I lash out with my sword, keeping my balance, as I aim for the Prince's legs, attempting to knock him of his feet. He sidesteps. Attacking again I aim at his neck this time, trying to force him to surrender. My blade meets his and he pushes me back with a well-practiced shift of his sword. My eyes spark and he curls his lip. His body is not even tensed.
"Ready to surrender yet, Princess?" he mocks with a predatory growl, his stance relaxed.
I bare my teeth at the nickname.
"Not a chance."
He shrugs, but finally returns my attack this time, lunging at my sword arm. I throw him back as his sword meets mine, and twisting behind him, I jump into his back, securing my legs on the sheaths of the daggers encircling his hips. I pull his head back by the hair, exposing his throat and hold my blade against it. He tenses up, the muscles in his back shifting slightly. With the toes of my feet I unlatch the daggers at his sides, letting them fall to the floor. He doesn't move.
"Drop your sword," I hiss in his ear.
He doesn't respond and I press harder with my blade.
I feel his shoulders shift and I'm falling before I realize what had happened.
That bastard loosened his dagger sheath.
I fall to the floor as he twists away from me, already ready to aim his sword at my throat. I'm on my feet in a split second, dropping my sword and dancing out of his reach as I snatch up his daggers on the floor. We circle each other like two feral beasts, waiting for one to make the wrong move. I attack first, breaking the trance as I lunge at him. He parry's my attack and throwing me back, knocks me off my feet. I gasp for breath as I hit the floor and quickly roll away from another attack, but not before he slashes at my upper left arm, cutting deep. Jumping back to my feet, I hiss as I feel blood trickle down my arm, thick and hot. I lift my arm to the cut, trying to stop the blood flow, letting down my guard for one moment.
He's behind me before I realize my mistake. Twisting my injured arm behind me, he forces me to drop my dagger, right into the open palm of his other hand. It finds my throat.
"Drop the other one," he orders, the honed blade sharp against my skin.
I ignore him, holding the other dagger tightly in my right hand.
"We really enjoy holding blades to each others throats don't we, Princeling?" A laugh escapes my throat.
"Drop it!" he says more insistently, pulling my head further back.
I twist my face into a gruesome smile. "Forget it."
His grip tightens on my hair, yanking my head back. Stars dance across my vision but I grit my teeth. I feel his face graze my hair, his breath is hot against my cheek.
"Are you even the slightest bit afraid?"
His dagger is firm against my neck, threatening to slit my throat. I smirk, still not letting go of my weapon.
"You know," I respond calmly, "that's the second time you've held a blade to my throat in less than a full day."
His grip tightens and I feel the cut he made on my neck earlier split open. My blood trickles over his blade.
"Why do I get the feeling that that's a no?"
His body shifts, and I sense the weakness in his stance that I exploited during our spar earlier that day. There's a mad glint in my eyes.
"Because this has happened before," I whisper and feel his arms stiffen. "And you know what comes next."
It's too late. Before he realizes what I'm doing, I knock him to the ground, pinning him with my legs, and cross his knife and mine at his throat. Anger flickers through his eyes but I catch a small glint of admiration and another emotion I can't quite place as well.
A wicked smile spreads across my face.
"Checkmate."
~~~
He raises his arms in surrender.
I lift my body off his and standing, extend my hand to help him up. He grudgingly takes it, and I pull him to his feet. Standing next to him, I turn to the King, my head held high and blood still trickling from the cuts on my arm and neck.
"And what say you, King Thranduil, to that?"
My voice is low, but it echoes around the hall, loud and clear. With a twist of my wrist, I throw both the daggers to the ground, embedding them into the polished wooden floor.
He rises from his throne.
"There are few men who can best my son, let alone a woman," he purrs, his eyes glint coldly, like deadly ice. "So I say to you..."
He inclines his head and his court mirrors the action.
Beside me, his son bows politely to me, although rather grudgingly.
"Welcome Celebríel, Daughter of Elrond and Lady of Rivendell. "