Pandora's Box

Chapter 2: Part III

The stiletto bit into Donovan's doublet that had bunched at his right flank. The cadet turned to counter just in time to find Malachai's fist careening into his jaw. Bright lights exploded in front of Donovan's eyes. On instinct, he raised his hands defensively.

Malachai tore the stiletto free. "You thought this was over? It'll never be over, orphan."

The princess's heart skipped in her chest. Donovan's staggering gait made it appear as though he were seasick on a trans-ocean voyage. His fists wavered in a classic boxer's stance. Malachai, on the other hand, was the picture of a stalking serpent: steady, poised, death blow readied. Pandora had to intervene. If she returned to the palace with Donovan's blood on her hands Queen Adella would see her banished for certain.

"Malachai, stop," Pandora said. She wracked her brain for a way to end the ridiculous duel. And then it hit her. She smiled, pleased by the solution's sudden appearance.

"A draw. I declare the contest a draw."

Malachai's grip tightened around the stiletto. He sneered and advanced.

"I believe the princess declared a draw," a strong, steady voice said.

High Commander Cedrik of the Queen's own Knights of the Sapphire Rose stared down his nose from atop his mount. The commander's athletic cut belonged to a man half of his fifty years and the light leather armor he wore while on duty strained at the shoulders and biceps as evidence.

"What is the meaning of this?" Cedrik said, regarding Malachai.

A sudden rush of relief surged and Pandora sighed, inaudibly thanking the gods that Cedrik had happened by. On his boldest day, Malachai would not dare defy an order from the High Commander, let alone raise his voice to the man charged with the defense of kingdom.

Malachai quickly concealed the stiletto's collapsible blade, slipping it into a pouch concealed at the small of his back. He snapped to a smart attention. "Nothing, commander. Just a minor dispute between myself and the cadet."

Cedrik harrumphed. "That seems to be a recurring theme. Perhaps I should send word to Lord Killian that his youngest son seems to be having difficulty adjusting to his new position as Junior Officer? Or would he resent it if the money spent on securing you the honor of your position at the Citadel were wasted by your dismissal?"

Pandora knew the insult cut the heart from any retort Malachai may have been considering. She watched the junior officer fix his gaze straight ahead onto the horizon. A vein in Malachai's throat bulged.

"No, sir. He needn't be bothered. It won't happen again."

The High Commander frowned down his nose. His horse shuffled as he nudged the great beast toward the dusty road leading to the stables. "I suspect it won't, Master Killian. The men of the Citadel, all of the men of the Citadel, are your brothers. See to it they are treated as such." Cedrik regarded Donovan. The frown gradually curled upwards into something approaching a smile.

"And as for you, cadet. I hope you fare as well next time someone moves on your unprotected flank."

"Yes, High Commander," Donovan said, rubbing the remaining blur from his eyes. "It won't happen again."

"Good lad," Cedrik replied. "I'll expect to see both of you in my office by high noon." The High Commander spurred his horse and a moment later the most decorated man in service of the kingdom vanished into the bustling sea of workers.

Pandora shuffled to Donovan, keeping her eyes averted, unwilling to catch a glimpse of the disappointment upon her friend's face. She saw the flush of jealousy spread over Malachai's face as she checked Donovan's torn doublet. For a moment she was torn between the two.

Torn right down the middle.