Thank you all for the enthusiastic response!

Leto finished practicing his form, whirling the greatsword above his head and holding it in perfect striking position. This would be fun, he thought.

"You seem very sure of yourself." His sister Varania leaned against the doorway, watching.

He shrugged, putting the sword down, and reached for a towel to wipe the sweat off his face. "I'm very good," he said simply.

"And if you aren't good enough?" She moved toward him, her green eyes hard. "Slaves from all over the Imperium are entering this competition. Many of them are better than you." Varania held up a hand as Leto began to dispute the point. "They are, Leto. And when you lose, what will Mother and I have? Shame. And punishment." Her eyes softened. "And grief. Please reconsider. You don't need to do this."

"Varania, you don't have to protect me anymore!" he shouted. "I'm almost 18, not a little boy any longer, and I can take care of myself. As well as you and Mother. When I'm done, you'll be set for life. I promise it," he said softly, putting a hand on his sister's shoulder.

"Leto …"

"When are you going to start believing in me?"

"When are you going to stop acting as though you own yourself?" Varania snapped, and Leto took a step back, his hand dropping from her shoulder in dismay. "You swagger around here as though somehow your skills make you free. But you aren't free, and you're never going to be, and you're only putting yourself—and us—in danger acting this way."

"I'm sorry you feel like that," he said stiffly, turning from her. He picked up the sword, inspecting the blade carefully for any nicks. With difficulty, he kept himself from telling her what he planned to do. Wouldn't she be surprised? She'd be sorry she talked to him like this, that was for sure.

"You never think about anyone but yourself," Varania said. She turned and walked back into the house, her posture practically bristling with her disapproval.

Leto paid her no mind. She'd see soon enough. They all would.