❝ I can't save us ❞
in which the Foxling and the Codfather exchange
trades, looks, and blue orchids in a world of war,
death, and political alliances.
❝ my Atlantis ❞
( male!oc x solidarity )
( empires smp...
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FORGOTTEN ORCHIDS | CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
THE SWORD IN HIS HANDS was light, easy to move while still being strong enough to block the incoming blow. This was true only because the sword was made of wood, as Captain Cara refused to allow Atticus to train with a real sword against professional, highly-trained guards.
She was right, of course, since the last time she had allowed him to pick up a real weapon he had spent a week in the infirmiry. Still, it felt childish to be playing with pretend blades, as though at any moment Jane was going to call him in for lunch and cut the crusts off his sandwiches. (Not that Atticus had been that sort of child; he quite liked the crust of bread, thank you very much.)
Sir Kian was a man on the older side but not yet out of his element. Atticus didn't normally enjoy the training sessions he was forced into, and this time was no different—being knocked on his ass more times than he could raise the blade to defend himself. Kian had been holding a sword longer than Atticus had been alive, but that was neither here nor there; as Kian always told him, an enemy would not take Atticus' lack of experience into consideration when they were trying to kill him.
"This is easier with the newer guards," Atticus muttered as Kian pulled him to his feet.
"You're putting too much weight forward," Kian said, frowning at him; pointedly ignoring Atticus' grumbles. "The lack of balance isn't letting you put your full strength behind the swing. Which is exactly why I don't like letting you train with the newbies. There's no guarentee that someone who attacks you will be less experienced than they are."
Atticus huffed, though he knew that Kian was right. Both about his balance and the maturity of his hypothetical attacker. "Can't we just hope I won't ever be attacked?" he mused.
Kian gave him a deadpan look, unamused by Atticus' attempt at humor. "It would be a shame to lose a good king because he wanted to water some flowers more than he wanted to protect himself." Atticus bit the inside of his cheek at the insult; his flowers were already watered, he'd have Kian know, though he had a feeling now wasn't the time to speak. "We cannot control who likes us and who is willing to kill us over something as small as wearing the wrong coat. Now, again. Sword up."
Atticus sighed, raising the wooden blade. "Being right doesn't excuse being an ass," he told Kian as they circled each other.
Kian spoke too low for Atticus to hear, so he would take it as an apology, though he was sure it was just more sarcasam. They moved around each other, Atticus checking his balance each momet he wasn't being hit by Kian's sword. He was sure that his arms and shoulders would have bruises for a few days following their training. Perhaps he could use it as an excuse to avoid the House Blossom ball, even if the marks would heal so far in advance that Atticus would have forgotten all about them.
