Only the Worthy by Morgan Rice

country.”
    Royce shook his
head.
    “What you don’t
understand,” he said, “is that I don’t care.”
    Manfor frowned.
    “You won’t get
away with this,” Manfor said. “I will see to it.”
    Royce tightened
his grip on Manfor’s wrists.
    “You will do
nothing of the sort. Genevieve and I will leave here today. If you come after
her again, I will kill you.”
    To Royce’s
surprise, Manfor smiled an evil smile, blood trickling from his mouth.
    “I will never let her be,” Manfor replied. “ Ever . I will torment her the rest of
her life. And I will hunt you down like a dog with all my father’s men. I will
take her, and she will be mine. And you will be hanged on the gallows. So run
now and remember her face—for soon enough, she will be mine.”
    Royce felt a hot
flush of rage. What was worse than these cruel words was that he knew them to
be true. There was nowhere to run; the nobles owned the countryside. He could
not fight an army. And Manfor, indeed, would never give up. For cruel sport—for
no other reason. He had so much, and yet he could not help but deprive people
who had nothing.
    Royce looked
down into this cruel noble’s eyes and he knew that Genevieve would be had by
this man one day. And he knew he could not allow it to happen. He wanted to
walk away, he really did. But he could not. To do so would mean Genevieve’s
death.
    Royce suddenly
grabbed Manfor and threw him to his feet. He faced him and drew his sword.
    “Draw!” Royce
commanded, giving him a chance to fight honorably.
    Manfor stared
back, clearly surprised that he would be given this chance. Then he drew his
sword.
    Manfor charged,
swinging down hard, and Royce raised his sword and blocked it, sparks flying.
Royce, sensing he was stronger, raised his sword, pushing Manfor back, then spun
with his elbow and smashed him in the face with the hilt.
    There came a
crack as Royce broke Manfor’s nose. Manfor stumbled back and stared, clearly
stunned as he grabbed at his nose. Royce could have taken the moment to kill
him, but again, he gave him another chance.
    “Back down now,”
Royce offered, “and I shall let you live.”
    Manfor, though,
let out a groan of fury. He raised his sword and charged again.
    Royce blocked,
while Manfor swung furiously, each slashing back and forth, swords clanging as
sparks flew, driving each other back and forth across the room. Manfor might be
a noble, raised with all the benefits of the royal class, yet still Royce had
superior fighting talent.
    As they fought,
Royce’s heart sank as he heard distant horns, heard the sound of an army
closing in on the castle, the horses’ hooves clomping on the cobblestone below.
He knew his time was running out. Something had to be done fast.
    Finally Royce
spun Manfor’s sword around sharply and disarmed him, sending it flying through
the air and across the room. Royce held his tip to Manfor’s throat.
    “Back away,
now,” Royce commanded.
    Manfor slowly
backed away, arms up. Yet when he reached a small wooden desk, he suddenly
spun, grabbed something, and threw it at Royce’s eyes.
    Royce shrieked as
he was suddenly blinded. His eyes stung as his world turned black and he
realized, too late, as he groped at his eyes, what it was: ink. It was a dirty
move, a move unbecoming a noble, or any fighter. But then again, Royce knew he
should not be surprised.
    Before he could
regain his sight, Royce suddenly felt a sharp blow to his stomach as he was
kicked. He keeled over, dropping to the floor, winded, and as he looked up, he
regained just enough of his vision to watch Manfor smile as he extracted a
hidden dagger from his cloak—and raised it for Royce’s back.
    “ROYCE!” Genevieve
screamed out.
    As the dagger
plunged down for his back, Royce managed to collect himself, rising to one
knee, raising his arm, and grabbing Manfor’s wrist. Royce slowly stood, arms
shaking, and as Manfor continued to lower the dagger, he suddenly sidestepped
and spun