Finally, three weeks after the ambassador’s soiree, we enter the training arena for our morning session, but instead of Master Santiago, Guardsman Bruno awaits us. He is swordless.

“Into formation!” he calls, and we scurry to grab our wooden swords but he stops us. “No weapons today.”

Empty-handed, we line up in the staggered formation Master Santiago assigned us. Aldo gives me a questioning look. I shrug.

Guardsman Bruno paces before us, hands behind his back. “Swordmaster Santiago has other commitments today, so I will oversee your training. He assures me that you are not quite ready for swordwork yet. Instead, you will be given an introduction to close quarters combat.”

Excited murmuring runs down the line. Finally we’re going to learn something useful.

“I’m sure it has not escaped your notice that we haven’t made any cuts in several weeks. Since the Ciénega del Sur boys did us the favor of disqualifying themselves, we were able to keep some of you on longer than we expected. That will change. I assure you, cuts are coming, so pay attention today and learn well.”

Itzal groans softly. “It’s me,” he whispers. “I know it’s going to be me.”

“As Royal Guards,” Bruno continues, “you may find yourself in a situation where swinging a sword is a terrible idea—when an attacker is too close to the empress, for example, or when you’re in the middle of a crowd. We will teach you to disarm opponents, grapple an enemy into submission, and even de-escalate sensitive situations—all without ever raising a blade.”

His bushy eyebrows knit together into a single caterpillar line, and he says, “Any volunteers?”

We are as silent and still as the grave, for no one wants to be made a spectacle of in front of everyone. A gust of wind kisses the arena sand, sending up a layer of dust.

“Recruit Red,” Bruno says. “Thank you for volunteering.”

I’m unable to resist giving him an angry glare as I step forward.

“Turn around and face your fellow recruits.”

I do as ordered, and he steps up behind me. Maybe I imagine the warmth of his body permeating my skin, because he’s not that close. Still, my limbs start to tingle, heat races up my neck, my heartbeat comes fast.

He’s going to choke me from behind. But it will be a mere demonstration. Nothing to fear.

The recruits stare at us in anticipation.

“I’m going to reach for your neck,” Bruno says. “I want you to try to escape my grip. Ready?”

I take a deep breath. “Ready.”

My senses narrow to the presence at my back, the hands coming up to my throat, the thumbs pressing against my windpipe.

My body knows exactly what to do. I’ve practiced this maneuver with Hector and Rosario a thousand times. But Bruno is a stranger with strange hands and a strange smell and a strange grip, and I can’t force my body to treat him like a friend.

I drop a shoulder and twist, forcing his grip to release, and I explode my opposite elbow upward, ramming him in the chin.