DAMNATION

CHAPTER I: We Were Young Then

꧁ঔ CHAPTER I ঔ꧂

"We Were Young Then"

"Strip it off!"

Wyatt grinned from ear to ear. This is what adults do, yes? he thought proudly. I heard they play games, strange ones, and someone always ends up yelling bloody confusing instructions. He had no idea what was being stripped off, but he was certain of one thing: adults always sounded ridiculous while doing it. And by the gods, he was doing a fantastic job already.

"If you're going to fight like that, Sir, you might as well spare the irony and save us the embarrassment. Come on. Off with it."

A wave of laughter rolled through the knights. None of them looked offended. If anything, this was exactly their kind of humor, one that came from men who had seen worse than embarrassment and learned to laugh firsthand.

Kaelmar, their grandmaster, stopped mid-stance, with his sword hanging awkwardly in the air. He blinked at the young man, clearly torn between "What the hell?" and "Do I dare?" His lips twitched in a weird, helpless way, like he wanted to scold him but also couldn't stop laughing. "Your Highness... I don't think—" he started, trailing off as Wyatt just grinned back. Ah.

"Oh, relax," Wyatt said, grinning wider. "I'm eighteen, surely I'm not blind. If I can stand here and take a blade to the ribs, you can survive a little shame. Or what, I thought grown men had more dignity than me, no?"

That did it.

A few of the knights barked out another laugh. Others clapped, and a handful of voices shouted encouragement that sounded more like bets. Were they actually betting? Probably—but they were enjoying the show, and Wyatt didn't blame them. It wasn't like Virelen was in serious danger today. Just missing a beer or two, but Wyatt had already told them: no beer during the day. Rules were rules, even if he was the one setting them.

"Ah, Daymont! Ten coins says you'll spill him on the third swing!" one of the older knights called, bare teeths were visible.

"Five says he'll take Kaelmar down without even breaking a sweat," another shot back.

That made the eighteen year old laugh, spinning his sword casually, though he didn't slow down just yet. He caught their eager looks and how the bets were bouncing around, like everyone was just enjoying a little show. Let them wager, he thought. It only made the game more fun.

Wyatt Daymont, second prince of Virelen; shrugged, rolled his shoulders, and lifted his sword again. He was loose and ready for round two. It looked like nothing more than a game he had pulled out of thin air. Being eighteen meant having too much energy, too little patience, and a habit of getting into trouble—that was what being a teenager was like. Wyatt had all three in spades. But now, he was standing on the new edge of adulthood, expected to grow out of it whether he felt ready or not.

"Swing faster," he added, eyes brightening up in no time. "Or I swear I'll take that sword myself, yes?"

The sun of Virelen's long summer days hit his blade, making it shine like it was trying to show off. Grey-blond hair stuck to his neck that was yet already damp with his sweat, catching the light whenever he spun. Wyatt twisted his wrist and blocked Kaelmar's strike without even trying, their swords clanged together loudly.

"Careful, Your Highness," Kaelmar puffed, acting as if he needed to recover. "Your brother would kill me if I broke your nose."

Wyatt snorted. "Verner would kill me for not breaking yours first."

He pivoted away, eyes were perfectly alight. There was something wild and restless about him, a spark that refused to die down. His footwork was quick, and every movement honed from hours of practice. It wasn't a secret—Wyatt could hold his own in a fight, probably outmatching half the knights he trained with. But it was also no secret he'd rather be here in the training yard, swinging swords and laughing, than stuck in some stuffy council room.