He thought of the three boys who had been fighting him when Robert arrived. They’d done that ungentlemanly thing because Robert had encouraged it.
Even if this boy wasn’t his brother, Robert was the villain in this piece. And if what Marshall said was true…
Robert was the knave, the cur, the right bloody bastard. Nothing would ever end happily ever after again. Not unless—
Some decisions were not difficult at all. “Hit me,” he said urgently, low enough that the other boys couldn’t hear. “Hit me hard. Knock me down.”
Marshall didn’t even hesitate. He stepped forward and smashed his fist against Robert’s nose. Robert didn’t need to pretend to fall; his legs crumpled of their own accord. When he picked himself off the ground, his nose was running red. He swiped the blood away and pushed himself to his feet.
“Did you really not know?” Marshall asked him.
He’d hit with his left hand.
“Can you hit harder with your right?” Robert asked.
Marshall’s chin went up. “I can hit hard enough with both.”
“Because I’m left-handed, too. You’ve just knocked me down, and I’ve acknowledged it. They shouldn’t bother you anymore. Not after that.” He was babbling. He gingerly extended his hand—his left hand. “Pax?”
The other boy stared at him for a moment. Then, finally, he extended his own left hand. “Pax,” he agreed. “But you break the peace, and I’ll break you.”
“Well,” Sebastian said, coming up from behind them. “This is going to be interesting.”