Zachary is for all intents and purposes is a Weapon when he trains, that is how Drent wants it. So they treat him like one. So there is a bit of boys being boys.
'Boy!' Drent barked impatiently, glowering at the subject of his ire.
The other Weapons in the courtyard flinched in sympathy at the harsh tone of the arms master, but resolutely continued with their practice bouts. The high temperature that day was close to unbearable, the sun shining down directly into the fighting rings with nary a breeze or puff of wind for relief. Many had shed the black doublets, continuing in only their linen undershirts that soon became soaked in sweat.
The king, much to his chagrin, still felt the effects of his time in a sick-bed and grimaced from protesting muscles that had not been used for a long time. He had taken a knee to catch his breath, posting his saber by his side as he pushed damp hair away from his forehead. The time he spent with his arms master helped to keep the darker thoughts at bay, the lingering memories, and the absolute sorrow that events had played out the way they had.
His Queen, Estora, had now lain in her tomb for three months, taken by a spring fever that had ravaged the entire city. While he had never felt anything more than a simple affection for her, he never wished her to suffer, nor did he truly anticipate her subsequent death. It had all occurred in the midst of wartime preparations in the city and across the country. He did not have time to truly mourn her, only to look back in sincere regret that he had not given her more than she deserved.
His strength had come back slowly and he has regained much of his lost weight, losing the gaunt look about his face. But filling out his clothes and being in shape were two entirely different things, he was quickly finding out on that miserable afternoon.
There was nothing to be done for his discomfort though, for none would tolerate a weak monarch on the eve of war. With a groan, he heaved himself back up, acknowledging Drent's bellow with a curt nod as he took his position across from a grinning Fastion.
'Is the heat too much, sire?' his Weapon asked him innocently.
The bastard had some nerve.
With a suppressed growl, Zachary brought his saber up in a brief salute and whipped the blade away from his body, his eyes never leaving Fastion's as they both settled into a fighting stance. Their blades clashed with the steel echoing against the flagstone as they went through the familiar forms. It ended a few minutes later, with the tip of Fastion's blade positioned against Zachary's jugular.
The king yielded gracefully but his eyes burned as he straightened himself, scowling at Fastion's victorious grin. He tore off his over tunic and linen shirt, exposing the golden skin as he wadded the fabric and tossed it towards an open bench. A few playful catcalls followed this action, to which Zachary rolled his eyes and took up his position once more.
Fastion shrugged and sheathed his sword, grasping the hem of his own soaked shirt and pulling the sticky fabric away from his skin. In contrast, his complexion was extremely fair, almost translucent, denoting his northern roots as it held a smooth alabaster quality that stood in contrast to his dark hair.
Zachary blinked once and a slow smile spread across his face, 'Perhaps all we need to do is put you in front of Mornhavon's army shirtless, they'd all go blind.'
Fastion's brow furrowed as he sniffed, 'At least the skin covers actual muscle groups.'
Zachary's smile dropped off his face as he looked down at his lean frame, 'I've got muscle . . .'
Drent's voice cut into their conversation, his tone dry as he remarked, 'Now girls, you are both pretty. Kindly remember your mirrors are in your rooms and not in this training ring,' he growled, walking away to attend to another sparring pair.
Both men flushed slightly but said no more on the subject, quietly moving back into the ring to go into their second round. It was when Zachary moved into a crouch that he caught sight of Fastion's floored expression, his eyes trained on an object behind his liege while his arms hung uselessly at his sides.
Zachary frowned, standing up straight as he turned slowly, his eyes widening as he caught sight of the siren that had effectively halted all movement around him.
Karigan whipped her braid behind her, throwing her hands back to rest on the small of her back as she squinted in the heat of the sun, coming to a slow stop near the entrance of the training courtyard. Beads of sweat formed on her brow and the nape of her neck, trailing down across her heated skin.
While she appreciated the necessity of running her laps with a full set of gear, she did not relish the unclean feeling that came with the buckets of sweat that seemed to pour out of her. Oblivious to her surroundings, she walked tiredly inside, her body instinctively heading for the benches. She shrugged out of her jacket and vest, unbuckling her belt and scabbard as she breathed heavily through her nose.
The trough of water before her never looked more appealing as she dipped a cupped hand below the refreshing depths, bringing it back up to her mouth as she sipped greedily. After she had her fill, she put both hands in to bring up across her heated face.
Her chest still heaved with exertion as she tore off her shirt, leaving her in a stylized bodice, made more for support and comfort than for show. The white fabric though was soaked completely, clinging to her curves and muscled abdomen. Sighing happily, she reached up with both arms to lift her braid up, piling the abundant hair on top of her head as she rested her weight on one leg, enjoying the simple pleasure of being inert for a few minutes. A trickle of sweat left her brow and traveled across her cheekbone, sliding against her throat, continuing its pursuit over her collarbone. The two pairs of eyes trained on her lost sight of the droplet as it disappeared over the curve of a breast and down into her cleavage.
The blood flow in Zachary's body seemed to be at odds with itself, first rushing to his face and then frantically racing to his trousers. It took him a few minutes to process what he was experiencing, as his mouth was slightly agape as his eyes raked over her body. With a feeling slightly akin to embarrassment, he shook his head roughly, turning his back to stare in frustration at the ground in front of him. Looking at the still immobile boots of his Weapon, his eyes snapped up to Fastion's appreciative gaze as he too, took stock of what the Rider had to offer.
With a surge of possessiveness, he snapped his fingers quickly, breaking Fastion's trance and bringing the Weapon's line of sight to his extremely irritated King. Fastion gulped subtly, offering a small smile and shrug by way of apology.
Zachary's expression hardened as he conveyed his thoughts with a burning glare.
A few moments ticked by. Fastion grinned slightly and tipped his saber in an almost mocking salute, his eyes glancing over once more at Karigan's form. Zachary wasted no time in advancing on the cocky Weapon, driving him out of the training ring in his assault.
The ferocity of the match drew Karigan's attention, her eyes snapping open as she turned to see the object of her desire matching blades against another. She fought to keep her gaze averted but told herself that she watched the technique for the purposes of improvement, and for nothing else. The tingling sensation that raced down her spine told her otherwise as she assessed the lithe figures that danced upon the stone.
Although he indeed had been ill, Zachary's body displayed pure masculine perfection. He moved with an almost feline grace, his lean form countering each blade stroke issued by Fastion's relentless counter attack. The sweat glistened on his lightly tanned skin, throwing the planes of his chest and abdomen into sharp relief.
Karigan felt a slow burning warmth that raced across her sensitive skin as her eyes roamed lower, admiring his figure in its entirety. Despite the initial viciousness of the bout, it ended quickly in the stifling heat and both figures dropped to the ground in a draw, both too exhausted to argue the point.
Quickly she gathered her discarded clothing and moved to sit on the bench, keeping her eyes trained down as she unraveled her messy braid. She lost herself in the mindless task for a moment, her fingers raking through the snarls as she recounted what she had seen. In the midst of weaving her thick locks in a tight braid, she heard a throat clear awkwardly. Jarred out of her daydream, she quickly tied off the braid and looked up in mild confusion.
Zachary stood before her, his eyes trained on her boots and nothing else as he spoke softly, 'I need to grab my things.'
Karigan released a soft breath, regarding him with wide eyes, 'Oh.'
He shifted to the other foot and waited patiently, praying desperately that he could maintain his control in order to make it to the corridor door and run. She sat there, blinking slowly as she made no effort to look away.
With a deep breath, he moved forward to place his saber on the bench at her side and reached out to grasp her upper arm, lifting her up. Her soft skin beckoned to him, enticing him to reveal what lay underneath those thin layers, and of the pleasure that could be found in her arms. He clenched his jaw as his eyes burned with a startling intensity, meeting her azure gaze as he drew her to an upright position in front of him.
Karigan almost shivered with those fingers touched her, and fought the impulse to mold her body against his as she swayed in position. The heat between their two bodies seemed to intensify as they both felt the desire that threatened to engulf them. He bent, his eyes never leaving hers, to reach around her and grasp his clothing.
It was she who broke the silence, almost tripping over the bench as she staggered back. 'I-I-I have to be getting back.'
Fastion came up behind his liege and grinned at her, 'Do you have somewhere to be little sister?'
Karigan blushed heavily at the sight of another exposed male chest and stumbled over her next words, 'I should . . . check in with Captain Mapstone . . . she may have . . .'
A few seconds ticked by. Fastion arched an eyebrow and prompted, 'Letters?'
Karigan nodded jerkily and gathered her clothes, drawing them to her chest, 'Y-yes, letters to deliver. I should go,' she finished hastily, giving Zachary a perfunctory bow and turning to walk away hurriedly. Her hips moved to each side as she hastened away, her braid swinging low across her back as she made for the stables.
Zachary dejectedly watched her go and was about to surrender to the impulse to pursue, his body tensing to run, but Drent's voice yet again, interjected in his musings.
"Zachary?'
The king turned his head to regard the swordmaster and waited expectantly.
Drent shook his head slightly at Zachary in amusement and simply said, 'No.'
Zachary's eyebrows shot up as he lifted his shoulders in indignation, 'What are you talking about? I was just-'
Drent cut in forcefully, 'No!'
Fastion snickered as he watched Zachary look back at the doorway in which Karigan disappeared, his face full of yearning and abject misery. With a sympathetic slap to the shoulder, he craned his neck to gain the king's attention, 'Do we need to take a trip to the river? Give you a good dousing?'
Zachary threw his clothes down and pursued a laughing Fastion back up into the higher reaches of the castle, the king's colorful curses echoing in the corridors and making more than one maid blush profusely.
This is going to be a steamy set of scenes in the days after Blackveil. So with all the seriousness of war, these two are going to get in trouble with the emotions and hormones.