Roland gulped. That was not at all what he wanted. He was a miserable fighter, and didn't want his first foray into spear combat to take place in front of his birth father and all these enemy witnesses, especially before he'd had more chance to observe. He was going to humiliate himself.
Prince Duncan looked up as his mother, once again leading his alleged son by the hand, entered the training ring. He sighed heavily and waited for instruction from the monarch.
"Derek is eager to begin training with the spear!" Queen Titania announced with a flourish. "Although he just returned to us, already he desires to learn our ways and become one with Rhone."
Roland stood as stoically as he could, refusing to play along with her antics, but not willing to openly contradict her. Duncan's eyes drilled into his mother, who smiled at him broadly as if his glare was somehow indicative of pride in this long-lost son.
Realizing this battle of wills was not his to win, Duncan threw the spear, shaft-first, at Roland. The Queen did not flinch, though the weapon passed closely enough to her to ruffle her dress with the air it displaced.
Roland reacted in time to not be hit in the stomach, and was even able to awkwardly catch it before it touched the ground. Though not a graceful maneuver, it could have been much worse. At least none of the surrounding soldiers laughed at him, but maybe that was due to Titania's presence.
Duncan was tossed another spear, which he caught in one hand without even turning his head toward it. Roland took a deep breath, mentally preparing to endure another beating like the two he took from Riley. Maybe worse.
"You wish me to fight the child?" Duncan still refused to address him directly, keeping his gaze and the question pointed at Queen Titania. Roland's façade of stoicism faltered. The demeaning words continued to chip away at him despite his efforts to shore up his confidence.
"Fight? My dear son! Would you want to hurt your own flesh and blood? Train him, of course." She practically purred, and touched Roland's shoulder, pushing him gently forward as she backed out of the training ring to observe.
Duncan grunted and raised his spear. Roland imitated the stance as best he could. He'd learned from Peter how to pay better attention to the whole body; foot position, weight balance, and posture in addition to simply how to hold your arms.
He spread his feet slightly wider as he looked at Duncan, shifted his weight forward, and held his body in a tentative crouch. The spear he held in both hands, one over and one under, spaced evenly along the length of the shaft. Finally satisfied that he was imitating the stance as best he was able, he lifted his eyes to signal he was ready to begin.
Duncan watched Roland's preparation with a mask of indifference, but when the light blue eyes rose to meet his own, an old anger filled him. His wife was gone. Though he was told she had died due to the difficult birth, he had always known in his heart she was murdered. The timing of her death combined with his son's kidnapping and his sister-in-law's disappearance could not have been coincidence.
His heart had long turned to stone, and those eyes threatened to undo all his difficult work. It made him want to kill. What right had anyone else to those eyes? His reason for living was taken, and so he would take all the lives he needed to in order to get revenge. His mother, with her games, must be testing his mettle with this fake. He knew she had herbal potions to make people look differently. He had used them on occasion for his own purposes.
He would pass this stupid test of hers by killing this insolent boy who dared to impersonate the stolen child... but not yet. He would play along for a time to find out his mother's commitment to the cruel ruse. At the proper time, the boy would die, the potion would lose effect, and he would see what fool would dare impersonate his lost son.
Roland watched a variety of emotions ranging from indifference to homicidal flicker through Duncan's black eyes just before he attacked. He brought the spear forward in a jab, which Roland instinctively moved to block.
It was a distraction from his real attack, which was to bring the butt of the spear across Roland's forehead to knock him out in one blow.
Roland ducked and used the momentum to swing his spear around to slash at Duncan's legs, forcing the older man to jump back. He continued on the offensive, using alternating strikes with the tip and butt of the spear to try and gain an advantage.
This was far more intuitive than the two-handed sword he'd trained with in Klain. He tried adapting a set of strikes Peter had taught him to the new weapon by stepping sideways to present a narrower target and jabbing outward with the tip of the spear.
Then he saw Duncan's face. It was... bored. Utterly bored, as a man who hates children and has been made to humor one at a pointless game.
Roland furrowed his brow and tried harder, while Duncan rolled his eyes--insulting in its own right but moreso by the fact that Roland did not present enough danger to require his gaze--and pushed back with a maneuver of four quick strikes.
Roland blocked the first three, but the final came from overhead, which he had not anticipated. There was much he still had to learn about the spear. He barely had time to dive to the side to avoid being sliced open by the weapon.
As Peter had taught him, he tried to convert the dive into a roll to get back on his feet quickly, but was kicked in the ribs before that could happen. He suddenly found himself sprawled on his back with the tip of the spear at his throat. He sighed at the now-familiar sensation of losing.
He dropped his spear to concede the fight, and Duncan seemed disappointed by the action somehow.
"If I believed you were my son, I'd feel ashamed of you right now... but not totally humiliated," He added cryptically. With that, he tossed his spear to a man off to the side and walked away.
Roland brushed himself off as he stood up and looked around. The faces of the soldiers were unreadable, but Titania looked pleased.
"I expected far less from the training of Klain!" She cooed. "What a marvelous warrior you must be to begin picking up the spear's skills so quickly!"
Roland eyed her skeptically. The shameless flattery wouldn't fool anyone who'd watched, and he wondered why she bothered. He was better with the spear than he'd been with the sword, but it was still an embarrassing display.
Duncan had looked bored the entire time, and then denied their relation. Roland wondered if Duncan's standoffish behavior was connected with Titania's affection. Was there a rift between them, or were they putting one on display to manipulate him? A rift might be something he could leverage to escape, or get the captives freed, but it was such an obvious strategy. Could it be a trap that would close when he tried anything?
On the other hand, maybe the feelings were sincere, but being used by Titania. Was his father's disdain for him being magnified to drive him closer to his grandmother's control? Fatherlessness was a wound that would have been easily reopened if not for Dr. Sherman's faithful guidance.
Roland's head began to hurt from trying to figure out these games, if that's what they were. He liked the medical profession better. Looking at symptoms and applying treatment to achieve a result was much more straightforward, and far more rewarding. Healing the body was far easier than unraveling the workings of the human mind.
This reminded him more of his time on the streets, where others would try to use him, manipulate him, or steal from him to achieve their own ends. It was survival of the clever and strong, and since he wasn't strong, he had to be clever. It was an exhausting way to live, and he gladly left it behind when the Shermans had offered him a home.
"Come, Derek, that is enough for your first day. You need good food to build muscle on your lean frame. It broke my heart to see how gaunt you are without your clothes, and so pale from being injured! Klain must have starved you terribly. I can only imagine how they treat their orphans." Though her tone was caring, the words served to cow Roland considerably, reminding him of the humbling experience of being tied up in the dark in his underclothes.
The message seemed clear underneath the pretense of her overt kindness: I clothe you. I heal you. I train you. Only I am kind to you. You belong to me.