Keith's heels clicked on the wooden floors of the salle as he paced back and forth. The thirty or so minutes he had been waiting for Allura had been enough time for his better judgment to kick in.

Queen Juliana and Nanny were right. Fencing was too dangerous a sport for the Princess Royal of Arus to engage in. He had heard of fencers who had been maimed and even killed when the safety tips on their opponents' epees slipped!

"Keith?"

"Princess, maybe this wasn't a very good idea, after all." Keith said, launching into the speech that he had been practicing. "Fencing isn't the safest sport in the world, you know."

He knew her well enough to recognize the flash of temper, but her voice was calm as she inclined her head. "Father always used to tell me that recklessness and aggression were best spent here rather than in the Council Chamber."

She crossed to a rack of fencing gear and studied the slim, shiny epees. She chose one and cut the air with it to test its weight, bringing the sword down in an arc that whistled with restrained power.

Keith's brow lifted at the easy way that she handled her sword, conceding that she did have a point. Rulers needed to be able to defend their people, their lands and their birthrights with whatever weapons they had on hand and for the most part, when she was fulfilling her royal duties and not flying the Blue Lion, Allura's weapons were her words and diplomatic skills.

"Please let me do this, Keith." Allura said quietly. "You know how much I love flying, but the day will come when I will have to listen to Nanny and Coran and stop flying the Blue Lion. "

Keith leaned back against the barre. "Look, Princess. I know how much this means to you, but I just don't want you to take unnecessary chances. I've been fencing for years and I've seen how bad a fencing accident can be."

Allura looked up from a selection of meshed masks and padded fencing vests and shook her head. "If something is meant to happen to me, it will happen, regardless of what you or I or anyone else does to try to circumvent it."

"Yes, but Princess—"

"Could you please call me Allura?" the princess asked plaintively, taking a position behind the en garde line. "After what you just told me today, I would have thought that you, of all people, would understand why I need people to see me as more than just the Princess Royal of Arus."

"Alright, Allura. What do you hope to prove by this?"

Allura's eyes flashed sapphire with determination. "That I can handle myself. Here or anywhere."

Keith sighed with resignation. He could well understand why Allura was determined to prove herself. He slipped on his mask and vest, and watched to make sure that she followed his lead.

He extended his arm, and met the tip of Allura's sword with his, Arussian steel, cold and slender glinted in the mirrors. They held for a heartbeat. It was a teasing, testing start, with power held back.

Keith's reach was superior, being nearly half as long as Allura's. But Allura had the advantage of having seen Keith wield his sword many times before— against ro-beasts in battle and in a memorable battle against Lotor.

Pride and pleasure welled up in Keith as the princess blocked and parried his attacks. Nature prevented him from using his full skill, but even as he held back and probed Allura's defenses, he realized that she made both a formidable and an exciting partner.

Although Allura's fencing skills were rusty from disuse, she was good. Very good. The regimen of hand-to-hand practice that Keith prescribed for all the members of the Force together with the grace that came from years of dancing lessons made for impeccable footwork.

The slim white pants she wore distracted him with images of what moved so supplely beneath. Her wrists were narrow, but strong and flexible enough to keep him at bay. He moved in to challenge her. Swords crossed and clashed between them.

Desire tangled with the taste of competition. Her scent was richly feminine. The blue eyes behind the meshed mask glinted sapphire with emotion. The fist covered by the bowl of her sword was fragile.

Distracted as he was, he was surprised when Allura abandoned her steady defensive tactics and attacked in full force. Caught off guard, Keith took a step back and felt the soft tip push against his shoulder.

He lowered his sword and acknowledged the hit. "King Alfor was a good teacher."

"He always used to tell me that the best defense was a good offense."

Lance had always liked the East Wing. The gymnasium complex it contained was one of the few rooms in the castle that he felt comfortable in. He didn't feel like a bull in a china shop here, since the East Wing was a functional area, much like Castle Control.

Coran had once told him King Alfor had East Wing converted into a gym soon after ascending the throne. As a young man, the king had had an active personality, and the restrictions his security detail had placed on his activities outside the castle had chafed on him greatly.

Lance could well understand how the young king used exercise to forget his woes. After all, much to his dismay, for a few hours after a particularly intense sparring session with the rest of the Voltron Force, he barely had enough energy to flirt with the charming young maids who took great pains to throw themselves in his path.

He dropped his towel on a nearby bench and began to stretch, preparing himself for the bench presses that had been part of his daily routine since he first realized that how attractive a muscular physique was to the members of the fairer sex, but the distant clang of swords caught his attention and instead of working out as he intended, he found himself heading towards the studio at the far end of the complex.

The tang of chemically treated water assaulted his nostrils as he passed the solarium at the end of the exercise room, where a Jacuzzi stood ready to soothe aching muscles. It was a luxury that he and the rest of the Voltron Force – sans the Princess, of course – had treated themselves to on more than one occasion.

The door of the studio opened silently, revealing a floor of dull hardwood, spread now with a fencing mat. Along one wall ran a mirror and a dance barre. Two figures in white were reflected in the mirror as they moved together, knees slightly bent, backs straight, left arms curled up and behind.

Although mesh masks hid and protected their faces through the thrusts and parries, Lance had no problem recognizing the taller figure as his Captain. He had been Keith's sparring partner enough times to recognize how his friend looked with a facemask on.

Keith's moves were economical and effortless, the product of years of martial arts and weapons training, but his opponent moved like a trained dancer— with a lot of fancy footwork and a dramatic flourish of the wrist. Lance narrowed his eyes, trying to recognize who Keith fought.

The room rang with the sound of metal on metal. The opponents were silent but for their breathing. They were extremely well matched, Lance decided as he watched and analyzed styles and movement.

Keith was holding back a bit, tempering his strength, Lance noted, as he watched his friend move forward, choosing offense over defense. Once, Keith nearly disarmed his opponent, but the stranger's advantage in speed turned the opportunity around.

Their swords met with a clash near the grips and their faces met through the sharp-edged vee. Breathing fast, blades tensed, each held their ground. Then with two subtle moments of his wrist, Keith's opponent broke free, slipped past the Captain's guard and pressed the safety button lightly to Keith's heart.

"Nice one," Lance drawled admiringly. He shifted his lazy gaze to Keith's unknown fencing partner. "Whoever you are, you're a damned fine swordsman. Those were some smooth moves. I almost thought Keith had you there."

Reaching behind her head, Allura unfastened her facemask and pulled it off in one quick move. A hard shake of her head sent the pins that secured her heavy hair flying and sent a golden waterfall tumbling down her shoulders. "Thanks, Lance."

"Allura?!" Lance stuttered, his expression almost comical with shock as he tried to reconcile in his head the image he had of the slender, fragile princess he knew with the laughing girl who held an epee so confidently in her hands.