Nearby in the keep, although certainly out of the earshot and awareness of the king and queen, a practice dummy was meeting a violent end.<br/><br/>Alenard de’Marteau, son to King Ancel, and crown prince struck again and again at the practice dummy with a wooden sword, feinting and weaving, landing heavy blows on those areas of the dummy that would be most damaging on a person.  Despite the cold spring air, and the snow that still blanketed most of the training yard, Alenard was stripped to the waist, and a thin sheen of sweat covered his torso, silent testament to the vigor with which he practiced.  His muscles, highlighted by sweat, almost seemed to shine in the gentle light that beamed down into the yard.<br/><br/>Finally, both practice dummy and sword were finished.  With a resounding crack, a blow to the dummy's neck caused the practice sword to snap in half.  Even as Alenard stared down at the broken weapon, the dummy's neck slowly toppled off.  A man-at-arms practicing nearby paused briefly, and then resumed his own practice; the prince was clearly not in a mood to be interrupted.<br/><br/>With a dry chuckle, Alenard sat down at a nearby bench, taking the towel he'd placed there earlier, and rubbing himself down.  His exertion finished, the cold air bit fiercely at his skin.  He inhaled deeply, brushing his dark hair out of his eyes.  The bite felt good.  It helped to take his mind off of other things.<br/><br/>Crown prince, he mused idly, toying with the towel.  For now.  That title would be lost once Natalya bore his father a son.  That is, once Her Majesty had a child, Alenard corrected himself.  It was still difficult to remember that his once-friend now outranked him, even if they'd drifted apart in recent years, as he'd spent much of his time paying court and doing his father's business in other lands.  That brought another memory; "Sophia," he whispered to himself.<br/><br/>Alenard shook his head, rousing himself.  Enough of this brooding.  The title meant little to him, although the implied loss of his father's trust stung deeply.  And as to what else he'd lost, well... he could not pretend that he was happy.  But he would continue to do his duty as his father's son.  Suddenly, he threw back his head and laughed loudly, once again drawing a glance from the man-at-arms practicing nearby.  Rising, Alenard approached the other man.<br/><br/>"Gervais, would you care to practice with me a bit?  I'm afraid I've already vanquished my other opponent."  He said with a laugh, waving at the broken dummy.  "I think it'd do me some good to face someone with a bit of mettle."  The man-at-arms bowed slightly, smiling at the implied compliment.  "Of course, your highness."  He said.  "Luckily we are well stocked with practice swords."  Grinning, the two men square off, and soon, the heavy clap of wood striking wood sounds in the courtyard.