The Banquet of Chosen Fates
The training yard smelled of dust and crushed sage, the way it always did in the hour before dusk, when the desert wind finally remembered to move. Karim's blade caught the last orange light as he spun, driving Farid back three steps across the packed earth.
"You're rushing your footwork," Farid grunted, parrying the blow with a scrape of steel that rang out over the courtyard walls. "Angry about something, Your Highness?"
"I'm always angry about something." Karim feinted left, then reversed, and Farid barely caught the strike on his forearm guard. "Tonight it happens to have a name. Several names, actually. My father invited half the eligible bachelors of the known world to stare at me like I'm a prize mare."
"You fight like a prize mare who bites."
"Good. Maybe word will spread and they'll stop coming."
Farid laughed, low and warm, the sound of a man who had known Karim since they were both gap-toothed boys sneaking out of lessons to steal figs from the palace orchard. He was broader now, scarred along one eyebrow from a border skirmish two summers past, but the mischief in his eyes hadn't dulled a bit. He dropped his guard, signaling a pause, and wiped sweat from his brow…
