BREAKFAST AND BATTLE LINES
720 Words
CHAPTER 3
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The morning sun spilled into Arabelle’s chambers far too cheerfully for her taste. Her head throbbed — not from wine, but from the burning embarrassment of last night’s “surprise engagement pitch.” She hadn’t decided whether to scream into a pillow or demand answers from her father.
Instead, she opted for something more productive.
Sparring.
By the time the court was just beginning to sip its tea, Arabelle was already in the training yard, dressed in breeches and a tunic, her hair braided down her back. The clatter of wooden swords echoed through the air as she parried with one of the castle guards, sweat glistening on her brow.
“Again,” she ordered, lunging forward with calculated precision.
“Your Highness,” the guard panted. “Perhaps… a short break?”
“Perhaps not.”
“Maybe he could step in,” a voice called from behind.
Arabelle froze mid-swing.
She turned, sword still raised, and there he was — Prince Darius, dressed far too handsomely in dark riding clothes, leaning against the fence like he owned the yard. A smirk tugged at his lips.
“Didn’t peg you for a morning person,” she said, lowering the blade.
“I didn’t peg you for someone who could nearly take a grown man’s head off before breakfast.”
She tossed the sword to the guard. “Stay ready. I may need a second round.”
Darius stepped onto the sanded yard. “Do you always threaten people before the sun is fully up?”
“Only the ones who show up uninvited.”
He walked toward her, stopping a few paces away. “About last night…”
“Oh, you want to talk about it?” she said, eyes narrowing. “Because I have questions. Starting with: Did you know your visit was just a glorified matchmaking trap?”
He shrugged. “I knew there were talks of an alliance. I didn’t know they’d throw your name into the negotiations like a centerpiece.”
“Well,” she muttered, “next time, tell your kingdom to bring fruit baskets. We’re not for sale.”
He chuckled. “You know, for someone who clearly despises this arrangement, you’re not exactly making it easy to decline.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
Darius stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough. “You challenge everyone. You don’t fawn. You don’t flatter. You’re… real. Do you know how rare that is in court?”
“I’m not interested in being rare,” she said flatly. “I’m interested in being free.”
The honesty in her words hit harder than she intended. And from the way Darius’s expression shifted — the softening around his eyes, the flicker of something unreadable — she knew he heard it.
“I don’t blame you,” he said quietly. “But we don’t always get to choose the roles we play.”
She folded her arms. “Maybe not. But I refuse to play it quietly.”
A silence stretched between them. Not awkward. Not hostile. Just… something lingering.
Finally, he nodded toward the sword rack. “One round. You and me. No politics. Just blades.”
She eyed him skeptically. “You think you can keep up with me?”
He picked up a wooden sword. “Try me.”
They circled each other in the yard, the morning wind curling through the air as their swords clacked and scraped in a rhythmic dance. Neither gave ground. Neither let up. It wasn’t about winning — it was about testing limits.
When he finally disarmed her with a clever twist, their swords fell to the sand — and they stood chest-to-chest, breathless.
“You’re good,” he said, voice low.
“So are you,” she admitted. “Infuriatingly.”
Their eyes locked.
And for one charged second, it felt like the whole court vanished — no politics, no parents, no palace.
Just two people caught in something dangerous.
Then Arabelle stepped back.
“This changes nothing,” she said.
“Of course not,” Darius replied, smiling slightly. “Just a morning workout.”
She turned and walked away, but she could feel his eyes on her the whole time.
And despite herself… she kind of liked it.
To be continued....
- Writer
