Chapter Two: A Turn in the Courtyard
Clang. Clang. Clang!
The clash of metal on metal sung in the air. Light glinted off two shining blades fueled with no other purpose but to overcome the other. A flash flared emulated by another. The sun's rays caressed the double-edged blades, flourishing their dangerous allurement with illuminating incandescence that would undoubtedly astound any swordsman. The wild captivation was not lost on the duo wielding the weapons. Their movements were filled with such precision and so in tune with the luring swords that they approximated more as attachments to their limbs, or additional appendages altogether more so then mere items for one to grasp.
The two men absorbed in a power struggle of blades and their own strength both flew back from each other with an omnipotent force only for one to lunge at the other in mercurial succession as a dusky blur. A hefty whoosh assailed as the blade whirled, slashing at the target obstruction of a person who just barely managed to react in time to deflect the blow. Cool steel met clouded midnight in a gaze lasting only moments but what surreptitiously acted as a lifetime in a burst for them. Lids concealed the sky-like orbs for but a simple blink. The trance between the two opponents ruptured. A jab ripped through the wind as penance for that inane second forfeited to re-collect. The larger of the two swords took the impact in lieu of the flesh of the man it was intended for, a grunt emerging from the back of his throat in his persistence to perpetuate. Another jab ensued to be deviated once more. Several more clangs oscillated, melded with the crunching of grass from the shuffling of two pairs of boots. When one pair stepped back, the other would tread forward. When one swiveled to the side, the other would follow. The game for the upper hand extended with neither still prevailing to outmaneuver the other.
Raven and snowy locks tousled with the breeze, two onyx capes flapped around the masculine frames which were seized in a life threatening dance of brawn and skill against brawn and skill, both eager to ensnare the other to the pits of demise. Strike after strike commenced, the test of their endurance straining with the percussion of each. Lean and shadowy as he was, the raven-haired man's body still remained taut and robust, his muscle tone obviously provisioning ample fortitude to be more then apt enough to exhibit compatibility with the adversary he was engaged in combat with. If the display of his strength was still scrupled by his lean physique then his velocity profited from it could not credibly be refuted as he managed to dart this way and that, fortuitously missing narrow strikes. Another slash another parry, another strike another bash, the attacks from both parties were infinite.
With the vehemence of a fulminating cyclone, the smaller of the blades sailed through the air with the resolution to impair its competitor irremediably. It smashed against its match with a dauntless blitz, the provincial clang of it palpitating in the air. A caustic jolt pulsated up the man's arm from his hand cleaving to his defensive sword, the fuller of his blade only able to entrap a fraction of the shock searing through it from the shorter blade's violation. Two steps backward were administered in the pursuit to overcome the accumulating lead-like weight descending to his weapon the further the fight raged on.
A mocking howl emanated from the owner of the condensed blade which was still pointed at the darker man who was purged of any movements at the resonance. "Is that the optimal peak of your potential, Prince? Tch. How disappointing. I expected more from you but I suppose that was my own folly." Words as acrimoniously as they were arranged in their sentences out loud, they were spoken so collectedly and smoothly in a tone that lacked any adherence and correlation to the given topic.
Kunzite, the name reverberated in the far corners of the prince's mind. You go too far.
Kunzite, one of the four generals who served the Prince of Earth, Endymion, was not only the oldest of the bunch, but also the most refined and best swordsman. His control could tread at an even pace among some of the most extreme measures while his blade could ravage at a carnal magnitude against the miscreants who were asinine enough to dare cross his path. Aside from the other three generals, Prince Endymion was one of the few who were either valorous or ludicrous enough to endeavor traversing a blade with him. Sparring was a frequent occurrence between the two men as well as the tapping of Kunzite's knowledge to seep into the prince during such times which turned into their swordplay lessons. The two tested their abilities to their straining points just before their fraying could snap completely.
The shorter blade dropped marginally. Milky white strands of hair billowed around his face, sporadically obscuring the patent steely gaze. A terse scoff rebuffed, Kunzite's body turned, a mere gander over his shoulder was all he bestowed the prince. "Due to your enervated state we will discontinue this lesson. That is all for today."
No. That is not all! We are not through yet. A snarl reaped in Endymion's chest like a feral growl. His grip on the hilt of his sword tightened, body lurching forward with his blade marked for one man alone. Never turn your back, Kunzite. Was that not also a lesson you provided? The blade arched loftily above Endymion's head plummeting down for the final blow.
Clang!
Blade met blade. In place of a victory cry, a growl erupted from the prince's throat. Hazy grey orbs glinted, meeting square with Endymion's. Kunzite, he interfered teeth barred.
Kunzite had spun around so expeditiously that not even Endymion could have anticipated it. A chortle scarcely audible somehow seized him, provoking him to survey Kunzite's face. There he found a smirk which made the prince's jaw tighten when he envisaged the verity of the circumstances. He was expecting this. He had this planned all along!
Not only did Kunzite block his prince's attack, but he tapped into a reserved pool of vigorous prowess, thrusting Endymion back. Stumbling, Endymion lost his foothold further and staggered to keep his balance from the unheralded momentum. Kunzite advanced a step forward, his body stance adroitly positioned for another onrush, the smirk still conspicuous on his lips. His head offered a bantam jerk in a mock of a nod, a signal for the prince to aggress if he dared. Endymion's eyes narrowed, the drive to defeat his opponent surged through his veins, a new tenacity washing over him. Any introspection of his stiffening arm was pushed aside, momentarily omitted by the propensity to be victorious, his new obstinacy consuming him entirely. Relinquishing to it, Endymion charged at Kunzite, brandishing his blade. He swung his preeminent strike so dynamically that as it jarred Kunzite, it also resonated back to him. Not tarrying after the jolt, Endymion swung again, Kunzite exiguously blocking it. He pivoted at Kunzite's retaliation of a stab, blade parrying to the blow to the side. Another thrust was aimed at Endymion's chest. He blocked it and promptly slashed again.
Swipe after swipe and swing after swing were detonated. They spun and gyrated, advanced and sidestepped, the clashing of their swords and hammering of their hearts emanating as their only tune to follow for their incensed and intricate dance of combat.
Endymion became a frenetic driven force with his onslaught. Every fiber of his being was working together for him to succeed. A wall of stone encompassed Endymion's mind, the battle and concluding it in his favor was all it sanctioned him to centralize on. Each jab and thrust, every minuscule motion, and all his maneuvers fixated on his flourishing convoluted moves and the inclination of deadliness they diffused as a result of the modification in tuning of his brain's current obsession. As dexterous a swordsman as Kunzite was, Endymion was still driving him back. He thrashed at Kunzite thrice more, the potency of his third blow knocking Kunzite's arm and sword ephemerally out and away from his body. A roar of triumph reverberated within Endymion upon unearthing his opportune juncture to execute the battle. The beginnings of a smirk were configuring on his lips. The final strike was administered when Endymion's blade came thrusting at Kunzite's abdomen.
To Endymion's surprise another clang of steel on steel reproduced. What? His mind bellowed and eyes widened when Kunzite's sword hindered his. After that, everything supervened in slow motion for Endymion. Kunzite's sword reared back again, clashing Endymion's who was unprepared for another hit. The jolt sent the blade flying out of his hands, and before he even had time to react, a blow pummeled his abdomen, the force of it sending him crashing to the ground with a dull thud. A groan ensued; Endymion picked his head up, his bleary gaze meeting with the double-edged blade pointed at his throat leading back to Kunzite standing over him, cape billowing in the wind. Endymion's head then dropped back to the ground with another muffled thud. "Ugh."
A chuckle hovered in the air resonated from Kunzite with a grin was plastered to his face, sword retracting from the young prince to return to its rightful place in its scabbard. Kunzite's hand clasped Endymion's arm and hoisted him up. "You did well, Master. Your accumulated skills have escalated to commendable proportions since our last contention. I am impressed."
While brushing the dirt off himself Endymion snorted. "Impressed? By what? I lost, remember?"
"You had a great potential of succeeding at it. If you did not succumb so wholly to your biter rage and become so rash as to bank on your overconfidence with your final strike and leave yourself vulnerable for one last attack from your opponent you may have fully profited and reaped in the boons of triumphing."
"That attack would have struck my enemy down."
"Perhaps, but it would also leave you susceptible for one last strike from your enemy too. Your primary goal in battle is to survive first and foremost."
"And leave all the enemies to you?" Endymion queried with a knowing grin.
Kunzite chuckled, clapping the prince on his back. "While it is your duty to focus on surviving for the kingdom, it is my duty to see to it that you need not worry about being the blade that perseveres because I will strike down any enemy bent on an attack. They would have no opportunity to get near you if I still stand."
"May you always stand then, for if I do encounter an enemy, I may fear the worst has happened to you, my friend."
"As if that were likely to take place," Kunzite added chortling with a smug smirk that almost instantly lightened the mood.
Both grinning like young boys, Endymion walked over to his fallen sword. Picking it up by the grip, the coolness of the cross guard brushed over his thumb and index finger. He inspected the sword with a scrutinizing gaze, the gleaming blade of it unscathed and glinting brilliantly in the sun. No harm done. The shink of his blade being returned to its scabbard followed until the rain guard prevented any further movement.
Not an extensive distance from where Endymion stood, Kunzite readily tensed. Swiveling in one fluid motion, Kunzite's left side now faced Endymion, his hand already situated on the grip of his sword ready to unsheathe it at a moment's notice. He must have sensed or noticed something Endymion had yet to concede. Kunzite was a master at recognizing potential threats almost immediately. Discerning that Kunzite's sudden modification of mood resulted from latent hazard, a prompting cue saturated into Endymion to also look to where his general was scoping the area out. A figure approached in the distance which both men squinted to see, the blazing sun and pervasive radius blotting out all but the steady ascension of a blurred being. Unease further enveloped them the closer the being progressed. Facial features were not yet evident even with the dwindling span, but the person was clearly a man by the stance and walk as well as the build beneath the rich black and emerald attire adorning the body.
As composed and temperate as Kunzite virtually always persisted, there were infinitesimal cues that indicated to otherwise which were acknowledged instantaneously by Endymion. To a scrutinizing eye, as minor as the signs were, the grip on the hilt of his sword, the way his eyes narrowed, the slight rigidness of his frame, to the stillness he protruded were all finely salient if looked for. These subsidiary signs were what set Endymion off into an offensive mode to prepare for any sort of threat this unidentified person could potentially harbor, as likely or unlikely as those intentions were or were not in the manifestations of existence.
A torpid sigh rolled in, the fine tuning Endymion had on Kunzite's warning signs for trouble were decimated to zone in on Kunzite's hand leaving the hilt. In an instant Endymion's eyes snapped to his. "It is Lord Andrew who approaches," Kunzite calmly stated to his Master's unspoken query hovering in his dusky gaze.
Lord Andrew? Endymion questioned internally. Two striding steps forward, the assessment Kunzite provided of the man approaching proved accurate. Golden hair ruffled with a crisp breeze, the features of the face by then materialized to show none other than Andrew as he drew near the duo.
Andrew was the oldest child and only son of Lord Hansford, one of the nobles who bore strong comradery with Endymion's father. The days of their boyhood were spent together on the periodic calls the Hansfords made and later during their time spent as part of Earth's Royal Family's court. Like their fathers, Andrew and Endymion bore a substantial affinity of goodwill and loyalty. One day when Endymion would ascend to the throne, Andrew was one of the men he would contend to have on his council. Like his generals, Andrew was one of the few Endymion would dare trust with his life. He was doubtless he would never have to anticipate any betrayal from him in any of their days to come.
"Andrew," Endymion called out with a grin. "What on Earth brings you here?"
"Prince Endymion," Andrew replied with a cordial bow once in proximate range to the prince and his guard. "General Kunzite," he then added with a decorous nod in acknowledgment.
"Lord Andrew," Kunzite curtly replied with a respectable bow of his head.
Straightening out, a pleasant smile materialized on Andrew's face. "I thought to pay a visit to the prince and find out the recent going ons in court since my absence."
The Hansfords left their residency in their townhouse some months ago for their country home dwelling for the welfare of Andrew's mother who had been suffering from illness. The physician suggested some country air and time to rest quietly and peacefully away from the hustle and bustle of court to regain her strength. It was scarce that Endymion saw Andrew after that as it was too great a hassle to constantly travel back and forth from the country with the mud laden roads.
"May I suggest a stroll in the castle's courtyard where matters may be covered, or have I interrupted important business? If so, I can return later, if it pleases Your Majesty," Andrew queried looking between the two men.
"Well," Endymion began, looking back to Kunzite, his face somewhat twisted by no doubt how the results of the lesson once again ended with his general prevailing. "We were just engaged in a sparring lesson of sorts-"
"Master, I have matters to discuss with Zoisite as it is. I believe our lesson is concluded for the day and can be resumed at a more agreeable time if you find that to be to your satisfaction?" Kunzite suggested.
"Yes, that would be reasonably sufficient," Endymion replied with a silent gratitude for a break from the bitter outcome of their fight.
Kunzite bowed. "Then I shall take my leave, Master Endymion." With his prince's nod in confirmation, Kunzite departed for the castle, cape and hair billowing in the wind with his assured strides.
"Come," Endymion gestured towards the castle to his friend.
As they began to walk, Andrew spoke up first. "How was training with Kunzite?"
The corner of Endymion's mouth twitched, eyes casting elsewhere, away from Andrew's face to avoid meeting his gaze. "It was…educating," he said wryly, hand nonchalantly rubbing the back of his neck. Having no predilection to go any further on the subject, Endymion decided to steer the conversation in a new direction. "How does your family fare?"
"They are well. My mother's health has stabilized and is prospering now. She and my father have decided for us to return to court shortly and so my sister is quite animated by their choice. When we left, Elizabeth was finally of a adequate age to delight in the events of court, but our departure hindered that opportunity. Now that our family is returning she can partake in the rivalry. My parents soon hope for an advantageous marriage to proceed."
One of Endymion's brows lofted while he stifled a chuckle. "An advantageous marriage for your sister, or for you?"
Out of the corner of Andrew's green eyes he peered at Endymion, a soft, mused chortle seeping from his lips. "Funny. For my sister of course, however, negotiations have been set in motion for my own accordance and engagement matters."
That little, unexpected snippet of information made Endymion's eyebrows rise. "Oh?" It was some time since the Hansfords resolved to undertake their pursuit of a seemly bride for their only son. A woman with a befitting status who would bring a propitious dowry, become a congenial hostess, and set a refined example for the family she would marry into and represent was what they were after. By no means were they in a rabid rush to procure one. Potential brides have been considered for an impending four years now since Andrew was fifteen. To uncover that one may have been selected and preparations were initiated was all too surreal for Endymion.
"Yes. It is with Rita Blake, though it has yet to be officiated, however, the interest in the match by both of our parents has set a conformance for deliberation of plans should the marriage be established. Lady Rita and I have convened on more than one occasion since the makings of our family's motivation for our union. Future gatherings have also been constituted. Those are enough reasons alone for me to speculate that Lady Rita is to be my wife. It is only a matter of time until it is officiated and announced."
"You are sure?" Endymion asked incredulously. The lengths which Andrew's parents already went on the undertakings took him off guard.
Andrew nodded. "Yes. The time to tie the knot seems to be on the horizon."
"How miserable. My sympathies to you, my friend," Endymion said unable to retain his grimace.
Of all the possibilities he expected to hear from his childhood friend, it was not the bout of sniggering which wended. "Does it prove to be that horrendous to you, Prince Endymion? I do not find the situation so extensively detrimental. Lady Rita is an agreeable woman and a fitting match. She is from a good family and will make a decent wife and mother one day."
Endymion scoffed his boot kicking a rock in his path, sending it scouring across the courtyard. "Maybe so, but is it so pivotal to consider such things now?"
"Now?" Andrew repeated. "These proceedings have been in motion for years. In fact, yours have been fluctuating since your birth. How is this all sudden to you now after all this time? Do you abhor the idea of marriage that intensely?"
Endymion rubbed his forehead; the makings of a headache were on their way. "It is not that I loathe it. The precedence of ascertaining a suitable bride is not lost on me, but are we not granted the opportunity to live before making such a commitment?"
"To live first?" Andrew crowed, "Forgive me, My Prince, but what is it that we have been doing all these years if not living? I gather we have been relinquished an ample amount of continuance for being bachelors, far more than most are advantageous enough acquire. How much longer do you expect to withstand? Does bachelorhood appeal to you that tremendously?" Endymion exhaled, no words offered for any other sort of reciprocation. "Younger than us have wed and fathered children. We grow older by the second, and unlike the people of the Moon, our lifespan is consequential."
"Do not remind me of them in affairs such as these," Endymion grumbled. The Moon people were another acrimonious subject all on their own. The animosity which came with uttering their mere subsistence alone in a conversation was irrefutable, from the ones who defended the Moon people's reputations to the others who credited them as an abomination. No one could ever win when conversing about their kind and this was most certainly not an instant in which Endymion was willing to dig into the controversy of them at all.
A knowing smile came to Andrew's face on Endymion's rotten mood about the betrothal topic. "There has been more dissension on your marital status and the candidates to rectify that current position." Endymion glowered providing a materialized visual conformation for Andrew's accusation. "Are your parents still bickering over the pros and cons of their far-flung nominees?"
A gangling, drawn out pause superseded. Endymion dimly surveyed the castle looming ahead of them, his eyes vacant and distant, not fully taking in the grand structure of it. The vast greenery around it never reached him, nor the structures which comprised of his dubbed home. Andrew was about to open his mouth until the prince finally ruptured the bout of silence. "If only it were that. I did not expect foresee decisions to spring for a few more years, but there have been modifications. Everything they consistently remarked on was of the future in all their discussions. There is no more future tense in their wordings. The way they now verbalize is as if they will soon have contracts underway to settle compromises at any given time."
"Do you suspect you know who the bride is to be?"
To the courtyard they descended. Their steps reverberated with each they took, the scuffing never quite reaching their ears. There was another prolonged response, Endymion's eyes no longer distant but obscure and dark with a swirling mass of a profound despondency lurking in their depths. He cleared his throat, voice still coming out low and strained. "It seems probable that it will be Lady Hina."
"Lady Hina? That is welcoming is it not? You both know one another reasonably well so you would not be complete strangers in an arranged marriage as so many often are. She is also a beautiful and bright young woman and her heritage is from a strong family. She will make a fine bride, if I may be so bold."
"A fine bride for any aristocrat aside from me," Endymion lowly stated. "I have known Lady Hina near as long as I have you, Andrew. Marrying her…well, it would be like marrying you." He admitted, face contorted in disdain. With that said both men grimaced at the crude and revolting thought of it.
"What do you plan to do about the matter?"
A scoff rebuffed, scowl eminent on the young prince's handsome features. "Do? There is nothing. Surely you realize that. I wish it was within my limits to direct." One of Endymion's hands raked through his hair, the already windswept mass became even more untidy. "Lord Kusaka has been a stately supporter of my father through the years. He is an upholding man in the kingdom and descends from a powerful and well respected family. It was always likely that Lady Hina would be considered. The union would bring further patronage from the Kusaka descent as well as from their affiliates, and many of the people would accept the prospect of Hina becoming their future queen." Exhaling, Endymion's shoulders slumped. "If it is my parent's decision for her to be my bride, then I am duty bound to honor them and wed her."
If it was within Endymion's power he would have challenged the decision to the bitter end. Hina was an acquaintance of his, but nothing more, and would never likely ascend to more than that either. As well as they would be capable of cooperating, the marriage would be bound to end in disaster and result in both their miseries. Endymion was not inclined or disposed to hurt Hina in any form, but if they were to wed he was convinced that given time many of his resolute actions would damage her by accumulating and chipping away at her until all that would remain would be a shell of an under loved woman and her reluctant husband forced to spend the rest of their hollowed days together.
"Is there no one else you can persuade them to favor instead?"
"None I particularly regard over another comes to mind. The only-"
"Prince Endymion. Lord Andrew," a dulcet voice broke in, both men's heads snapping to the source of it. The frame of a woman pulled out of a curtsey. A curtain of thick ebony waves served as her hair, spilling over her shoulders and down her back, meshing with the pitch black of her simple, unembellished dress which was covered by a white apron around her waist. Two years ago Endymion rescued the young woman from a near death cataclysm and afterwards offered her a place at the castle. Ever since, Beryl worked as a servant there, but that was a tale for another day.
"Ah, Beryl," Endymion addressed the servant girl. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
Their eyes locked. Her thick lashes fluttered with a blink, and a faint presence of a smile was pertinent on her pink lips until she took an intake of breath to respond. Her words were clearly spoken, but her voice had a low ring with a lingering softness interlaced. "His Majesty was informed of Lord Andrew's arrival and wishes a word with him, Prince Endymion."
Andrew and Endymion exchanged glances, resulting in Endymion's shrug. "His Highness must wish for news of my father," Andrew concluded.
"It seems so."
"I had best seek his audience at once." Andrew bowed and rotated on his heel to veer in the opposite direction to meet with the King of the Earth as requested, his boots emitting scuffing resonances with his steps.
"Oh, Andrew!" Endymion called out causing his friend to halt and turn around. "You will agree to stay at the castle as a guest, will you not?"
"Of course, Prince Endymion."
With a satisfied grin, Endymion nodded, indicating for Andrew to best be off to the king. At least Endymion would be provided with some pleasant deviations from his betrothal issues other than only swordplay with Kunzite which he still had yet to master. "Beryl," Endymion said, looking back to the raven-haired woman still in his presence.
"Yes, My Lord?" She inquired.
"Would you kindly prepare a room for Lord Andrew for his stay here?"
"Of course, My Lord. Is there anything else you would have me do?"
"No, that is all. Thank you." With another curtsy, Beryl departed at the prince's cue, thick hair waving with her movements until the black blur of her retreating form vanished from Endymion's sight altogether. Once alone in the courtyard Endymion's shoulders slumped and a bedraggled sigh escaped from him.
Yet again Endymion blundered in besting Kunzite, and was unable to free himself of his stress in their vigorous workout. Andrew returned and was to be engaged of all things. And he, he was to marry a woman and an old friend he was bound to send to ruins. As Endymion's eyes remained closed, one of the fundamental problems stemming into a majority of his other ones, such as his tenseness and his lack of will to wed, danced before him without a care to his sanity. A swirling mist blotted most out from his sight but he could make out the figure of a woman, although no detail other than that was distinguishable. Her delicate hand reached out to him, and he lurched to grasp it, somehow understanding that whoever she may be, she was precious, and she needed him as he needed her. He needed her touch. He needed the soundness of mind that she was safe with him. He needed her. But first of all, he needed to reach her, and just as every time before when he envisioned and dreamed of her, when their fingertips were about to touch he could never get any closer. Their bodies were ripped apart, and the last he saw was the fleeting image of her outstretched hand still reaching for him though the mist as she was taken away.
Endymion's eyes snapped open. His heart was pounding as if he'd woken from a nightmare, which he sometimes did when those miserable images plagued him at night. He swallowed hard, fist pounding the wall behind him so violently that a shooting pain seared through it. Every time, he thought. Every time I lose her. Why?
His eyes rolled up until he pulled his body away from the wall. Endymion needed to find a way to clear his head to receive time away from everyone and his duties, if only for a few minutes. Without hesitation his fluid strides pulled him out of the courtyard to venture onto some of their vast land at his disposal where he could collect his thoughts and hopefully suppress tantalizing thoughts of her.
Everyone, thank you for your reviews, I love receiving and reading them, and thank you for reading this story.
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