“A gentleman’s duel requires a gentleman, and this man: he is no gentleman. I am insulted merely by his presence, this whelp, he knows not his place,” Monsieur Dodds said, the words were bitter and bit at me, “He does not deserve the title of Captain and no one shall henceforth address him as such.”

                Monsieur Dodds began to walk away, and I knew that if I said nothing, he would go unchallenged. I would remain the obscure officer from Northern Nowhere, and I would most certainly not have Elizabeth’s hand in marriage. He would see to that. It was a question of honor. Better to die trying than to just lie down and die.

                I bit down on my thumb, “You knave. I don’t know my place, do I? Let me show you your place you conceited pig of a human being.”

                Monsieur Dodds halted in his tracks. I must admit, it was unlike anything he had probably ever heard before. He, an Imperial Aide-de-camp to the throne, was being insulted by a Captain of a foreign military. It was to say the least, an uncommon turn of events. He turned to face me, his face was twisted in rage like a mad dog’s might be.

“Do you dare, speak like that to me, Captain Bernhard? Fall to your knees and beg my forgiveness,” he drew his rapier, “Before I kill you right here and now.”

In a fluid motion I drew my saber and saluted him. I was going to make a very large point to uphold my title as a gentleman, and that meant not making a single infraction in the way of honor. However, it didn’t change the fact that I hated this man. I was going to kill him, but I was going to do it right.

“On guard,” I flicked the tip of my saber towards him, “You won’t be nearly so self-assured when you feel my blade pierce your throat, let us see your esteemed blood Monsieur.”