The ring of steel meeting steel echoed around the small courtyard as the two men circled each other. Both held a sword in one hand, and to an observer, the rhythmic lunging and parrying almost seemed like a dance. That same observer would have quickly realised that the younger man was a better swordsman, slowly pushing his opponent back, always moving a fraction faster. The younger man suddenly surged forwards, his sword flashing silver in the sunlight. The older man moved to parry, but he was too slow, the point of the blade scratching across his shoulder as it passed. The younger took a step forwards, the momentum of his own swing carrying him for a moment. In an instant, a foot caught the back of his leg, sending him sprawling to the ground on his rear, the sword jolting free from his grip and clattering away across the cobblestones. The younger man went to rise, but stopped in his tracks as he felt the tickle of his opponents own sword against his throat. There was a moment of silence, the two men watching each other, before the older of the two laughed heartily, moving his sword away and holding his hand out towards his son. Christophe reluctantly took his father's hand, and allowed himself to be helped to his feet, brushing himself down before walking over to retrieve his sword. Jean-Baptiste's smile didn't fade as he watched his son. [b] "You're getting a lot better, Christophe, but experience still edges out talent. Learn not to be so reckless. If you commit too much to one attack, then you leave yourself exposed."[/b] Christophe held his father's gaze for an instant, before he allowed himself a smile, and shrugged his shoulders. [b] "I just didn't expect an Arch-Duke to fight dirty."[/b] Jean-Baptiste laughed again, clapping his son on the shoulder. [b] "Well then that was your first mistake."[/b] A polite cough interrupted the laughter, and Jean-Baptiste turned to see that Marc Choquet, one of his more trusted valets, had entered the courtyard, a grave look written across his normally jovial features. [b] "Your Grace, we have received news from the east. The report... Your Grace, you're bleeding!"[/b] Jean-Baptiste glanced down at his shoulder for the first time, the white shirt town and bloody from where Christophe's blade had cut him. Waving away the other man's concern, Jean-Baptiste turned back to the valet. [b]"I'll live. Now, tell me about this report..."[/b]