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not expected to realize anything, you are expected to obey!” shot back their father. Obviously out of patience with the entire exchange, he said, “I am done with you for now. I must compose myself for the business of dealing in private with the Keshian Ambassador this afternoon. Baron James will continue this conversation on my behalf.” At the door, he paused, and said to James, “Whatever you need do, do! But I want these miscreants impressed with the gravity of things when I speak to them this afternoon.” He closed the door without waiting for a response.
    James and Locklear moved to either side of the young Princes, and James said, “If Your Highnesses would be so kind as to follow us.”
    Borric and Erland both glanced at their lifelong tutors and “uncles” and then at each other. Both had an inkling of what was to come. Their father had never laid strap nor hand upon any of his children, to the profound relief of his wife, but that still didn’t prevent regular bouts of “fighting practice,” when the boys were unruly, which was most of the time.
    Waiting outside, Lieutenant William quietly fell into step with the twins and the Barons as they moved down the hall. He hurried to open the door, which led to Prince Arutha’s gymnasium—a large room where the royal family could practice their skills with sword, dagger, or hand-to-hand combat.
    Baron James led the procession down the hall. At the door to the gymnasium, William again moved to open the door, for while he was second cousin to the twins, he was still merely a soldier in the company of nobles. Borric entered the room first, followed by Erland and James, with Locklear and William behind.
    Inside the room, Borric nimbly turned and walked backward, his hands raised in a boxer’s pose, as he said, “We’re a lot older and bigger, now, Uncle Jimmy. And you’re not going to sucker punch me behind the ear like you did last time.”
    Erland leaned to the left, clutching his side in exaggeration and suddenly developed a limp. “And faster, too, Uncle Locky.” Without warning, he threw an elbow at Locklear’s head. The Baron, a seasoned soldier of almost twenty years, dodged aside, allowing Erland to overbalance. He then turned him in a circle by hauling on one arm, and pushed him into the center of the gymnasium with the sole of his boot.
    The two Barons stood away as both brothers stood poised for a fight, fists upraised. With a wry grin, James raised his hands palms out and said, “Oh, you’re too young and fast for us, all right.” The tone of sarcasm wasnot lost on the boys. “But as we have to be clear headed over the next few days, we thought we’d forgo the pleasure of seeing how far you’ve come in the last two years.” He hiked his thumb behind him, indicating a far corner. “Personally, that is.”
    Two soldiers, stripped to breeches only, stood in the corner. Each had massive arms crossed over impressively muscled chests. Baron James waved for them to approach. As they did, the boys glanced at one another.
    The two men moved with the fluid motion of a thoroughbred warhorse, supple, but with power waiting. Each looked as if he was carved from stone, and Borric whispered, “They’re not human!” Erland grinned, for both men had large jaws, suggesting the protruding mandible of mountain trolls.
    “These gentlemen are from your Uncle Lyam’s garrison,” said Locklear. “We had a demonstration of the Royal Fist-Boxing Champions last week and asked them to stay with us a few extra days.” The two men began to move away from each other, circling the boys in opposite directions.
    Jimmy said, “The blond-haired fellow is Sergeant Obregon, from the Rodez garrison—”
    Locklear injected, “He’s champion of all men under two hundred pounds—ah, Erland should be your student, Obregon; his side is injured. Be gentle with him.”
    “—and the other,” continued Jimmy, “is Sergeant Palmer, from Bas-Tyra.”
    Borric’s eyes