"The best armor isn't steel. It's everyone's absolute certainty that you're not worth hitting."
***
The morning sun bathed the western training yard in liquid gold. The kind of romantic light that would have inspired poets to compose verses about destiny and glory.
Too bad it was the backdrop for my carefully orchestrated public humiliation.
I stood at the edge of the packed earth circle. My wooden practice sword trembled in my grip like a leaf in a gale. My knuckles were white against the worn leather wrapping.
Which, if we're being technical, wasn't entirely an act. The original Kaelen Leone had never held a weapon with any competence worth mentioning. The boy had received the same martial instruction as his brothers, sure. Baron Leone was too proud to let even his least favored son embarrass the family name through complete ignorance.
But instruction without practice, without any genuine desire to improve, had produced exactly the results you'd expect.
