The Old Queen stared out the window with an empty look. Under Edward's command, she was locked away in the Eastern tower of the palace. The room consisted of a bed, a chair and a fireplace. Three times a day, a servant would slide her meal under the bolted wooden door.
The only source of light was from a single window that overlooked the royal cemetery. Even from a distance, she could make out the tombstones of her son and daughter-in-law. Overwhelmed with grief, the Old Queen lifted her hand to stroke the dirty glass; her fingers lingered over the miniature headstones.
Her second son had killed his older brother, Edmund, in the name of power and jealousy. He had indulged in a comfortable life while his kingdom was plagued by poverty and starvation. As his own belly grew, his people were reduced to skin and bones. With merely six years on the throne, Edward had successfully robbed Esyria of decades of glory and prosperity. The blood and sweat of previous monarchs carelessly wasted by one tyrant king.
A single drop of tear escaped.
For Esyria, my beloved kingdom.
Her thoughts moved on to her son and daughter-in-law. They were among the best leaders Esyria had been blessed with. However, their reign and lives were abruptly cut short.
Another drop followed.
For Edmund, my son.
Edmund and Talia had been deeply in love. Their only son inherited his father's inherent fairness and his mother's gentle nature. Jase had a huge heart and was destined to become a great king. However, after a visit from the dark twins, Death and Betrayal, the heart once capable of immense love was occupied by immeasurable hatred.
His childhood was wrecked. While other boys played with wooden swords, Jase wielded a dangerous weapon. They pretended to save damsels in distress; he fantasized killing his parents' murderer.
His youth never began. While young men attended grand balls, Jase spent his nights at the cemetery. They flirted with beauties; Jase courted vengeance.
His future was non-existent. Unintentionally, Jase had handed the throne to his parents' murderer and had spent six years of his life hating an innocent man. He sacrificed everything to achieve nothing.
Two drops of tears trickled down her cheeks.
For Jase, my broken boy.
King Damian had suffered empty accusations and meaningless hatred. His people were forced to defend themselves against the angry Esyrians in the war of conquest. Many died unnecessarily. If Jase succeeded, King Damian would die too.
A drop landed on her hand.
For Bellerania.
Nathan's conscience had to decided between his loyalty to his father and his sense of morality. The knowledge drove him from home, but he could not flee forever. The Old Queen prayed that Nathan would find the strength to stop Jase before regret tainted both their lives.
Another drop left its trail.
For Nathan, my dear grandson.
The Old Queen's eyes prepared to release one more drop of tear – for herself. But instead of permitting it to complete its descent, she blinked it away, saving it for another day.
***
The elliptical stone amphitheater with tiered wooden benches was crowded with commoners and nobles alike eager to observe the midwinter weapons tournament. Despite the gloomy skies and chilly wind, the people of Bellerania flocked to the village center in anticipation. Some were here for the action while others were excited to catch a glimpse of the royal family. Bets were placed and seats were filled.
A large arena about twenty feet in diameter stood in the center of the amphitheater. The roaring of the crowd intensified as ten men, champions of the preliminary rounds, came into view. Clad in leather armor, the men were well-built, each wielding a weapon of their choice.
Upon hearing the loud blast of a trumpet, the people redirected their attention to the royal party entering through the West entrance. Mounted on a large grey stallion was King Damian, followed closely by Queen Leila, Princess Catherine and Prince Cade. Flanked by guards, the royals dismounted and ascended the stairs leading to the king's box.
Catherine scanned the arena while her father greeted their people and explained the purpose and process of the weapons tournament. The ten contestants were to be paired up based on a random draw. The winner of each pair would then proceed to the finals.
The king's box had a very good view of the arena. Catherine breathed a sigh of relief upon discovering that Chris and Jase were not partners. On one hand, she hoped that her best friend would emerge as the overall champion for the sake of his pride and position as Knight Commander. On the other hand, she wanted Jase to be her escort to the ball. It would definitely make the tiresome night more bearable.
Unfortunately, Catherine's relief was temporary. As expected, both Chris and Jase defeated their respective opponents in less than fifteen strikes, proceeding to the final round where they would eventually have to cross blades. The pair was admired for their grace and skill, quickly becoming favorites among the crowd.
In the final round, each man was to take turns sparing with a different opponent. After completing four battles, the man with the most wins out of four is pronounced the overall champion. For the past two tournaments, Chris had won.
Weapons clashed, crowds roared and sweat poured as the five men battled in rotation. Catherine bit her lip nervously whenever it was Chris's or Jase's turn.
***
Jase took a step back from his fallen opponent and slid his sword back into its sheath. With a slight bow, he turned and exited the arena to prepare for his last fight – the fight he and everyone else present, excluding Catherine, had been anticipating for the past three hours.
Since arriving in Bellerania, Jase had always wanted to test his skills against the Belleranian Knight Commander. Chris and Jase were the only two who had won all three of their fights. They each had one more round – against each other.
"Good job, Sir Bretson," Chris congratulated when Jase walked past where he was standing. In reply, Jase nodded once.
Jase was given fifteen minutes to change and refresh before the trumpet blew, signaling the final showdown. He checked his armor, buckled on his sword and stretched his muscles. Splashing his face with water, Jase focused his mind and stepped out of the shadows.
At the same time, Chris materialized from the opposite end. The crowd went wild with excitement. Both men were well-built and good looking. It was impossible to predict the outcome of the fight. More money was exchanged as new bets were placed.
While the men were preoccupied with their wagers, mothers scrutinized the two men to determine their eligibility for their respective daughters. Some were already plotting a potential wedding. The young ladies in the stand were dreamy-eyed as they dwelled in their fantasies.
However, both men had their attention elsewhere, on a particularly enchanting girl dressed in a golden dress. A golden crown perched precariously on the top of her head.
Catherine was exhausted and torn. Slumped back in her seat, she covered her face with her hands, dreading the result of the fight.
Jase watched from the corner of his eyes as the queen whispered something to her daughter. She sighed deeply before fixing her posture and dropping her hands, a cheerful smile plastered on her face.
"Take your places."
Jase and Chris drew their swords and faced each other, their blades touching.
"Begin!"
Chris noticed that his opponent was very distracted. His eyes periodically flickered to the stands as they circled each other. Following his gaze, he realized that Sir Bretson was looking at Catherine. The fact irritated him.
"Eyes on me," Chris muttered.
"I could say the same of you," Jase countered, lifting his sword to block a quick strike from Chris.
Chris smiled grimly. With that one block, he had deduced a few things about Sir Bretson. Firstly, the man was agile with lighting quick reflexes. Secondly, he had a firm grip and was strong. Thirdly, his swordsmanship and style was foreign, unlike any Belleranian. Fourthly, he had affections for Catherine.
The last discovery sent a surge of power through Chris, putting him on offense and Jase on defense. Chris continued blow after blow while Jase danced around the perimeter of the arena, waiting patiently for an opportunity. He found one and their roles were reversed.
They continued to exchange blows, each matching the other's skill and speed. Using the sword as an extended arm, their movements blurred. A strike bended into a block; a block blended into a lunge; a lunge blended into a flurry of attacks. The crowds cheered, gasped and shouted accordingly.
King Damian glanced at Catherine and noticed her uneasiness. He assumed that the look of worry in her eyes was directed at Chris. On the other hand, Cade was sitting at the edge of his seat with his mouth agape and eyes as huge as saucers. The king reassured his daughter and told his son to lean back, but was ignored by both.
As the fight went on, both men began to tire. Their movements slowed and attacks dwindled. Chris snuck a glance at Catherine and caught her worrying her bottom lip. He wondered if she was nervous for him.
Jase knew he had to end the fight soon, before he lost all sensation in his arm. Confident that Chris would spot a weakness immediately, Jase purposefully left his left side open. As he expected, Chris aimed a butterfly sweep at his exposed shoulder. Swiftly, Jase moved his left feet back and twisted his shoulder out of the way. The sword sliced through the air. By the time realization struck Chris, Jase had already disarmed him.
Chris ducked, barely avoiding Jase's followed up attack. Rolling forward, Chris picked up his sword with his left hand and rose to meet Jase's hammer blow. A loud clanging echoed across the amphitheater. Jase's eyes widened in surprise, Catherine squeezed hers shut, and Cade fell off his seat with a dull thud.
"You can wield a sword with your left hand?" Jase blurted in surprise.
The respect and awe in Jase's eyes was mixed with raw determination. Chris wasted no time to shower him with a flurry of powerful blows. His left hand was as good as his right. Jase sidestepped, blocked and dodged as much as possible. His body glistened with sweat under the light.
Chris spared Jase a tired smile, "I'm actually left-handed. Catherine taught me how to fight with my right." He glanced at Catherine through his peripheral vision. She looked torn, as if she was being ripped in half and the pain was unbearable. Catherine didn't know whether she wanted or dreaded Chris's imminent victory.
Chris cursed lowly. He knew her well enough to realize her heart's desire before she did. He was stupid enough to willingly sacrifice his pride and glory as Captain for her happiness. He was wise enough to let go. And finally, he loved her enough to see her love another.
She wanted Jase to win.
***
After the king announced the winner, Jase approached Chris privately while he was removing his armor.
"Why?" Jase demanded.
"Just thank me and leave."
"No," Jase growled, slamming his clenched fist against the wall. "I don't want your charity."
"Fine. Don't thank me and leave," Chris countered, turning to face the blonde.
Jase fumed silently.
"It was my choice to let you win," Chris said, unbuckling his sword from his waist.
"It was not your decision to make."
"No, it wasn't," Chris agreed. "I made it on her behalf." After a moment of thought, he added, "If you so much as scratch Catherine's heart, I will rip yours out of your chest, mince it and feed it to a herd of wild pigs."
Jase responded with a threat of his own. "If she sheds one more tear because of you, I will feed your heart to my pet tortoise," he finished, thinking of Catherine's tear-stained cheeks.
"Deal," Chris said. With his sword in one hand and the leather armor dangling from his right shoulder, he turned and walked away.
Jase leaned against the wall; the rough surface cooled his shirtless back. Lifting his head to the skies, he prepared himself to have his heart fed to a herd of wild pigs.
Cote! (instead of vomment because i have to agree, it does sound a bit like vomit -.-)