The King's Guard

Chapter 17

Jared didn’t seem particularly affected by the loss, at least not outwardly. He shrugged it off when his friends approached him, clapping his back and tossing around the usual comments about how close it had been, how Kael had just gotten lucky, how things might’ve gone differently on another day.

They weren’t wrong.

Kael had only narrowly made it to the final. His last match before the finals had ended in a technical win—a foot placement mistake from his opponent. Jared had watched that one from a bench in the far corner, his arms crossed, offering no reaction. He’d left before the final began.

In the meantime, the tournament continued with a mechanical rhythm. Matches were announced, fought, and forgotten within the hour. Some drew crowds. Most didn’t. It wasn’t meant to be a spectacle, just a way to assess readiness and growth.

Kyna surprised many by reaching the semifinals. Her style wasn’t flashy, but she moved with a level of confidence that steadily wore her opponents down. She eventually lost to Reyna in a long, drawn-out match that tested both of them. It was an absolute delight given that the crowd cheered loudly as soon as the match ended.

Afterward, Kyna sat with Kael in the shade behind the sparring arena, both of them drinking from the metallic water flasks provided to the fighters. The air was still, the only sounds coming from the distant clash of weapons and muted voices from the next round.

“She didn’t rush anything,” Kyna said, tipping her head back and closing her eyes for a moment. “Just waited me out.”

“She’s good at that,” Kael murmured, rolling the flask between his palms. “Picked up on every pattern.”

Kyna turned to glance at him. “You’ve got her next.”

“I know.”

She gave a short nod, then looked away again. “You’ll have to stay ahead. She doesn’t chase mistakes, just waits for them to show up.”

Kael didn’t reply. His gaze drifted towards the far end of the grounds, where Reyna was warming up, her movements economical and deliberate.

When Kael finally faced Reyna in the final, the match was clean and unforced. They didn’t speak beforehand, just a small nod of acknowledgement between them.

The arena had emptied slightly. Most of the cadets were already tired or disinterested, but a few instructors watched from a shaded platform, murmuring amongst themselves. The sun hung low over the training yard, throwing long shadows across the sparring ring.

Kael exhaled slowly as he stepped forward. Reyna mirrored the motion.

She opened with two low feints and a diagonal cut, her balance unshaken even as Kael sidestepped and countered.

Kael adjusted quickly, calling on the rift just enough to shift angles, tilt distance in his favour. But she never overextended. Every step she took closed space in inches, not strides.

Ten minutes passed like two.

Then it was over.

4:3

“Point to Voss. Voss wins!”

Reyna stopped just short of Kael’s chest, her blade pointed but unmoving. Kael held still, blinking sweat from his eyes, then lowered his own weapon.

Reyna extended her arms and hugged Kael.

“Well done, Kael.” she said, putting her weight on Kael’s body, her voice calm, almost breathless.

“You too, Reyna” he replied, rubbing her back slightly. “That was so close.”

They stood in the centre of the sparring circle as the instructors made their final notes, with cheers from spectators who still remained. A medal was given to the top three, while a garland and bouquet of flowers was presented to the grand champion, Reyna. A list was simply posted in the hallway with the final rankings. Kael’s name sat beneath Reyna’s. Kyna had third place.

Later that evening, Jared met with his friends in one of the unused lecture rooms. The lights were dimmed, the windows left slightly open. Nothing about the meeting suggested urgency, though the tone of the conversation leaned that way.

The room was lit only by the wall sconces above the blackboard, their glow barely reaching the corners. Desks had been pulled together at odd angles. Someone had dropped a half-eaten ration bar on the floor and forgotten it.

“He beat you,” one of the others said, not unkindly, just factual. He leaned forward over his folded arms, elbows resting on the desk.

Jared leaned back in the chair, his hands clasped behind his head. His expression didn’t shift. “He did.”

Another cadet who was lean and wiry with a scar near his brow raised an eyebrow. “You going to let that slide?”

There was a pause.

Jared didn’t respond directly. Instead, he looked toward the window. Outside, the campus lights flickered on, casting uneven pools of white across the grass. A few moths batted at the panes.

Then he turned back again, voice flat but clear.

“Let’s see how long he keeps winning,” he said.

The others seemed to take that as enough. Whatever tension had been in the room dissolved as someone made a joke, another tossed a crumpled paper at the trash bin and missed. They weren’t plotting anything serious, just venting in the way young cadets often did, words without plans.

Still, Jared’s gaze lingered for a while longer.

That same night, while the Academy halls quieted and most of the students retreated to their dorms, Jared left the campus entirely. A carriage waited for him just beyond the outer courtyard, its sides marked with the Eryndor crest. The driver didn’t speak. Jared climbed in and remained silent throughout the short ride.

The manor on the outskirts of the city wasn’t grand, but it was built with old money. Tall stone walls, black wrought iron gates, and guards that didn’t move much when you passed them. The kind of place where no one raised their voice, and no one lingered in the hallways unless they were expected to.

Inside, the corridors smelt faintly of aged leather and polished wood. Light flickered from sconces spaced far apart, giving the hall a cold, sparse glow. Jared moved through it without pause, his boots silent on the stone floor. He knew the route by heart.

Lord Eryndor stood in the study, a book open in one hand, a glass of dark wine in the other. The fire beside him burned low, casting long, deliberate shadows across the room. When Jared entered, his father didn’t look up at first. The silence stretched like a held breath.

“I heard,” Eryndor said at last, not turning.

Jared stood still, his hands clasped behind his back. “Yes, sir.”

“You were unprepared.”

Jared’s voice was level. “It was close.”

Eryndor turned then, slowly, as if the movement cost him something. His expression wasn’t angry though.

“Close,” he repeated, walking to set his glass down. “Close means nothing. A commander doesn’t make excuses. He corrects missteps quietly and permanently.”

He stepped around the desk, not breaking eye contact. “If you were anyone else, I might consider that performance tolerable. But you’re not. You don’t get the grace of tolerable.”

Jared shifted, shoulders squaring. “It won’t happen again.”

“It shouldn’t have happened at all.”

There was another pause. Eryndor returned the book to the shelf, his fingers brushing the spine as if choosing restraint.

“He’s being noticed,” he said. “That boy. Kael.”

Jared didn’t move.

“Do you understand what that means?”

Jared gave a single, measured nod. “Yes.”

Lord Eryndor folded his arms. “You’re expected to be ahead. Not equal. Not second. Correct this…or I will.”

Jared didn’t ask how.

Back at the Academy, things returned to normal fairly quickly. The sparring tournament results faded into the background as drills resumed. Darius gave no praise and offered no commentary beyond the usual notes about posture, spacing, and timing. He made a vague remark about strategy trumping strength, but it was said in passing.

Kael found himself back on the usual rotation of assignments, with a slightly increased difficulty in exercises. Nothing said outright, but enough to indicate that the instructors had taken notice of his performance.

Reyna remained consistent: ever present and reliable, but largely silent about the final. If anything, she seemed to push herself harder in the days that followed. Kyna was the only one who still talked about the tournament with any interest.

“You realise that if you’d kept your weight back in the last exchange, you might’ve countered?” she said during a break in conditioning, tossing her braid behind her shoulder as she dropped to sit on the stone edge of the well.

Kael wiped sweat from his brow with the edge of his sleeve. “And if I’d done that, she might’ve adjusted too.”

Kyna raised her brows, amused. “You calling Reyna a mind-reader now?”

Kael gave her a sideways look, not quite a smile. “I’m saying she’s quick. Really quick.”

“Fine. Still, you’re getting better.”

He shrugged. “Everyone is.”

Kyna swung her legs once, watching him with interest. “Jared’s not talking much lately.”

Kael didn’t respond.

A few days later, while walking alone near the practice courts, Kael saw Jared standing by the edge of the fence, speaking to someone through the gate. The figure on the other side was tall and cloaked, their features obscured. The conversation looked brief—just a few words, then a nod.

Kael kept walking.

He didn’t mention it to anyone, but the image stuck in his mind longer than he expected.