Do you really want to know why you lost?” I asked.
“Do you really have an answer?” he countered.
“You need to get off your horse and run with your men. You don’t have the stamina for a long fight. And find a lighter sword.”
“But it was my uncle’s.”
“You’re not your uncle.”
“But I’m the King, and this is the King’s sword,” Cahil said. His brows creased together. He seemed confused.
“So wear it to your coronation,” I said. “If you use it in battle, you’ll be wearing it to your funeral,” I said.

Maria V. Snyder