Knight of Thieves

Chapter 2

Arran Anson gasped for air, his lungs aching within him. The sun beat down on his back, only causing him to feel hotter and more exhausted. Three more. Just three more. He saw the wooden post at the end of his family’s property, a hundred years off. He heaved a sigh and wiped his forehead, driving the sweat away before it could drip down his face. Three more.

He crouched down once more, despite the protests of his body. He breathed deeply before his legs shot forward, propelling him into a sprint. He darted forward and, as he did, he attempted to keep his breathing under control. He disregarded the exhaustion and aching in his body, focusing on his goal: getting stronger.

He reached the wooden post, tapped it, and made a wide circle to run back the other way. Once he reached the place where he started, he turned around, and raced back to the post. Two more, he thought. Just two more.

This was something he started the week he returned from knight training. He refused to be the worst in his class again. He was the reason the prince had been abducted. His job was to protect the prince. He could not fail. Not again.

He reached the wooden post, tapped it, and ran back the other way. Once more, and that would make twenty. He would stop, rest for a bit, then start on his afternoon lessons. Unlike his friend, Kyler Dern, he did not have the natural ability to learn the Cyran language. He had to work at it. He had to practice. He had to get stronger.

On his final bout to the wooden post and back, Arran picked up his pace, eager to be done, running as quickly as he could. When he reached the starting point, he fell to the ground, heaving heavily. His arm fell across his face, blocking out the harsh rays of the sun.

He was no longer scrawny. Sure, he would never have as much muscle as James Heczah or Will Orsino, but he was not short and skinny anymore. Over the summer, his facial hair appeared, decorating his face in sand-blond stubble to match his hair, making him look older, no longer appearing like a twelve-year-old child, but the sixteen year-old he truly was.

Arran had not expected to be in line for his father’s estate. All his life, he expected that weight to fall on his older brother, Adam. Growing up, Arran admired his brother. He was strong, tall, and he knew exactly what he wanted from life. He was confident, a quality Arran never seemed to be able to grasp for himself. Adam was everything Arran was not, a person Arran always wanted to emulate.

The sun was beating down on them much like it was now on the day Sir Wylan appeared all those years ago, Adam’s dead body in tow, and an explanation of how Arran’s older brother had died. Adam did not die by honorable means, as the Anson family liked to let people believe. No, he was shot by an arrow in the back as he tried to flee the battlefield. Adam, Arran’s strong, valiant brother, crumbled like dry bread in the face of true battle.

Arran mourned his brother. But all the while, he felt an invisible axe looming over his head, preparing to fall from the sky and kill him. His destiny was now set. He had no other brothers, the family estate would fall to him regardless of how unprepared he felt, or how little he wanted it. He would one day be the Count of Vesper Hall. There was nothing he could do to escape his fate.

This final realization pushed him to join knight training. It was unnecessary now, as his older brother served in the war. Yet, Arran wanted to fight, he wanted to prove himself, show his family he could be brave and strong. He wanted to overturn his brother’s shame and earn his right to stand in court one day as a count.

He needed to prove himself worthy.

And so, Arran found himself one year ago, standing at the entrance to the Great Hall, fear mounting inside of him. The other squires were stronger, taller than he was, replicas of Adam. He would never be able to compare to them.

Who was he kidding? He was not brave or heroic! If his brother could not stand in the face of war, how would he, the scrawny, weak boy? He was nothing. He could not do this.

Perhaps this was partially the reason he gravitated towards Kyler Dern. The boy looked as terrified as Arran. Everything about training was overwhelming. Kyler understood that. They were able to sympathize with one another.

Arran genuinely considered Kyler Dern to be his best friend.

Suddenly, like a tidal wave, a pang of nostalgia hit Arran. He missed knight training. It was rough going at the beginning and he considered quitting a thousand times. Now, looking back, he was glad he worked through it. He was glad he ignored his fear and the torment of the other squires. It was a good year and he learned so much. He was ready and willing to return for another year of training.

A shadow fell across Arran, as though someone were blocking out the sun. “What on earth are you doing on the ground?” asked a voice. Instantly, a smile appeared on Arran’s face. His arm fell away so he could gaze up at the speaker. “You’re going to get dirty.”

“Asena,” said Arran, his voice giving way to the fondness he held for her. Arran was certain he could spend his life gazing at Asena. She was perfect. She had this irresistible way of standing firmly in her place, filling the atmosphere with her grace and poise. She was strong in all the ways that could not be readily seen. She, like many people native to the southern regions of Etrusca, had long, sandy-blond hair. It flowed past her shoulders, framing her face in the most perfect way. She strove to help others, showing the compassion and kind-heartedness she possessed. Arran was certain there was not a single person on earth who could compare to Asena. “I don’t care about getting dirty.”

“I do,” she said, “I have to wash your clothes, after all.” Her hands were on her hips, a serious look plastered to her features. Arran smirked and stood up, shaking the dirt off of him.

Until this summer, he could barely form two words in Asena’s presence. She was surprised when, on the first night of his return, he made a small joke to her. Since then, they had fallen into an amicable relationship, getting to know one another in a way they had never done before. Still, Arran wanted more. The desire to kiss her was an ever-present longing in his chest.

“Thank you,” Arran said sincerely. During training, he was forced to clean all of his own possessions. He appreciated Asena and the other servants far more after that.

“Are you off to learn Cyran?”

“Yes.” Together, Arran and Asena walked off to the house. “Would you like to join me again?” His heart beat quickly at the thought. A few days a week, she would sit with him while he worked on his studies. She claimed she had always wanted to learn another language, but Arran hoped it was more than that.

She shook her head. “I must set the dining room for dinner.” Oh that was right. His parents had invited Rormir, a friend of Arran’s from training, and his family to an elegant dinner. Arran’s mother took company very seriously and was running the servants mad with tasks that must be completed.

“What if I helped?” asked Arran. “Then you will have enough time to learn Cyran with me.” Asena’s smile was blinding.

“I can’t ask that of you, sir,” she said, but Arran knew she wanted to take his deal.

“You’re not. I am going to help you whether you like it or not.”

He followed Asena around the dining room, doing exactly as she asked. He was not as meticulous nor had as much experience as Asena, causing her to correct his work multiple times. At one point, she leaned over him to fix his placement of the knife and spoon. “Like this,” she was saying, “it must all be at the same height, it’s—“

Later, Arran would be unable to explain why he did what he did. He just looked down and noticed how closely she stood to him. He couldn’t help it, his body moved of its own volition, the longing somehow becoming too much for him. He leant down and kissed her lips.

She slapped him in response.

Then, she pushed him out of the dining room so she could finish in peace.

Hours later, he would assume he deserved the slap. He should have considered her feelings, should have known she had not returned his feelings. A mistake he would not make again.

Perhaps it was this incident that led to his excitement for the summer to end and for training to continue.

And he had a strong inkling this was going to be an interesting year.