“Drake, would you care to spar with me?” Arthur asked lightly. I jumped. Simon went still. I hated the idea of Simon being knocked about in that beastly way. Did I imagine it, or was there really a faint look of spite in Arthur’s eyes as he held out his weapon, hilt first? Simon was more than a match for Arthur as far as size went, and clearly in the peak of physical fitness (as evidenced by his gratuitous walk the day before), but did he know anything of swordplay? “I’m afraid I’m not much of a fighter,” he replied calmly. This brought back what he had said to me, the day I dined at Drake
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