Prince Damian of Antion

I don't know what prompted me to attend the competition for my new guards. I usually don't show my face to such events, putting my trust in Captain Deron to appropriately reward the cream of the crop positions among my guard. More than twenty young men have shown up to fight for the two currently open positions. Hours have passed, weeding out the weak and unskilled. I sit reclined in the chair brought to me by Jude, one of my two youngest guards. I rolled my eyes when he brought it to me, stating that although I may be a prince, there is nothing wrong with standing for a long duration of time. As I spit out the words, my stomach twisted. I hate to make my own men despise me but I just can't let any of them in, it's not safe that way, for me or for them.

Another match is about to begin in front of me, this one will be the start of the second to last round of fights. Rylan, the second best swordsman on my guard and the other youngest guard, will be the defender. He is Jude's brother, I can't recall whom is the elder. Rylan steps forward donning the proper training padding and carrying a wooden sword. His opponent, one of the members of my father's army and candidate to be my guard, steps up. Immediate I assess him. He's tall, compared to all the men on my guard, he would be short. His hair is in the current cropped fashion that all members of my father's army are required. I can tell by the roundness of his face that he's young, maybe younger than Rylan and Jude. I'm intrigued by the color of his skin, uncommon in Antion. One of his parents must be Blevonese; I know this because I share the same skin tone, my mother had been from Blevon.

Both men take their positions. I watch the match carefully but to anyone observing me, I look like I'm losing a battle against sleep. I even rest my chin into one of my palms, as if it's the only thing propping me up. The match lasts quite some time, the challenger able to keep Rylan at bay, parrying off most of his attacks and nearly landing some of his own. Eventually the match is called and he will advance to the next round.

A short break is taken and then Rylan steps up to take on his next opponent. Asher, another of my guards and the referee of the competition calls out a name. Upon seeing Rylan's next opponent, I think this must be some jest because he looks just like Rylan's last opponent.

I'm about to comment when Deron, who stands to my right, dips low next to my ear. "Your Highness, I've heard about this one. Alex Hollen. He's supposedly the better fighter compared to his twin, Marcel, some say even the best. He's undefeated in this competition."

Twins. Well that certainly explains it. Without taking my eyes off this Alex Hollen, I say, "We'll see if he's the best when you fight him."

"If," comments Jerrod, another member of my guard and the one who stands to my left. I let it slide, I'm too intrigued by the match that's started in front of me.

Alex moves with more grace and speed than his brother. He's clearly the more skilled. I can see Rylan struggling, caught off guard perhaps. I laugh to myself and think, let this be a lesson to him, to all my guard, that they need not underestimate members of my father's army or anyone with Blevonese blood.

The match is over in minutes, Rylan on his knees while Alex stands above him, his sword held at Rylan's neck. I almost smile.

Before I can further assess Alex, he's backed into the crowd. His brother, Marcel steps in to fight Deron, who has left my side to meet the challenger. Rylan makes his way over to my side, to take the place Deron had previously stood. He's limping. Staring straight ahead I say, "It appears my guards need to spend more time in the practice ring during their off duty."

As the match between Deron and Marcel begins, my eyes are busy searching the crowd to get a better look at Alex. It's hard to find him at first, but I do. From where he stands I can only see his face; he doesn't know I'm watching as his eyes keep to the match, following every one of his brother's moves.

I hear the call that the match has concluded, Deron the victor. Alex's name is called to fight next. He reenters the ring with his chin held high. I notice the brothers exchange glances as they pass each other.

I sit up straight in my chair but then slowly sink back as to not give away the fact that I'm interested. Alex steps up to meet the captain of my guard. Deron seems to tower over Alex and I think that this will be the end of Alex's winning streak.

I jump at the sound of their wooden swords meeting. I hope no one has noticed, particularly my guard. Best I can tell, everyone's eyes are on the match. For once, no one's eyes are on me.

Faking right, Deron swipes his sword left but Alex is also fast on his feet and jumps back. Spinning, Alex slashes at Deron's hip but he parries the blow. The match continues that way for what seems like hours, although I know it's been no more than ten minutes. I'm still sitting reclined in my chair but every part of my body is tense. I smooth the pads of my thumb and forefinger of my right hand against each other. I can see what may have started with amusement has now turned to frustration on Deron's face. The frustration clouds his judgement and he slashes his wooden sword high, leaving his lower body vulnerable. Alex ducks and shifts to the side, the point of his sword makes contact with Deron's ribs, a killing blow had the swords been real. The match is called and Alex pulls his sword back and retreats. Deron doubles over, clearly in pain.

The crowd is silent for a moment and then an applause breaks out. I keep my eyes on Alex. He holds his chin high, the same way he entered the ring, but I can see it in his eyes that he doesn't like the attention. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Asher and Deron exchanging words. Asher then steps away and announces that both Marcel and Alex have won the positions on my guard. By all rights, since Alex defeated Deron, he should take the place of captain. Deron returns to my side.

When I stand the crowd quiets. "Congratulations to both of you. I hope you will keep as vigilant as my guard. How old are you?"

"Nineteen, sir," says Marcel. That's quite young, too young for Alex to be my captain.

I look from Marcel to Alex, seeing the subtle differences between the two. Although their faces are remarkably alike, Marcel's jaw is more square and his chin more prominent when compared to Alex. In fact, everything about Alex seems softer, feminine even. Each of them have removed the padding, with my scrutinizing eyes I see a difference between Marcel's narrow waist and Alex's wider hips. My eyebrows betray me as they draw together. Could Alex truly be a girl? My face assumes an inscrutable mask.