PART I | Chapter V
1:5 | Walk Like a Princess, Fight Like a King
"If I manage to disarm you, you owe me a kiss."
Kedean stared, thrown, at the woman before him, barely hearing the chuckles and occasional playful whistle that bubbled up around him.
"A…kiss?" he repeated after a moment, dubious.
Surely, she wasn't serious. It wasn't his place—she was to be married, heavens protect—and they'd only met less than twenty four hours ago. He had absolutely no grounds to touch her, let alone…
He found himself watching her lips as they curved up, smiling far more like a fox than an innocent canary, and he jerked his gaze to her eyes instead—which were, unfortunately, no less sharp and no less filled with mischief.
"Yes," she confirmed, apparently garnering a great deal of amusement out of his anxiety. "Full on the lips, of course," she clarified, "no cheating. Although, I must admit…I don't see why you're fretting so…" She tilted her head, a single dark lock of hair slipping to curve along her cheek as she eyed him from behind long, full lashes, "…it's not as if I'll
win…right?"
Kedean frowned, because—well—she
was right. She couldn't possibly expect to win. Maybe her brothers had taught her to hold a dagger once or twice, but she was still a woman, untrained, inexperienced, and
small, and while Kedean wasn't egotistical, he knew, point of fact, that he was significantly more versed in weapons and open-handed combat than any of the men on the ship.
What he didn't understand was why she wanted to bother in the first place.
"You're right, miss," he said at last. "You won't win-"
"So, you accept?"
He pursed his lips. "I didn't say-"
"Don't worry, I promise to be gentle," she assured him, smug in a way that he had
never seen a woman look, and around him the crew tittered with laughter and encouragement—cat calls and a few intermittent pieces of off-color humor. He sighed.
"And what do I get if
I win?" he asked at last, adding, "I don't want your money…" to clarify. He ignored Zyric's sideline objection.
"Oh, yes, I suppose that is a factor…" she admitted. "Very well. If you win…I promise to refrain from flirting with you for the duration of the trip, seeing as it clearly makes you uncomfortable."
"I'm not un-" he started to object, but changed his mind midway, and frowned. After a moment he asked, "The entire trip?" Why was he even considering this?
"That's what I said."
This was a bad idea. "Fine," he clipped at last, against his better judgment, "but-"
"Fantastic," she cut him off, "I'll meet you back on deck in three minutes," and with that, she turned, skirts twirling about her ankles with the abruptness of the motion, leaving Kedean to stare, speechless, as she retreated towards her cabin.
He was still frowning, trying to puzzle out what, exactly, he was getting himself into when Zyric, still by the forward mast, pushed up abruptly and followed after her, catching her just before the door. After a very brief exchange, which Kedean couldn't pick up due to distance, she disappeared inside. Kedean resisted the urge to throw his hands skyward. Instead, after perhaps a minute of debate, he gave in and headed for her door.
"I wouldn't…" Zyric started when he approached, but when Kedean raised an eyebrow, halting directly before the entrance, his brother lifted his hands in defeat. "Alright, just, you know, a suggestion…"
"Mm." Kedean knocked, and Zyric retreated. "Milady," he called after a moment of no response, "forgive me for interrupting, but-"
"Come in," his charge invited from the inside, "just be sure to close the door behind you."
Not expecting that, he hesitated a moment, but eventually conceded, doing as instructed.
"Miss," he started as soon as he entered, "I'm still not precisely sure what y—
oh, heavens, Great Father and Mother protect,
what," he swore, spinning immediately to face the door and pulling it hard shut before anyone happened to glance in, "in the stars' names do you think-"
"What would you say it looks like I'm doing?"
Kedean's face burned. "You said," he ground out, "that I could come
in…"
"I did," his charge agreed, unfazed. "Now, by the door, to your left, there's a stack of undershirts. If you could be so kind as to pass me one…"
Kedean shut his eyes. "Miss Merseille…"
"Oh, come now, you act as if you've never seen a woman undressed before." He listened to the gentle shuffle of padded feet on hardwood. "You didn't expect me to fight in
skirts, did you?"
"I…honestly didn't give it much thought," Kedean admitted, still facing the door, but he reached for the aforementioned undergarments anyway, keeping his back to his charge as he held the things out. "You
didn't, however, have to permit me in," he added, feeling very justified in his irritation, but she only hummed in response, accepting the clothes without comment. After a moment, as least as much to distract from the soft rustling of cloth as anything else, he asked, "What did my brother say to you?"
"Mm? Oh," There was a clip and a swish, "he advised that I not get my hopes up…" Another rustle of cloth, "…that it would be very difficult, to connive you into bed with me…" Kedean almost choked, "…seeing as you apparently rarely bed strangers, never sleep out of your class, and prefer the company of men besides…" He was beginning to wonder if Zyric hadn't been right when he cautioned him not to enter, "…but I told him he needn't worry," his charge continued, unawares, "since—you may turn around now, by the way, I am perfectly presentable—I have absolutely…" Kedean, though hesitant, turned slowly, and thus managed to meet his charge's eyes directly as she said, "…no intention whatsoever of sleeping with you."
"Ah," he responded, blinking as his eyes skirted automatically over the body before him, clothed now, at least; she
was beautiful, "that's…good to know."
"Mm…indeed." Her fingers worked deftly up a set of buttons, fastening in place a fine, royal blue vest over a crisp white, loose tunic top and roomy trousers—men's clothes, obviously, but high quality and clearly not a frivolous purchase—and Kedean wondered if they were her brother's. "Is it true?"
Kedean drew himself from his thoughts, looking back up to her eyes to find her watching him, her fingers already having moved on to start slipping through her seemingly endless locks of hair, taming the dark tresses into a growing braid. "Excuse me?"
"Is it true," she repeated, "that you prefer the company of men?"
"Oh, that…" Kedean watched her fingers, following each in and out as they threaded through her hair—quick and darting with practiced efficiency. "Yes," he said eventually, "generally speaking."
She looked up. "Generally?"
"I travel a lot," Kedean explained, a slow frown developing as he said it. "I don't have the time or resources to settle down, to devote as much attention to a partner as they'd deserve if things became serious. If I got attached…"
"So you sleep with men so that you don't fall in love with anyone."
Kedean shifted, turning his gaze away, inspecting a far wall. "It's not that. I…could come to care for either equally easily, it's only…women tend to
expect…or at least hope for, more permanent relationships on a more frequent basis, and I…"
"You don't like to break hearts."
Kedean looked back.
"Or use anyone, or lead them on…" She finished with her hair, fastening the end quickly and securely and then tossing it behind her before raising her head again, meeting his eyes. "You're a disgustingly good man, aren't you."
Kedean's brow furrowed, puzzled. "Is that a…question, or—?"
"I think it was going to be, but then I reached a decision before coming to the end of it." Pulling tight a last clasp on her belt, she straightened, and started for the door. Then, "Oh, I meant to ask…" she paused, just before he opened it for her, "…why
did you come in, anyway?"
A moment passed as Kedean fought with his first thought – '
Because you invited me in…' – and tried to remember why he'd even approached in the first place. Then, it came to him. "Because," he answered, "I am still not clear on what it is you expect to get out of this, that is, what it is you want for me to do…"
She snorted. "Well, obviously…I want you to fight me."
It was one of the rare few times Kedean felt honestly tempted to roll his eyes. Instead, he opened the door. "I have told you I'm not going to fight you."
"Mm, well, then, you will lose, and you'll just have to kiss me," she responded without hesitation, stepping up and out and lifting a hand to her eyes to shield against the sudden light. He followed.
"I said I wouldn't fight you, Miss Merseille. If I remember correctly, you have to disarm me in order to keep your bet. I'll have you know that I
can keep hold of my weapons without ever throwing a strike."
"I see, well…" When she smiled, Kedean could only wonder how she managed to make the simple gesture look so simultaneously roguish and elegant, "…we'll certainly see you try, won't we?" Apparently, his mystification showed, because when she looked his way, that smile blossomed into something bright and new entirely, and for a second, he thought she might laugh. Instead, she shook her head, her tone lighter and more teasing than he'd heard yet when she said, "Come, Mister Akuwa…and I will show you how the Merseille fight."
It was the first time he wondered if there might actually be something to her bluff.
The crew greeted their reappearance with "enthusiasm" to say the least, though Kedean didn't fool himself into thinking that a good greater half of it wasn't due solely to his charge's change in attire. When they reached the center of the deck, the noise subdued somewhat in anticipation, and his charge stooped to lift her pair of kattas, testing their weight in each hand experimentally.
After a moment, she pursed her lips thoughtfully. "So," she began, "how is one to hold these, again?"
Kedean stared, disbelief etched on his features. The second before he opened his mouth, however, she flipped one, catching it neatly without any apparent effort and then settling into a narrow, but relaxed fighting stance the next moment. After wondering briefly if he might, perhaps, amend his personal rule and allow himself just
one attack after all, he silently chastised himself, and settled into a loose, open stance.
"Seeing as how I won't be advancing, milady, it will be up to you to initia-"
Before he finished, she swept in.
In his defense, Kedean
knew that there were women out there capable of holding their own in a fight; you didn't make it halfway around the world fighting for a living without coming across the occasional combat ready female. Baisyl Merseille, on the other hand, was a
noble—the firstborn daughter of a man a couple titles away from royalty, on her way to be wedded—the type of woman who learned
needlework as a girl, not swordsmanship. He'd felt pretty safe in assuming that the best she could have to offer would be some thin show of skills imparted on her by her brothers.
He'd been wrong before.
Their kattas came together with a sharp crack, and Kedean found himself moving to block and swerving around again to divert and dodge before he finished wondering when she'd learned to fake a jab and throw a backhand cross without tripping herself
or leaving her defenses wide open.
Crack! She moved in tight, disciplined formations—quite the polar opposite of Zyric's wildcard roundhouses and death gamble backspins—always upholding a rigid, vigilant defense.
Crack-crack! She didn't hit hard—harder, though, admittedly, than Kedean had initially expected—but she moved remarkably fast, with admirable agility, steady footing, and good stance control, all without sacrificing variety or inventiveness for her speed. Still-
Crack! -by the third minute or so, it felt significantly more like a dance than anything else, Kedean stepping in and out—matching her pace, meeting her strikes, and abiding by her tempo—and his charge happily taking the lead, guiding their steps and directing the game without pushing for a finish with any sense of urgency.
"You know," he said—
crack!—and took a step to the side, allowing himself to admire the way her cheeks flushed nicely with the exertion, a few renegade strands of deep red tresses already escaping their braid and hugging the curve of her chin and neck, "as impressive as all this is…"
Crack! "…you're no closer to disarming me now than you were at the outset…"
Crack! "Oh, I know," she countered, sweeping in and making a broad uppercut, left arm curling in to guard, despite the fact that Kedean, as promised, had yet to make an attack, "but honestly, I'm quite enjoying myself. It's been too long since I last had such a…"
Crack! "…venerable…"
Crack! "…opponent…" She dipped, "Your style is also…" sidestepped, "…fascinating…" struck out, "…I've never seen its like…" and—
crack!—hit.
"I'm pleased that you think so," Kedean answered, and wondered how long she planned to keep this up.
"However," his charge added, "if you want to end this…"
Before Kedean opened his mouth, she moved in, catching him off-guard by baring her back, but bringing it within a quarter foot of his chest, more or less fitting herself into the curve of his body without actually touching, and in the next moment her katta swept up, hitting at his not at an angle—"blade to blade" so to speak—but hilt to hilt, the base of hers cracking against his with strikingly sharp force. That alone, of course, would have been far from enough to dislodge the weapon under any regular circumstances.
Unfortunately, the instant their hilts snapped together, the wood under his palm
burned—not like a fire or hot coal burn, but like metal, a blacksmiths' blade nearing the melting point under the heat of the forge—and, caught completely unawares, Kedean's hold faltered, and broke.
In the seconds that followed, he reacted instinctively.
His left hand moved in, her body drew up, her kattas swung down, and by the time his lost weapon clattered to the deck, he had his spare blade to her neck, her back flat to his chest, and her blades within a quarter inch of his-
His face warmed, and he cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. "Ah…miss-"
She tilted her head back, dropping it against his chest to meet his eyes from below, and he worked hard not to swallow, barely containing a shiver in its stead as her hair slid over his skin. Her smirk expertly teased the fine line between triumphant and wicked. Perhaps he should have kept his shirt on after all, despite the heat.
"If these were real," she said, "you'd never father children…"
That, thankfully, gave him the concentration to scowl, and Kedean shifted, just barely tapping his katta up, to her chin. "If these were real," he reminded her lowly, "you'd have been dead,
many minutes ago…"
"Mm…" Her lashes flit down as she glanced that way, painting dark red crescents on light pink cheeks, and at length she nodded. "Yes, I do suppose so…" she admitted, "…fair enough," and with that, she withdrew her weapons.
He (very gratefully) released her and stepped back, trying—with less success than he might have liked—to ignore the lingering heat clinging to his front, leaving his skin irritatingly tingly and attentive. Perhaps he needed to go to shore at the next port after all—sleep with something that
wouldn't get him hung if he got caught. He frowned.
"I do, however," she cut into his thought process, "believe that, according to the terms of our bet…" She turned on him, and he tensed, wary, "…I won…and you owe me something."
'
How about you wager me…a kiss.' His eyes flicked immediately to her soft, smirking mouth, taunting him from under sharp green eyes that dared him to object, and Kedean nearly took a step back. He hadn't actually considered
losing. He couldn't-
She turned before he had to make any drastic decisions, moving to face the watching sailors and then saying in a loud, instructor's voice with no small degree of cockiness, "There are two—no,
three lessons to be derived from today's show, gentleman…"
Kedean watched her as she moved.
"The first…is to never make a bet unless you know something the other man doesn't."
He observed the shoulder-width spread of her legs when she paused, the way she held her shoulders as she tucked three fingers into her vest pocket, and the high set of her chin as she spoke.
"The second," she continued, "is to never bet something you're unwilling or unable to lose, and the third…" Her lip curled up, like smoke, into a smirk that Kedean almost would have kissed just to wipe away, "…is to never bet against me." She dropped her kattas to the deck, and Kedean came to an obscure revelation: she didn't hold herself strangely, she simply didn't hold herself like a lady of court. She held herself like a
nobleman. "You may all keep your gold, and consider it a charitable lesson in hasty betting, except…" She turned back to Kedean, "…for you. You…may hold onto my winnings for me. I'll collect when I please."
When she turned, Kedean watched her retreating form with some volatile mix of bewilderment and trepidation, and for the first time since its outset, he seriously wondered what
exactly he'd gotten into when he signed up for this job.
A/N: Oh dear, was that Baisyl cheating? I think so…or at least, not being particularly honest, in any case. Next chapter in a couple weeks; maybe a week if I make good progress. I'll be leaving for study abroad in China in a little under two weeks, so I'm pretty busy on this end, but we'll see. Thanks for reading. :)
