Fatal Attraction

2

Queen Emelia's POV:

A trumpet plays as the doors to the arena open and we ride into the arena side by side on matching gray horses.

"Announcing King Tobias, Ruler of Keotsa, Guardian of Blackstone! Announcing Queen Emelia, Ruler of Keotsa, Guardian of Blackstone!" A man shouts once the noise quiets down

The cheers of thousands erupt through the arena as we make our way through the arena. I wave to the citizens, smiling. When I had first arrived here there was much worry on my part that the townspeople of Keotsa would not accept me. With good counsel however, I was able to spend time with the people, helping them build gardens or passing out golden coins to the needy. King Tobias, was taken aback by this. My grace and kindness charmed him and this confirmed to him that he'd made the right choice in his Queen. Approaching the thrones, King Tobias disembarks from his horse. Walking over to where I sit upon my own horse, he extends a hand. Taking it I allow him to aide me. Looking down at my chest and seeing the elegant jewels, he smiles. Leaning in close to me, he tells me that I look stunning. I thank him, telling him he is the most handsome man in the world.
We walk up the steps to the thrones, arm in arm as the energy within the stadium rises as those in the competition begin to enter the arena as well, holding their heads and swords high as they lap around the stadium upon their horses. King Tobias and I sit down, staring out at the scene in front of us. Watching as the competitors continue to make their way in and join those circling around, I feel the excitement begin to build. The door to the arena closes and King Tobias stands. The competitors gather toward the front of the stadium, bowing to their King.

King Tobias stands and I follow suit.

"Ladies and gentlemen of Keotsa, please enjoy today's events as we celebrate Queen Emelia's 19th year of life."

Turning away from the crowd, he focuses on me.

"My beloved, I hope you enjoy today's show."

"Thank you my dear."

The men on horseback clear their way from the arena, leaving a group of men to take their positions, this time facing away from the King. On the other side of the arena, targets made from hay with sewn pillow cases. Simple.

The men stand at the ready, a dozen or so, waiting with bows in hand, a quiver of arrows strapped to their backs.

They stand, eyes focused on their target as if staring down the enemy on the battlefield. The Archers of Blackstone have the best archery skills in the kingdom. Dressed in black, they have the skill to shoot on horseback, from trees, in the deadness of night and not be seen.

"The Archers of Castle Blackstone."

Leaning in closer, I watch intently as the group of men look towards the Commander who stands at the ready to the left of them. His silver cloak gives off his title, the Commander of the Archers of Castle Blackstone.

"Nock!" The commander orders

Instantly, the dozen men all put an arrow on the string of their bows. The tension in the air begins to rise.

"Draw!" The commander yells

In unison, the men draw back the strings on their bows. With each second, the string gets closer to their cheeks. Twelve deadly arrows ready to find their marks.

King Tobias leans in close to me.

His black hair is styled under his crown.

His gray eyes sparkle.

"They are magnificent, aren't they?" He asks

"Indeed, Your Grace."

Even as the seconds tick by, it is a magnificent sight to see. I have always found beauty in the sport, wishing I could've learnt the skill myself. My father would soon see himself drop dead then catch his daughter with a bow in hand.

"Release!"

Instantly the tension of the moment is cut when the first dozen arrows are released, slicing through the air like precision-guided missiles. There is one thud after the next as the arrows hit the targets, the sound reverberating through the arena before the crowd interrupts. We watch as the Archers of Castle Blackstone go round after round, pulling back the strings on their arrows and aiming for their targets. Some would meet their targets, others wouldn't. Each time the archer hit the target, they would have to walk over and retrieve it. Luckily there was enough space between the archers so they hopefully wouldn't be struck by their fellow men. Soon their quivers were empty, arrows all used and collected. They'd be melted down by the blacksmiths and reused to make more arrows.

The gates of the arena open once more. The Archers of Castle Blackstone follow their Commander out of the arena. There is a pause in between where nothing happens. The audience waits on the edge of their seats, eager for the next event to take place. Two men enter the arena, walking up to their King and Queen. They bow was the announcer steps forward again.

"Our first contestants: Jamal Covel and Mason Skwire from the Royal Swordsmen."

Both men couldn't have been much older than their second decades of life. Jamal is a much larger figure than his opponent, it was possible he could win through strength alone.

Jamal stands with sword held high, Mason, on the other hand, holds his sword close to his chest, poised and ready. Jamal brings his sword down and Mason swings his own blade up to block his strike. The swords clash, the sound of steel colliding only seems to spark up the energy as the audience cheers. Mason swings at Jamal over and over but each time Jamal manages to block or duck out of the way just at the last moment, before the sword meets flesh. Each combatant skillfully maneuvers to gain the upper hand. Jamal grabs ahold of Mason's shield, pulling as hard as he can causing Mason to fall roughly to the ground of the arena. The cries of the people are deafening. Some shout for Mason to stand. Others tell Jamal to "finish the job." Jamal, all too happy to appease the bloodthirsty crowd, holds his sword high, soaking in the adoration before he moves to bring the sword down on Mason's neck. Mason quickly comes up with a plan, seeing the gap in Jamal's armor. He strikes.

Jamal's sword falls from his hands, falling right beside Mason. Mason removes the blade from Jamal's gut, allowing him to collapse to the ground before staggering to his feet. Face covered in blood from the battle, he stands above his competition. Jamal stares up at him as blood continues to pour from his wound. Without wasting a moment, Mason shoves the sword into Jamal's neck. Jamal garbles, choking on his own blood before going still.