@cfkingdoms || Tyr
“Okay, off you go, find your mother,” Kázmér laughed, giving the eldest of his nephews a soft pat on the back with the flat of the wooden practice blade. He had long become used to the boys badgering him into taking them to the training ring, or the stables, or even the muddy animal pens young children seemed to love. Today it had been swordplay, reminding the boys to keep their swords up, never turn their back on an opponent, allowing them to get in well more than a couple hits with their practice swords.
The Hungarian prince made his way to the rack to put the toy weapons away when he caught sight of the other man. “You want a turn?” he asked with a grin. He was one of the Danish princes, that much he could ascertain- Thor, Frey, the one with the same name as the pagan god Kázmér could not quite remember. “I shan’t go as easy on you as the children.”




















