“Well, at least I don’t have pigeon shit for brains,” Alec goaded.
“Are you insane, scholar?” the two-bit swordsman roared. “Where’s your weapon?” He twitched back his cloak and his hand hovered over the polished hilt.
Richard could almost see steam emanating from the man’s ears and he had a moment to reflect that Alec wielded words like a sword - sharp, cutting, to the point. Too bad that, ultimately, they had no substance.
With a flourish the man drew, the point hovering over the tender hollow of Alec’s throat. Richard knew how soft that skin was.
“My fight,” Richard said.