Dusk of the Realm

22

Tarin heard the shattering of glass, but as he also heard the words the princess was yelling, he knew she was not hurt. Therefore, he did not slow down - in fact, he sped up, as the closer he remained to her, the more likely he was to reel back around and embrace her again.

Never had he indulged in an act so selfish. Of course he had wanted it - of course he wanted her - but to allow his own desire to drive his decisions was a sign of weakness. Never before had he succumbed to his own appetites in such a way. The princess would surely someday meet somebody worthy of her - somebody wealthy and prominent, wise and just; somebody to rule the kingdom at her side when it came her time to take the crown. Somebody who would be an asset to the Realm, and that would be at least an acceptable match for her in terms of status, and who would treat her like a queen even when she was not overseeing the state's affairs.

Tarin was well-known, and he was not a poor man, but he did not deserve her. His life was dangerous and deadly, one of action and blood and fear. He could not pull Serena into any of that, no matter how much he might want to. It would be wrong of him to distract her from her own duties just to feel so... so...

He burst through the doors of the training room and reached for the hilts of his cross swords. He slid them from their sheaths and pointed one at the first man he saw, who immediately stopped dead in the midst of his fight. His opponent grinned and went to strike the winning blow when he saw who had just entered, and he too - as if afraid to be punished for a fight that had been nothing but fair - froze in place.

"You," Tarin called, still pointing at the first man; a Fae with long, russet hair. He did not care enough to study anything else about the man right now; he just wanted to be distracted, to exert himself to his limits. "Try to strike me."

One would think that Tarin had just asked the man to jump into a pit of poisonous vipers. He paled completely and glanced at his friend, who gave the slightest shrug, as if saying, What do you want me to do about it?

Tarin surveyed the rest of the room briefly. There were not many Fae in here; maybe thirty, no more than forty. Most of them must be out on the fields.

When thoughts of the feeling of Serena's hands in his hair, of the taste of her lips on his, gained strength in his mind, he knew he was waiting too long. He turned away from the russet-haired Fae and addressed the whole room:

"I want all of you to fight me," he called out, watching as the men and women turned to stare at him with wide, frightened eyes. "You are Fae, and there are many of you. Show me that I should not lose hope in the strength of our race. Strike me; that is an order!"

To his annoyance, they all still hesitated. He lost patience.

Tarin made the first move, running towards the russet-haired Fae. He sharpened his swords against each other once, twice as he moved, and then he was upon his opponent.

The man barely put up a fight. He pulled his sword up too late, and Tarin brought the flat of his blade down on his wrist. The man cried out and dropped his sword, and Tarin, with a huff of disgust, hit the man's temple with the hilt of his sword. He fell unconscious instantly, and then Tarin was on his friend.

This man was more prepared; he was set in a determined stance, his sword held in a tight grip. However, this tight grip was a mistake; it was due to the man's anxiety that he was clutching his weapon for dear life, and without being able to hold the weapon just loose enough to feel like an extension of his arm, he did not stand a chance. Tarin was under his guard in less than a second, and the man joined his friend on the ground.

Finally, the rest of the Fae had decided it would be in their best interest to follow his order, since it had become evident that he would be after them even if they refused to launch themselves at him first.