Free Destined for a King by Ashlyn Macnamara

reminders.
    “Knees!”
    Clank!
    “Elbows!”
    Clank!
    “Eyes!”
    Crash!
    As the boy lost yet more ground to his opponent, Calista crossed her arms. She’d rather be anywhere but the practice yard, but she must keep an eye on her charge. Torch had made his halting way to the opposite side to survey the proceedings, arms crossed, stance tense and wide, expression assessing.
    “What do ye want to wager he’d like to be in there himself?” Calista turned to find her maid watching the action just as closely, assessing after her own manner.
    “He may well want to, but he’s not strong enough yet.” Four days risen from his sickbed, and Torch had wished to inspect his new defenses, but he’d only managed the trek as far as the yard. And he had yet to climb the staircases back to her chamber. Until his assured stride came back, she had to remain at hand to help him walk.
    “I’ll wager it would be a sight to see, him fighting.” Tamsin’s voice turned soft and airy. “I’d like to see him take on his commander.”
    Said commander had forced Owl to retreat nearly to the far wall. “Fight, damn you!” His shout rose above the general clangor of the yard. “Defend yourself!”
    Owl tossed his shield aside and gripped his blade two-handed. He glared up at his opponent through narrowed eyes. Without warning he slashed at the air. Kestrel leapt to one side, never once giving ground, and delivered a side-hand cut that clipped the boy’s left arm.
    His blade clattered to the packed earth, but Kestrel gave him no quarter. Grabbing him by the gorget, he pulled back his sword hand, as if he would stab the boy in the heart. “You’re dead, you idiot. Now pick up your weapons and try again.”
    A red-faced Owl strode back to the middle of the yard. Heat practically rose off his cheeks in waves.
    “One thing’s certain,” Calista commented. “He needs a more worthy opponent.”
    “There’s a poetry to it, all the same,” Tamsin sighed. “But, yes, it would be lovely to see him take on someone who’s more of a match.”
    Torch pushed himself away from the wall and strode between the combatants. Even that effort caused a sheen of sweat to break out on his brow, and the tension in his jaw pointed to clenched teeth.
    Calista pressed her lips together. “If he isn’t careful, they’ll be hauling him back abovestairs on a bier. And then Father will be stuck in that cell while the oaf regains his strength again.”
    “Just like a man, though. He’s not one to lie abed, that one. Not unless…” A dreamy sort of smile replaced the remainder of that sentence.
    Calista found herself unclenching her teeth. “Unless what?”
    “Oh, nothing. I merely meant he’s not one to stay in bed overlong, unless he has company.”
    “And what would you know about it?” A useless question when Calista had spent nearly every waking moment with the man since his arrival.
    “Nothing at all, my lady.” Her eyes went round, and roses bloomed in her cheeks. “I’m merely speculating. Besides, I’ve heard him declare his intentions. I know better than to overstep. And it’s his commander that’s caught my eye.”
    “Kestrel?” Objectively, Calista could look at the man and declare him handsome, though far too serious. But something about Torch’s stance—his arrogant confidence despite his injuries—drew her eye back to him.
    Tamsin merely smiled. “I wouldn’t mind being the one to make him drop that sour expression.”
    Calista turned her attention back to the yard. “I doubt he ever drops it.”
    If he did, Owl wasn’t likely to be the one to make him do so. The boy was losing badly once more. Even the threat of Torch hovering over him wasn’t improving his swordplay.
    “I believe the boy would stand a better chance if he could keep his eye on the fight in front of him,” Calista commented.
    Torch had noticed as well. He kept glancing in their direction. His gaze traced from Tamsin to Owl and back, and then he