Inscribed In The Stars

Chapter 6

The young Prince's grin only grew. He wore no training gear over his loose chemise, which was tightly wrapped around his waist and wrists. A large patch of sweat dampened the material making it cling to his abdomen. Without the royal drabs, Abbas was able to get a better judgment of the Prince's build and he was fairly impressed with how built he was. Despite his sharp and sly tongue, it seemed to him that Prince Masood took pride in his swordsmanship.

"I'm sure you're aware of why I called you here," Masood said.

Abbas drew closer. "Indeed."

"Abbas-" Musa warned him.

"Unlike my father, I find the idea of dinner invitations tiresome. I prefer to get to know my guests over friendly swordplay, and I find that this way, I am able to judge them better," Masood continued, his eyes unwavering until he was but an arm's stretch away from the scarred Prince. He was but a fingertip shorter than Abbas but his features were frighteningly similar to the King's. Unlike the Princess' chestnut waves, his hair was as dark as the night.

"I agree," he muttered, to which Masood grinned and turned his back to them, striding back to the centre of the field where his servant awaited with his sword.

"Bring Amir Abbas a sword," he ordered, and not a second later, another servant fulfilled it.

"Wait," Musa uttered, as Abbas took the sword. "Let me duel him, at least I can match him in skill,"

Abbas turned to his friend and shook his head. "It would only displease him. Let me just get this done and over with,"

"But you noticed it right? His sword?" Musa asked, pointing to the young Prince with his chin.

"Indeed," Abbas affirmed, bouncing the training sword in his hand. He eyed the tip of the blade and stroked its spine with his free hand. It wasn't the best but it would do. This was a friendly duel after all.

"And you are confident in your training?"

The General was referring to Abbas' limited practice with using and defending against a twin-blade wielder. Musa was one of the many few amongst the Prince's companions that had mastered the discipline of using two swords, his late father-in-law being another one. Abbas had been adamant to start his training after the palace attack, but with the funeral of his beloved Ustad, being a source of comfort for his grieving wife became a greater priority.

Abbas laughed. "I am not, but I shall consider this another opportunity to train,"

"Ya Allah," Musa groaned. "But do not hold me to fault if I intercede on your behalf. I don't trust the Amir to play clean,"

Abbas nodded. "Neither do I,"

Prince Masood waited for him at the centre of the dusty field. Despite the torches perched all around, Abbas' vision was still limited to within the borders of the training grounds. He stepped foot into the white circle that had been painted in the centre of the field, his shadow snarling at the young Prince.

"A friendly match," Abbas stated and the Prince beamed.

"Indeed," Masood mocked, and without a second's delay, he charged forward.

Abbas readied on the defensive, grounding his feet as their swords met. For a moment, he allowed for the weight of the Prince's sword to push him back, and after grasping the heaviness of it, he shook him off. Despite that, the young Prince countered with another attack, this time, his sword twirling in a practiced manoeuvre that would have struck Abbas in the ribs if he had not parried it away.

Masood was relentless in his sequence of attacks, but Abbas did not counter back with his own. And all the while, he was noticing the frustration building behind every furrow of the young Prince's brows.