Page 2 of Bloody Black

“ A re your feet made of iron?” Ben yanks me out of the arena, cursing my clumsiness.

Running my tongue over my teeth in annoyance, I stare down at my palm. My glove is crimson, a reward for my brief lapse in focus.

Duck and lunge, not lunge and duck. Stupid. I’d won the fight, but would go home wounded. Worse than that, my favorite wyvern-hide gloves would likely be permanently stained and would need to be replaced.

“That’s it, Annie. You’re done for the day.” Ben stares pointedly at my palm.

“It bleeds more than it hurts.” I grimace. “I can manage a few more.”

Ben gives a frustrated growl, then looks back down at the list. “How else do you imagine you’ll win this damned tournament?”

Soldiers mill around us, and their voices carry over the din: the whinny of horses, the clatter of hammers, swords clashing.

Boots crunch over snow, and on the icy breeze I can smell another storm coming in from the sea.

Not ten feet away is the arena, where today I’ll face my 100th man.

A hundred men in a hundred battles. It was the longest-running tournament in the kingdom’s history, and when it was done, I would be the winner.

I, a woman. The Crowned Princess of Celestia.

“I’ve dueled every day for thirteen years, preparing for this. I’ve no intention of forfeiting now.” I put my hand on his arm and lower my voice. “No one thought me capable enough, skilled enough, or stubborn enough to follow through. No one but you. I can’t let a little scratch stop me.”

“I haven’t, but you should call off. Live to fight another day.”

Fight another day. Ha. If I didn’t win this tournament, I’d spend the rest of my life fighting a different sort of foe. In Celestia, the king selects the husband. But if a princess could succeed against one hundred men, she could choose her husband, no questions asked.

No one had ever succeeded. Few had ever tried.

If I failed, I’d find myself married to Lord Spotswood, a boring, frumpish lord from Sinder.

Completely unsuitable, with a yellowed, horsey smile, Spotswood was twenty years older than me.

As far as I could discern, the only thing interesting about him was his lands, famed for having a flesh-eating vineyard.

Ben did his best to find soldiers whom I could beat, trying to give me a chance at freedom. But now my father had gotten suspicious and insisted that he be the one to choose. Just to make sure we weren’t cheating.

“Your father chose Montague. ”

Ugh, no. Montague was one of the best fighters in the lists, and loyal to the crown as any first-ranked guard would be. Immediately recognizable, he had a silver helmet with a unicorn horn that often found its way through the eye of whomever he was fighting.

“Unlucky for him, he has food poisoning. He can’t fight, so you’ll have to choose your next opponent.” Ben gives me a small, pointed smile.

I’m careful not to appear surprised, nor grateful. My father, sitting on the dais and wrapped in fox furs, is watching.

“Soren took the liberty of gathering a few of our newer recruits. So that the princess might choose.”

Soren was the lead of my guardsmen; he’d trained me as closely as Ben. He, too, would help me–he wouldn’t select anyone who would be too difficult. He’d choose someone that would match me, someone I could beat fairly, in front of the king. That way, the entire thing would be legitimate.

Ben scratches his hair, which was starting to have the slightest bit of gray. “If you pull this off, your father is going to be furious.”

“About which part?” I smile wickedly. “Me besting his men? Or me choosing to marry you?”

“I hate this entire plan. You should wed a man that brings political gain.”

I scoff. “We both know that I could do much worse than you. You know me. You know this life. You know the court, and you’re a complete gentleman. Best of all, you’ll leave me to my own devices. No one will wonder or question it.”

“I’m also fifteen years older than you.”

“So?”

“We aren’t… we’re not anything.”

“All the better.” I shrug. “There would be no feelings involved. We’d both be clear-headed.”

“Clear-headed? More like be- headed, since the king will insist I’ve seduced you.”

“Then let them check my virginity!” I hiss, causing several shoulders to startle, and heads to pivot.

Ben closes his eyes, probably praying for patience. “Princess, please.”

I give a long-suffering sigh and lower my voice.

“Do we really have to talk about this again? This is the best path. We convince my father that our affections are genuine. If I marry you, I’m not forced into a life with someone I despise.

You have wealth and a home for the rest of your days. Then we’ll both be happy.”

“And what about the wedding night?”

“I’ll grit my teeth and bear it.”

Ben clenches his jaw and glances over at the stands. The audience has grown over time, and for this next challenge I’ll have nearly a hundred people watching.

“And if the king isn’t convinced? What then?”

“I’ll lie and say I’m with child.” The answering expression of horror on Ben’s face makes me chuckle. “Trust me,” I insist. “It’s going to be fine .”

The captain of the guard, Soren, approaches. His shoulders are so broad they block out the sun, and his iron armor is dusted with snowflakes. “Is the princess ready to choose her opponent?”

Past his shoulder stands a rag-tag group.

Short, tall, stout, thin… he’s gathered at least twelve of them.

Perhaps, if my challenger we re short, I should fight with knives instead.

That would be a nice change, and I could use the practice…

No, I shouldn’t deviate. I’m best with a sword, therefore, that’s what I would use. Hopefully, I can win quickly.

One of them is tall. He towers over me, 6’5, long and lithe.

His hair is burnished gold, with eyes so blue it feels a bit like I’m staring at a slice of the sky.

I’ve never seen him before; it’s better to pick an opponent I’ve at least practiced with.

So I walk past… but then, for some reason, double back again.

“What’s your name, soldier?” I ask him.

“William.”

“He’s a rat. A rat from Rivelle,” one of the other soldiers hisses under his breath.

My eyebrow arches with surprise. Rivelle. The southernmost kingdom. We’d been at war with them for as long as I’d been alive. A vicious, never-ending war, with thousands lost on both sides. A war so bloody that even the rivers changed course to avoid those cursed fields.

“Are you a prisoner?” I ask. My father typically conscripted them, forcing the captives into service.

“Defected.” He doesn’t look sorry.

I study him critically. He’s tall and strong.

His uniform strains across naturally broad shoulders.

And yet… William looks as if he’s never even gotten frostbite, much less fought with a sword.

He’s far too pretty, too shiny , to be a real soldier.

Of the entire group, he might be the easiest to beat. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.

“I pick him,” I say to Soren, trusting my instincts.

Ben shot me a look. “Perhaps someone else. ”

I knew what that meant. Ben hadn’t paid him off. Hadn’t vetted him, probably.

“This one.” I turn to my father, King Francis.

“An untried enemy from Rivelle,” Soren calls out to him. “That’s her selection.”

The king waves a hand, indicating we are free to proceed. He’s busy talking and drinking with Morgan, my lady’s maid.

Ben readies me. “Are you crazy? We can’t have the princess getting killed by her own damn army!”

“Where was all this worry last week, when I faced Roger and Galadrel?” I roll my shoulders, adjust my sword. “Surely a boy from Rivelle doesn’t have you spooked.”

“I’m not afraid. I am only saying that this one won’t be holding back.”

“Good, then my victory will be well-earned.” I tap the rose on the hilt of my dagger. A gift from my mother, befitting a princess.

“But he’s dangerous.”

Through gritted teeth, I say: “Your objections are noted and duly dismissed. Now, may we please get on with it?”

William spins his sword, at ease with a blade in his hand. He’s taken a defensive stance, light on his feet. I can tell already that he’s had extensive training.

Clearly, I’d been fooled earlier, when I’d concluded that he likely wouldn’t know what he was doing.

“Best out of three. Ready?” Soren asks, his voice grave.

“Go easy on him, princess!” Roger laughs and tosses his hair. He’s another member of my guard, and if he feels I’m in danger, will likely be the first to intervene .

“In the arena, she goes by Ares,” Ben tells him.

“The god of war?” William takes in my fitted royal blue sparring outfit, the ribbons, the silver flair. His gaze travels lower, over my legs, down to the ruffles on my shoes.

He smiles. The name amuses him.

Ares is more an aspirational title than inspirational. I’m pale, a little plump, but I am good with a sword. Ben has trained me well. If there’s anything men always do, it’s underestimate a girl with bows in her hair.

The first clash of metal comes quickly. His strength is apparent the moment our blades connect—his strike reverberates through my arm, forcing me to brace. Despite his speed, his movements are fluid, almost lazy. William has clearly been practicing.

“Not bad for a royal.” He’s still smiling, because he believes he’ll win. The rat from Rivelle is in for a rude awakening.

I move in, fast and aggressive, testing his defenses. He parries easily, his blade meeting mine with a clang. Each movement is deliberate, precise, like I’m playing a deadly game of chess and he is a piece I intend to corner.

I feint left, baiting him into overcommitting, then spin, aiming for his exposed side. The tip of my blade catches his shirt, slicing through fabric but not skin.

William leaps back, startled, and for a moment, the easy confidence in his expression falters. “Close,” he says, breathless. “Better than I expected.”

“Better than you,” Ben replies.