Training in the East Grounds isn't half bad when I'm not being harassed. I've mastered the art of getting lost in the shuffle among the other guards, partly aided by how short I am in comparison.

  I'm used to using my body weight when I exercise—pushups, sit-ups, running, and more—but the dragons have surprisingly advanced pieces of equipment that can help. I'm looking through one of their sheds now. To exercise, I'm wearing a lighter tunic and pants similar to what the other off-duty guards wear.

  I pick up a set of wrist gauntlets hung on the wall. They're metal and carved with intricate runes, speckled with odd crystals. They don't feel heavy, but when I strap them to my arms, my muscles are strained to move even an inch. They must be enchanted. It's a workout to get them off.

  From where I am, I can see a small group of rookie guards training, all wearing similar sets of gauntlets. They're struggling to do pushups, their tails sagging behind them, while a senior guard shouts commands. There are all sorts of things like that here, knick knacks and enchanted items.

  Honestly, I don't feel like exercising. But it's better than moping in my room all day. I walk out of the shed, forgoing any magical items this time.

  Unfortunately, the entrance to the sparring grove is on my left. Like clockwork, Jayle and his gang emerge, chattering in Draconic.

  Ugh. Why is he always here? It seems like every time I come to this place he's just gotten done with another spar. I turn away, trying to make myself scarce, but it's too little too late.

  "There he is! Enjoying the sun, little prince?" Jayle shouts. He still speaks Suthic around me. We haven't talked enough for me to tell him he doesn't have to, nor do I really want to let him know.

  I tilt my head towards him as he approaches, a couple of his friends trailing behind. "Weather's been nothing but sun."

  "Ah, you'll be missing it when the rainy seasons hit. If the wind mages' weather predictions are correct, it should start up after the eclipse." He stops in front of me, arms crossed. I don't mind how anyone else in the castle looks down at me when we talk—after all, I am shorter than most dragons. But for some reason, when Jayle does it, it irritates me.

  "Hope it doesn't cover the sky during the festival."

  "That would be a disaster. But I'm sure the mages will have the clouds all cleared out." He waves his claw. "Now, then. Join us for a spar?"

  There it is. I guess we can only talk about weather for so long. "I don't think so."

  "Why not?" he whines. "Did you never spar back home?"

  "I did. Just not with people twice my size."

  "I don't see why you're so worried. We have healers on hand." His ears flick as he tilts his head toward one of his buddies, a burly looking dragon with pale antlers. "Roarark's the best outside of the infirmaries, in fact."

  "Better than Lantana?"

  Jayle laughs. "Now, that's not fair. She's The Queen. She's good at everything."

  Roarark grins smugly and leans over to the other guard behind Jayle. In Draconic, he says, "Well, my healing's only so good if this pipsqueak isn't completely crushed."

  The words leave my mouth automatically. "I'm no pipsqueak."

  The two dragons behind Jayle stare at me, stunned. "O-oh. You speak Draconic. A—apologies." We're all speaking Draconic now.

  Jayle raises an eyebrow. "I think you're a little smarter than you let on. I'd love to fight someone with that human wit. Perhaps some tricks might net you a victory."

  "Would you stop patronizing me?" I snap. "Little prince this, pipsqueak that—Is there anything but insults in that head of yours? Or is it all fleas and fur?"

  The two dragons behind him look at each other. "Oooohhhh..."

  Jayle throws his head back and laughs again. "Well, you're spirited! Does this mean you're ready to fight, after all?"

  "Maybe I am." Skies above, what am I doing? This is such a bad idea. But at the same time, the thought of my fist meeting Jayle's face is intoxicating. "What are the rules?"

  He smirks. "Come to the hollow." He whips around, almost flicking my shins with his tail. "No rules, really. Avoid lethal hits when possible if there's no medic on hand. Usually we don't allow weapons, but maybe I'll make an exception for you."

  My face burns, anger and embarrassment boiling in my chest. "I don't need a weapon."

  A dragon behind me shouts, "Catch!" I whip around in time to see a sheathed sword flying right at me. I barely fumble it into my hands.

  "All humans fight with weapons," Jayle says. "What will I learn if you don't?"

  Learn? What's that supposed to mean? Whatever. I can't focus on his flippant words. I imagine how satisfying it will be to stab him. I was never able to do that with the other jerks at my castle back home. It's time to find out just how good the healers here really are.

  We enter the grove. It's an unexceptional space, a flat area of dirt surrounded by trees. A few guards lounge on logs near the perimeter, and some have even climbed up among the branches to sit. They all look at us as we walk in.

  "The human prince?"

  "Looks like Jayle convinced him..."

  "Oooh, things just got interesting!"

  "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

  I ignore their jeers and keep my head held high. Stomping down my remaining fear, I focus on anger—red, hot, dangerous. As I channel the feeling, my blood begins to boil. I'll put that rat in his place even if it kills me.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  We both march to the center of the grove and face each other. I rip my sword out and throw the sheath aside. The sword is heavier than I'm used to, and for a flickering moment I'm not sure I can wield it properly. But going back isn't an option anymore. When I take a deep breath, the scent of hot dust fills my mouth, almost making me cough.

  Jayle crouches into a readied stance, his claws bared. His tail lashes wildly behind him. In the seconds before the fight begins, I try to take in his stature, his weak points. Does he lean on one leg more than another? What's his primary hand? Is he aggressive or reactive?

  Roarark jogs between us and holds up a claw. "To the spar between Prince Ashura and Crown Guard Jayle, may the best fighter win!" he bellows. Then, he backs up out of the arena, leaving the two of us a few yards apart.

  I don't waste any time, immediately charging at Jayle. My form is clumsy, and the sword is tilted suboptimally, but maybe I can catch him off guard.

  The blade aims straight for his neck. Unsurprisingly, before I can draw too close, he dashes out of the way, feinting left without even losing his balance.

  His claws rip across my shoulder, drawing thick blood. I stagger back, but don't let up. With a quick duck, I slice at his legs, hoping to quell his expert footwork.

  He's agile for his size, reading my attack and stomping hard on my blade before it can connect, jerking me toward the floor. My knees hit the ground, sending pain and tremors up my thighs. With every muscle burning, I'm barely able to tilt the sword up, forcing him to step back. He stumbles for a moment but regains his balance with a flick of his long tail.

  This is bad. Blood and sweat pool on my clothes, causing the harsh sunlight to become sweltering. Jayle, meanwhile, doesn't even have a scratch. My mind works slow to form a plan, dizzy with heat and shock.

  I jump to my feet and stagger left, slashing at his side. My blade connects with his wrist as he brings it up to block, but it doesn't draw blood. The fur on his forearm is thicker than I thought it would be, acting as a kind of natural armor. In retaliation, he ducks beneath my sword and rams at my chest with his sharp antlers. They pierce my skin, and the force sends me flying a few feet away, where I land painfully on my back.

  I'm not used to being smaller than my opponent. Usually, I can take advantage of my height and strength, but I have no such luxury here. I'm certain now that the entirety of his stout build is leaden muscle. Ignoring the blood blossoming on my chest, I climb to my feet, breathing heavily.

  Jayle stalks toward me, red glistening on his claws and antlers. He doesn't say anything, just tilts his head, studying me with glinting eyes. I'm not sure if I prefer this over constant jeers. It's almost frightening to see this switch flip, turning him from talkative to lethal.

  My mind scrambles. How can I fight back? What would he not expect from someone like me?

  I have barely a second to react as he lunges again, claws out. I flatten my sword against my hand in time to block him, and his weight hits me all at once. With his claws locked around my sword, I keep my foot anchored on the dirt and swing Jayle around, aided by the momentum. The trick actually works, and he goes crashing to the floor. If I were larger, like another dragon, he might not have been able to slip past me, but thanks to my stature he's not so lucky.

  Immediately, I stab my sword into the earth, right through part of his tail. The sharp tip is unimpeded by his thick fur, and I feel the blade sink past skin and muscle, narrowly avoiding bone.

  Jayle grunts in pain and climbs to his feet. I try to pull my sword back, but he whips around with his claws, slashing at my rib cage. My hand loosens on the sword, and I stumble, clutching my side. Jayle rips the sword out and grips it, blood pooling on his quivering tail.

  Like the attack meant nothing at all, he spins around and strikes my legs hard with his tail. I fall easily, my vision blurring for a moment as the wind is knocked out of me. When I blink clarity into my eyes, Jayle has my own sword against the skin of my neck.

  I lost.

  The guards nearby cheer. The shame hurts almost as much as my wounds.

  My head falls back, and I focus on catching my breath. Jayle drops the sword. Now what? He's successfully beaten me in a spar, proving...something. What was he aiming to gain, anyway? Was it a power play? But anyone looking at us could clearly tell I had no chance.

  "That was awesome!"

  It takes me a moment to realize those words came from Jayle. Amidst the chatter of the other dragons, I thought it might have been someone else, but his voice is unmistakable.

  I lift my head to look at him. He crouches above me. "You really got my tail there! I wasn't expecting to get thrown around like that. Maybe if you had another weapon, you really could have won."

  "Ugh." I clutch my side and begin climbing to my feet, fighting through the pain. "Leave me alone."

  "What?" His brow furrows. "Is something wrong?"

  Is he actually stupid? "You tell me. You served me a humiliating defeat on a silver platter."

  He stands up, dusting off his clothes. "Humiliating?"

  I open my mouth, but before I can say anything, a dragon slaps my back. "Wonderful first spar, my prince! I will get those wounds treated right away." It's Roarark.

  A small crowd of guards has gathered. "Congratulations!" Another says.

  "You fought well. I admit, it was more than I expected from a human."

  "Three cheers for Ashura!"

  They all shout and holler while I'm standing there, dumbfounded. Can blood loss cause hallucinations?

  Jayle tilts his head. Not one dragon here is cheering for his victory. What's going on?

  "Something tells me there's been a misunderstanding," he says.

  Roarark and Jayle guide me to a log while a couple more dragons prepare to spar. "Why are you all congratulating me?" I ask as I sit down. "I lost."

  "You don't do that in the human kingdoms?" Jayle sits across from me while Roarark sits next to me. The healer's claw begins to glow, and he roughly grabs my injured shoulder, making me wince.

  "No. Of course not. Why cheer for a loser?"

  "Hmmm." Jayle taps his chin. "You see, we celebrate losses because we believe every loss in a spar represents a death avoided in a real battle."

  I squint at him, trying to wrap my head around the logic. It's hard to focus as Roarark's magic starts coursing through my body. It doesn't feel nice and warm like Lantana's healing. Instead, it's like my muscles and skin are painfully stitching themselves back together.

  "It's a learning experience," he continues. "Why spar if not to teach?"

  I rub my forehead. "I-I'm sorry, I'm still confused. Shouldn't you congratulate the winner? The one who proved their strength?"

  He shrugs. "I don't see why we should. Success is its own reward. The loser of the spar is the one who needs encouragement, in my opinion."

  So, they're not all weird. They understand why losses feel bad. But it's still baffling to me, hearing this explanation. "Back home, people only sparred for bragging rights," I mutter. "That's why I didn't want to fight you."

  "Oh." Jayle blinks, and I can practically see the gears turning in his head. "I'm really sorry, I didn't think you'd see it that way. Hope I wasn't too pushy." He cracks a nervous smile, and I can sense his discomfort from here.

  I give a halfhearted shrug. Even with my lingering annoyances, I can't help but try to make him feel better. "I've met pushier."

  "Well, that explains a lot, anyways." Jayle leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees. "If you weren't scared of losing, you may have sparred more often. And with more experience, you could have put an even greater dent in me today. Don't you think?"

  He's obnoxiously reasonable. I almost wish he had turned out to be a jerk, because then I could feel justified hating him. Now I just feel bad. "I guess."

  "Well, I hope that clears things up." Jayle picks up his tail and brings it in front of him. The tip has gone limp, and his fur is completely blood soaked. "Don't heal it all the way, Roarark. I want to keep the scar."

  He takes his claw off me and reaches over to grab Jayle's tail. My wounds still hurt, but at least they aren't bleeding any more. "Why do you want a scar on your tail?"

  "It'll be a reminder to keep it closer to me in battle," he explains. "And how could I throw away something so valuable, a gift from the future king himself?"

  I rub my arm. "Might want to hold off on the future king talk."

  "Oh, please." He waves his claw and leans in again. "I have nothing but optimism for you and Lantana. You're sharp, and I get the sense she likes that about you."

  I look away. I feel the furthest from smart when I'm here.