the average noble’s capacity with magic.

  The prince brightened. “Oh! You caught that? I knew I should’ve known I couldn’t have hidden it from you.”

  …Hidden it? Did he think he just… wouldn’t want to understand the technique his enemy was using?

  Casian frowned slightly, tilting his head. “Understanding an opponent’s technique is the first step to countering it.”

  The Third Prince grinned. “Exactly! That’s why I wanted to see if I could get even a moment of advantage before you figured it out. Alas, you were far too quick.” He shook his head in exaggerative disappointment. “I had hoped it would take at least two bouts before you saw through it.”

  Casian resisted the urge to sigh. “Your Highness, you were crackling with static before every maneuver. You left behind visible trails of lightning. The technique is well designed, but the cues are quite obvious.”

  The prince groaned dramatically. “Agh, I knew it! Martin, take note– next time, we need to make it subtler.”

  Martin, the long-suffering retainer, inclined his head. “Of course, Your Highness. I shall consult the royal alchemists on how to make ‘lightning less conspicuous.’”

  Casian would’ve thought he was joking if he didn’t pull out a small pad of parchment and make a note with the second half of his sentence.

  The prince pointed at him. “That’s the spirit!”

  Casian blinked at the casual absurdity of the exchange. Was this just… normal behavior for them?

  The prince turned back to him, smile undeterred. “I’ll have to refine it, then. I’m not done yet! You’ll duel me again, won’t you?”

  Casian considered the request. It wasn’t as though he particularly minded dueling, so long as it happened on his terms and did not needlessly surprise or cause chaos for his schedule. And while he could potentially allow the prince to improve on his lonesome, or with royal tutors– he did have a duty, and now faced with the opportunity to personally ensure that one of the crown prince’s combat capacities would not remain overly flawed, he didn’t believe he had much of a choice. Not one that wouldn’t be irresponsible, at least.

  He nodded. “I will.”

  The prince beamed. “Fantastic!” His smile faltered, briefly. “I may have to call a rain-check on another one today, however. I am feeling quite bruised.” He clapped his hands together, then laughed at himself. “...Maybe once I’ve worked out some of the kinks, at least.”

  Casian inclined his head. “That would be wise.”

  The prince grinned. “Wise, but not nearly as fun.”

  Casian didn’t bother responding to that, simply taking time to deposit stone back in the ground where it ought to be– being responsible meant only breaking what you were told to– and walking back to his discarded teacup from earlier and taking a seat. He took a sip. It was terribly lukewarm, but it was still better than having gulped it down in one go before a fight.

  The prince watched him and then turned to Martin, “See?” he gestured towards Casian. “That’s the composure I need.”

  Martin’s expression hovered on a powerfully controlled blankness and no more. “If you would care to emulate it, Your Highness, perhaps you could have begun by not starting the scholastic year with launching yourself into numerous duels.”

  The prince let out a bark of laughter. “No promises. Also, please see about getting Richard from the guard– I’d really like to not go to bed with these bruises if I could.”

  Martin nodded towards one of the accompanying servants, who immediately took off with haste. “Right away, Milord.”

  He would be doing this again, it seemed. There were likely worse things he could be doing, at the least. Maybe he could see about trying some of the less feasible tricks he had always wanted to do with these bouts.

  Casian sighed into his tea.