Brokedown Palace Read Online Free PDF

is all.”
    “Good. If you need me, I’ll be in the courtyard, working off some of my excess passion in preparation for this charmer of yours.”
    Rezsbowed his head again as the King stood and left.
     
    “GOOD DAY, YOUR MAJESTY,” SAID VIKTOR.
    László snarled at him.
    Viktor smiled. His teeth were even, and no trace of yellow marred them. His smile was more a baring of the teeth than anything else. “One of those moods, Your Majesty?” he said. “I suppose Rezsthe Righteous still wants you to get married, eh?”
    “Just shut up and fetch the practice swords, will you?”
    “I have them here, Your Majesty.”
    “Then give me one and hit at me with the other before I lose my
patience and use Állam.” He touched the hilt of the straight sabre that hung in the ruby-encrusted sheath at his side.
    Viktor did as he was told, still smiling. Viktor was twenty-three years old, but still youthful. He seemed to bounce rather than walk; his long, straight dark hair doing its own bouncing above his shoulders, yet remaining perfectly arranged. His eyes were brown and full of light, his face had a square jaw rare in Fenario. He wore the bright red of the Palace Guard that he commanded, and his buttons always, always glittered. He had once joked that he was so strong, it would only take ten of him to defeat Vilmos in a contest of strength.
    Still, he was well matched with King László. After their first few bouts, the King had learned, for the most part, how to avoid matching strength with Viktor. From then on it had been a contest of the captain’s speed against the King’s remarkable sense of timing.
    Nor did they stop short of striking with the wooden swords, when an opening presented itself. They made the one concession to safety of not striking to the head save when wearing practice helms which neither liked. Other than that, the blows were as powerful as could be given with the light sticks. And, while a good thwack with such a weapon is unlikely to do more than sting, a thrust, which was also legitimate, could cause injury. So far, in the two years they had been partners, they had avoided such an injury. But not through lack of trying on either side.
    As they practiced, some of László’s anger worked itself off. Viktor sensed this and began talking. It was a sign of the condition of both men that, after three minutes of hard work, they could converse without gasping.
    “So, Your Majesty,” said Viktor, “has he gotten you to agree to a wedding date yet?”
    László snorted.
    Viktor chuckled. “If that means no, I’ll tell you I met someone new in town yesterday.”
    “What good does that do me?”
    “She has a friend.”
    “Ah, now! Keep talking, my captain, and perhaps I’ll make you a Count.”
    Viktor saw what he thought was an opening and struck for the King’s side. László sidestepped neatly and brought his wooden sword up over Viktor’s and down for a satisfying thump on the shoulder. Viktor grimaced, acknowledged the touch, and waded back in.
    “Being a Count, Your Majesty, interests me almost as much as being a married man interests you. But, as to this young lady—”
    “How old is she?”
    “Seventeen.”
    “And not married? I hate to think what she looks like!”
    “Trust me, Your Majesty.”
    “If you let me down, the dungeon always has room.”
    “Trust me.”
    Viktor feinted a cut for the head, although this was not a legal target. László took the fake and Viktor struck the King just above his right knee. By their agreement, the forward leg, from the knee up, was legal. László stepped back, saluted, and went in again.
    “Since when,” said Viktor, “has the Palace had a dungeon?”
    “It can have one in a matter of hours, my friend. Set me up with an ugly wench and you’ll see.”
    “Yes, Your Majesty,” said Viktor. He wove an intricate attack around the King’s weapon, but before he could culminate it, the other slipped past his guard and landed a solid blow on his