Kingdom of isolation - you can't hide

Ten - Alexander

Alexander

Age 20

Cold wind slashes into my exposed skin like a glacial whip, nipping at it harshly but I pay no heed to the efforts of a bolstering winter. Pain has no place in my kingdom. It is a weakness that can be used against you if you're not careful. And I do not tolerate weaknesses, no matter how small they may seem. I would rather cut the roots before they can fester and grow into something capable of destroying life as they see fit.

"Again." I command my wheezing mess of a sparring partner. Fucker looks like he's one second away from getting an asthma attack. Indignation rises in my chest at his facade.

"Your royal highness, we should resume tomorrow or somewhere that's less like Antarctica. My nipples are fucking icicles!"

"Do not make me repeat myself."

The sound of metal clashing echoes the fighting arena like a haunting chorus. Blood flows through the very ground we stand on, the ghosts of thousand warriors still hanging around, judging us for showing an ounce of mercy to our opponents. No man can enter these sacred grounds with a soft heart and leave without serious repercussions. You either commit or you submit and accept your fate as a failure. Cold sweat mixes with blood that isn't mine. My opponent looks defeated but I push him to his limits. If he's assigned to become my second in command, he needs to earn his place like everyone else. Friendship and family mean nothing to me if he's unable to stand toe to toe with his future king. Because that's what I am, what I was born for. What I was made for just like my father and forefathers.

"Your royal highness, forgive me when I say this," He pants, aiming his sword at my shoulder with a slight tremor in his hand. "But, you are a pain in my ass today!"

I laugh but it is void of any humour. I am equal parts annoyed and impressed with his bold attitude towards me. Many have trembled in fear in my presence but not this bastard. He either doesn't care or has a death wish waiting for him. He was a nuisance for as long as I can remember, always following me like a lost puppy even when I kicked him to the curb on multiple occasions. But to his defence, he was appointed to be my second in command before either of us were born. He didn't exactly have a choice in the matter, perhaps he would have been spared if he wasn't my cousin and third in line for the throne. I have tested his limits, of which he has none, watched him grow with me side by side. He's still very much a nuisance in my life but one I must learn to tolerate. It would be a shame to get rid of him without rewarding him first.

"And it will only get worse if you continue talking."

He charges forward, something he needs to stop doing, and I easily dodge his obvious attack, nicking his spine with my blade for his carelessness. I tilt my head slightly, watching him carefully just as he takes an embarrassing stumble across the stone steps and stays there. Broad shoulders move rhythmically with every harsh intake of breath, a cloud of cold smoke swirling around him. Swordplay is one thing he hasn't mastered yet, no matter how much he tries to fool himself. He's lethal but sloppy when faced with a stronger opponent. Correction: He's always sloppy with me and it costs him that royal blood every time.

"You're too predictable." I drawl, taking a step closer to inspect my handiwork. Red, angry splotches mark his tan skin spread sporadically across his entire back. That's what he gets for giving his back to me.

"What can I say, I aim to please."

Clash of metal once again and this time he's on his knees panting like a dog. All a show, fucking asshole.

"Don't fuck around, Whitlock. Pick up that sword and fight."

"You know, this obsession with violence will be your biggest downfall. Mark my words."