At breakfast, he ate with the fervor of a man starved for months. Warm, crisp bread. Sweet jams, decadent meat broths and cold orange juice to wash it all down. He didn’t care for the dubious stares the servants sent his way. Let them think he had gone mad. They probably already thought that of him, after the debacle st night. Except Sarina, the maid was sending pitiful gnces at him. Ha, the nerve!

  He relished the thought of their blood spttered on the walls of this accursed manor as he bit into the tender meat of the steak. He was not forgiving any one of those filthy, weakling traitors. He would see to it that they die by his hands, but not so soon. No, they were too useful to be killed right now.

  “Brother?” the voice of a ghost echoed in his ears, and he looked up grinning like a maniac at the sister that had died for him. “Aren’t you up te-mmf!” Her words stopped midway as he encased her in a spine-crushing hug.

  Ariana, his beautiful, foolish sister. She was no more than a pawn and mildly irritating company to him in his past life, but she was the only person, besides his mother who had supported him unequivocally.

  He had killed her in his shortsightedness and recklessness, but this time he would cherish her. He would love her like a brother should and help her reach her full potential. Pawns were better kept alive and happy.

  Also, she was his blood! She could also be beside him if he died in this life, perhaps holding his hand and whispering that he lived a good, brave life and deserved to rest, like a hero.

  He let her go, before he inadvertently killed her with his overenthusiastic greeting. His sister, his blood, how could he have ever overlooked her in the past, how could he have ever hated her? With her beauty and regal standing, she could be the dy of a prince of any of the seven kingdoms.

  Ariana had a bewildered and somewhat constipated look on her face, he noticed…was she ill?

  “Well, that was…quite forthcoming of you, brother.”

  Ah, he supposed he might have shown a bit too much of softness. He had never openly dispyed any affection beyond courtesy for his sister before. It’s only natural she be surprised.

  ‘She must be overflowing with girlish joy at finally receiving the brotherly affection she sought for me in my st life.’ A half-teasing, half-knowing smirk bloomed on his face as he smirked. Really, having a little sister was too cute.

  “I had a long and terrible dream st night sister, is it too forthcoming to seek comfort from those I hold dear?”

  Something imperceptible fshed across his sister’s face, faster than he could read.

  Then she grinned at him, all rosy cheeks and white teeth.

  “Even the valiant and fearless sword of our mothernd is scared by night terrors?”

  “Yes,” he said, mildly surprised at his own honesty, “More than you could know.”

  Arianna gnced at him warily. Her brows furrowed as if processing some complex calcution of house finances. Did his affection truly shock her so? He was thinking of accompanying her as she dined, but perhaps he should show his change in smaller steps.

  He wiped the residual stew and bread-crumbs of his face.

  “Well, I’ll leave you to dine, dear sister.”

  “Wait…could you not stay? You always finish dining before I come, and it has been so long since we st chatted.”

  He put on a boyish grin for her.

  “Would that I could, but Garret would have my hide if I am any ter.”

  “You always say that.” Arianna said morosely, as her brother nearly bolted out of the dining quarters. “But very very peculiar of you to leave your stew unfinished.”

  ***

  Reverting back to his younger days, he had especially looked forward to taking up a sword again. He had expected that he had to hold back, as to his instructor not suddenly suspecting how his awkward gait and too-aggressive stabbing disappeared in a night. Sword-fighting would be easy and familiar, from his experience in fighting for the emperor. Perhaps, he would reach even greater heights in sword-mastery than his previous self.

  His preconceptions shattered the moment he hit the ground after their first bout. It had been short, humiliatingly so, even for his sloppy teenage self. Even Garret seemed mildly confused as he offered the trembling Rosario a hand to get back on his feet.

  “Where is your mind today, lord-boy?” He rebuked him, with a tinge of pity sneaking in his voice. Rosario clenched his teeth. “The servants whispered of night terrors, perhaps sleep would suit you better than sword-work.”

  “Night terrors don’t phase soldiers.”

  He gripped the pommel of his practice sword and went for a surprise attack, sshing near Garret’s neck. The swing was supposed to catch Garret off-guard and unbance him, but Rosario found himself swaying on his feet, as the swing went harder than his estimates. And as he futily tried to call on his strength to regain bance, he found himself stuck struggling, wasting just enough time for Garret to force him on defense. It was a practice spar, but Garret’s strength was nothing to scoff at, and the longer Rosario spent purely blocking, the wearier he felt his arms grow.

  It was frustrating. A warrior of his renown should not break a single sweat to disarm his old instructor, especially when he was deliberately holding back. But all his swings felt wrong, his thrusts would push his body too far, his parries were weak and his blocks pushed him farther than they should. Worst of all, he was wearing out soon. Clearly, his strength and stamina in his teenage body couldn’t keep up with his fighting style.

  It was not as if he couldn’t score any wins. But two out of ten bouts was hardly anything to be proud of. Unbelievable, how would he ace the emperor at this rate?

  Garret seemed to harbor the same thought.

  “It might displease you, lord-boy, but the duchess is going to hear about this.”

  As a boy, he might’ve snapped and argued. Appearing weak in front of his mother was the st thing he wanted. Even if he never could appear as strong as he’d like in front of her, till the day she died. In front of her hawkish eyes, he always felt slow and stupid. The fact that she would never think of harming her kin of royal blood was the only assurance that kept his hand from clutching the pommel of his sword every time he met her.

  “It’s just one bad-day,” he tried in a calm, reasoning voice.

  “THE day is only a week away. The duchess has already spoke to the emperor quite highly of your dedication to swordsmanship. And unlike other candidates for the throne, it is all you have.”

  Rosario grit his teeth at the jab at his intellectual ineptitude. It was a thing that haunted all his accomplishments in his previous life.

  “The duchess then does not require mere mishaps to cloud her concerns.”

  “Don’t be foolish,” the old instructor growled. “If you’re that concerned, you’d rest up and fix whatever is wrong with your body before thinking of picking up a sword and facing me down.”

  And with that he turned away, clearly expressing that the conversation was over. Rosario smmed his fist on the training ground. Facing down Garret never scared him. It was inevitable he’d surpass his instructor someday. It was the dy duchess he feared. He had barely collected his wits and now he would be having a face-to-face talk with his mother.