I spent the night getting my ear chewed off by Lucinda and watching Charlotte fiddle with her new necklace. The two eventually forgave me for not trying to find them sooner, but only after I explained the whole situation with Ace and the scoundrels from earlier. After that they both began profusely apologizing which was somehow worse than being yelled at. Before bed, Lucinda briefed me on what the knights exam will consist of while Charlotte seemed more curious as to who the handsome stranger I was traveling with was. Perhaps if he's a lower ranking noble that didn't care for social standings, the two could be a suited pair. Charlotte wasn't beautiful like the Ewell's, but she was attractive in her own right, though anyone would be outshined by Ace's appearance.
The next morning I was tired. Not physically, the stamina I've spent all that time accumulating still coursed through my veins, but mentally as the Sonna Festival brought so much stimuli I felt my mind having trouble processing every street we passed. According to Lucinda, the knights exam consists of two rounds of elimination. First, knights will have to run an obstacle course to prove their strength and stamina; the best 50 times will be accepted. From there, the contestants will pair off and be told to have a regulation duel in order to gauge their ability with a sword and in combat. The winners will become official imperial knights, while the eliminated contestants have the opportunity to be approached by other nobles, seeking knights to defend their lands. According to Lucinda, about 500 contestants are participating, and only 25 will actually pass the exam.
Some of the contestants are prisoners, fighting for their freedom, while others are sons of noblemen who know they won't inherit a title. The exam is always overwhelmingly run by men.
Charlotte tried to dress me in a petticoat, the type a lady would wear when her husband was on a hunting trip, because she had strict orders from my mother to make sure I appear ladylike and regal whenever I'm in the eyes of the public. I reminded Charlotte that knights don't wear petticoats to a duel, and that my mother was not here. Before she could object, I threw on a tight pair of trousers, the usual loose blouse I wore whenever I sparred with Garrison, and tied my red curls into a high ponytail at the top of my head. Charlotte chased after me with a coat embroidered with silk and jewels, but I threw Lucinda at her as I ran away screaming about how heavy that jacket looked.
Both my caretakers gave up on any last minute lessons and lectures and eventually walked me to the arena where sports games in the Capital are normally held. The author described the arena as a colosseum type structure, similar to a football stadium, where the audience could watch gladiator style duels, or games of a sport eerily similar to soccer.
We were still a ways away from the stadium before the building came into view, the cheers from the crowd already audible despite the distance. I'm been in front of an audience before, but nothing was ever expected of me. Today, I am to pose as the regal, confident, and powerful Lady Amalie Ewell. A Duke's daughter, almost a Prince's betrothed, and one of the most powerful women of the empire.
We reach the mouth of the stadium and the sound is almost deafening. The general public is welcomed along the front entrance. This is where tickets and merchandise are sold, announcements are made, and where people bid on their favorite candidates to pass the trials. I search for my name, but I don't see a high success prediction next to it. Of course no one would think I'd succeed, I'm the pampered Duke's daughter who only just took up the sword recently. Little did the public know that in my past life, I've trained with a sword for fifteen years before I fell into this world. I promised Thompson that I would return as "Sir Amalie" and that is what I intend to do, no matter what some bidders and a questionable poll think of my ability.
Thinking of Thompson, I remember that I won't just be doing this for my own fate, but to make sure that the rest of the Ewell estate doesn't perish as well. The kind Duke and Duchess, Brother Garrison, all who welcomed me with open arms might be dead in a year if I can't change all of our tragic endings. And I can't exactly allow Thompson to live out a pitiful lonely life. I'll find him a fitting bride, even more amazing than Margarite Hastings, and make sure he gets his happy ending as well.
As I continue towards the large stadium, Lucinda directs us towards the back entrance where each of the Knight candidates are gathered and prepare. I notice a few heads turn my way as we approach the ocean of people. Charlotte's hand brushes against my back reminding me to correct my posture as I am now in the eyes of the public. I look to Luncinda and copy her stance as I'm trying to look less like a lady and more like a knight. She has a hand over the handle of her sword, and her chin is raised in alert, so I follow suit but raise my chin with confidence.
I catch a few whispers as I pass, some questioning my validity as a candidate, some complimenting my outfit, and I heard a few men mention how I should "put the sword away and go back to planning tea parties". I pay them no mind, but I see Lucinda's knuckles turn white. Their misogyny doesn't deserve the attention of a beautiful lady who is already completely aware of what she's capable of.
As Lucinda leads us to the back entrance of the stadium, I catch a glimpse of the other knight candidates. I notice a girl here and there, but Lucinda was right. This competition is overwhelmingly male. The candidates are gathered in a sectioned off area behind the stadium, the area being marked with a partition of rope. Numerous reporters and general viewers are pressed against the rope to get a good view of who exactly are competing, and I even notice a few nobles on the candidate side of the rope speaking to prospective knights they already want to recruit. One large man is flocked with three different nobles, each offering him a livelihood. I see a young nobleman's son leaning against the rope, speaking to a few young ladies on the other side, all of whom are giggling and twirling their hair.
The young nobleman was tall and tanned, and by no means was he unattractive, but he was nothing compared to Ace. I roll my eyes at his masculine endeavors when he notices my genuine disgust. The young man sashayed towards me, leaving his conquests disappointed as his sights change to a new prize. "My fair lady, is there perhaps a knight here you wish to offer your support?" He lifts his eyebrows flirtatiously and reaches for my hand to offer me a proper greeting.
"There is Sir," I turn away so that he can't grab my hand, "I'm here to support myself." The young man lets out a laugh, a bit too aggressively, before he sees the seriousness in my expression.
"You?" he asks. "You, such a delicate flower has signed up to become a knight? Instead of failing to succeed in front of a crowd of onlookers, wouldn't you feel more accomplished to be courted by such a man as myself?"
I sneer at his advances and his flamboyant way of speech. I've only been Amalie for a month but I'm already offended for her. How dare he speak to a Duke's daughter in such an informal manner. "I believe that not only did I not ask for your opinion, which you have bestowed very decidedly, but you have underestimated me, good sir. I can only interpret your actions as intimidation that such a delicate flower might best you at a competition meant for men." I say this without looking at him, but I can feel the steam fuming without even needing to glance in his direction at having his ego tainted.
"Do you know who I am?" He asks, grabbing my arm, "I am Willard Petrova, the son of Marquis Petrova. My family is one of the most powerful merchant families in Belmar. I could buy and sell you at any moment I please, and yet you dare question my abilities as a man?" I remember the name "Petrova" vaguely from the book. The Marquis was one of the noble's from the Crown Prince's faction that never wanted to see Tristen ascend the throne.
A shame really that such a dignified family bore a son who had to turn out as such.
Lucinda steps forward, ready to draw her blade, but I wave her away. "A pleasure to meet you Willard Petrova, I am Amalie Ewell, daughter of Duke Ewell." Willard's face falls, realization dawning on what he's just said and done to a duke's daughter. His grip on my arm loosens and I pull my hand away.
"My lady forgive me for my brash behaviour, believe me it was unconsciously done. I meant no harm to you or your family. Apologies to the Ewell Dukedom." He stammers as he backs away. At this point, a crowd has started to gather, trying to see what exactly has caused a Marquis' son to raise his voice to a lady.
Aware of the prying eyes, I make sure my posture is that of the Duchess's and speak in a calm loving manner. "Send my regards to your father, Mr. Petrova, along with my condolences."
Willard looks at me blankly. "And why am I sending the Lady's condolences?" he asks confused.
I lean in close to Willard so only he can hear what I say next. "Because I will grieve with him for having such a disgrace of a child, surely he'd agree. And if my father were to learn of the words we've exchanged, I'm afraid the Marquis estate might have much more to grieve about than a fallen son." With that I walk away and into the stadium, leaving a stunned Willard and a puzzled crowd in my stride.
* * *
Though the incident from earlier was upsetting, I pay little mind to it as the competition is about to begin. About an hour has passed since I entered the arena, and the rows of seats are filled. The stadium is seated in two tiers. The bottom tier is meant for commoners who jeer with gold and red flags, yelling for their favorite candidates. The top tier is meant for nobles, aristocrats, and their families who came either for entertainment or to recruit knights of their own. In the center of the entire stadium, situated in a private viewing box on the top tier of the stadium, is the imperial family here to witness the competition.
In the center sat His Majesty the king of Belmar, beside him sat Her Majesty Queen Rista, the Queen of Belmar, and beside her sat His Royal Highness Prince Tristen, second in line for the throne. Tristen looked strikingly similar to his mother, blonde hair falling in front of his green eyes, and they both hold the same scowl as they stare down at the knight candidates. Tristen was handsome, a bit more so than Willard Petrova, but he still couldn't compare to any one belonging to the Ewell estate. He'll be executed alongside his mother in a years time, and I don't feel bad for him like I do the Duke's family.
There's an empty seat on the other side of His Majesty, which I'm assuming is meant for His Royal Highness Crown Prince Cole, but he doesn't seem to be joining us at the moment.
I kept my gaze fixed on Queen Rista and her sour grimace as the announcer explained the course we'd have to complete in order to advance to the next round of elimination. First we'd have to climb a vertical wall, pulling our weight with a set of ropes hooked to the top. Next we traverse a set of raised logs, covered in a lubricant to ensure the maximum amount of candidates fall to the mud below. Then we clamber through a set of bars, very similar to monkey bars like you'd see at a children's playground back in my world. Finally, a 200 meter footrace to return to the starting line where each contestant's time will be recorded.
Looking around at the candidates directly beside me, I notice a considerable size disadvantage. My small frame means I can probably run raster than most of these contestants, but no matter how easily I can pull up my own strength, or how swift I can move, it will mean nothing if these brutes manage to push me out of the way before I have a chance to grab hold of a rope on the first obstacle.
I inch forward a bit, knowing my only hope of besting the behemoths beside me is to be the first to grab a rope, so I prepare for a sprint. I notice Willard Petrova not too far down the row of candidates, but he avoids eye contact with me out of fear. He must guess my strategy, however, as he also inches closer.
The announcer asks if the candidates are ready, and the entire stadium erupts into a cacophony of screams and excited cheers. The announcer begins the countdown and I focus on the rope I intend to claim, about 50 meters away, clamped to the almost 10 meter wall towering over me. When the announcer yells "go", I hear the crowd roar, and I see the flags wave with enthusiasm, but everything appears muffled since the only thing I can focus on is getting to that rope before anyone else.
My legs move as fluidly as water, and I get a good start, creating a bit of distance between me and the candidates near me. I'm a bit more than a body length away from the second candidate once we reach the wall. I slip the rope into my hand, looping it around my palm to create a bit of stability, and bring my boot under me. With a breath, I push off of the wall, reaching up for the next length of rope as I move upwards.
I continue this motion for the height of the obstacle, step grab step grab, until finally I reach the top of the 10 meter wall. My legs swing around to the other side and I begin gripping the rope on my decent down. I notice a couple candidates drop to the ground, but I don't allow myself to panic as I still had a good start compared to others. Even if I don't place first, as long as I place within the top 50, I'll still continue to the next round of the knights exam.
I barely began climbing down, the distance still far too great for me to safely dismount, but a large man behind me who just reached the top of the wall smiled a bit when he saw me struggle. He was bald and wore a gray tunic, but he was easily twice my weight and then some.
He grinned a wide yellow-toothed grin and said "the field ain't no place for a lady," before dropping his weight on the rope, stomping my shoulder in the process. The weight of this giant threatened to dislocate my shoulder, and before I realized it, my grip had loosened and the ground crept closer.
The crowd's cheers grow louder as I dropped maybe 5 meters, knocking out all of the air in my lungs. It took a moment for me to realize what even happened as I was so dazed from the fall. The large man that kicked me off looked back at me, laughing, before he finished his climb and took off for the next obstacle.
My ears start ringing a bit, and I can't breathe enough considering the amount of air I'm coughing. I prop myself up on my elbows, and feel the pain buckle my knees. Come on Amalie, I think, get up, get up, you cannot let it end like this, you cannot let him win. I notice the hundred men who have now pulled ahead of me and I force myself to stumble along, through the pain and blurred vision. My legs buckle under me as I trot towards the raised logs. Amalie, snap out of it, you can't give up yet.
I reach the logs, hoisting myself onto the slippery platform with the little strength I can muster. Men are sliding off the logs all around me, gripping with sheer desperation. The key to these logs is clearly balance and patience, but these brutes rely solely on force to push their way through the course. The man right next to me drops with a grunt, splashing mud onto the bottom of my trousers.
There are ten logs lined on the course, three of which are already behind me. I continue on, hopping cautiously from one to the next, bent down to keep my center of gravity. I've gained a bit more ground, but I'm still too far behind to continue on comfortably.
On the next log, I make a leap forward when my knees give out a bit, still weak from the fall earlier. As I stumble, I try my hardest to wrap a leg and both my arms onto the wood to keep from falling like so many others under me. With a burst of energy and power, I claw my way back on top of the platform. One man beside me attempts to recover in the same manner, but ultimately falls into the mud pit below.
I'm only halfway through the second obstacle and I can feel my lungs giving out. My boots are too slippery from lubricant and mud to keep jumping across as I had before, so I need some sort of a boost.
Two logs ahead of me I notice a familiar gray tunic matched with an equally familiar bald head. This guy, I think as I grit my teeth, hopping to the next log. How about a little bit of payback.
Before he realizes what's happening, I leap onto his back, gripping onto the large man's shoulders and planting my feet onto his back. He lets out a yelp of confusion, and a hand reaches behind him to grab at me, but before he reaches me I use him as a stepping stone. The fabric from his tunic provides my boots with enough traction to launch me to the other end of the obstacle. My feet plant firmly on the ground and I'm back ahead of the pack of heathens.
I turn back to the man, and see a gray mass falling into the mud. He glares at me, anger turning his bald head a shade of red as bright as the flags the audience is waving. With a wink and a kiss, I continue on to the third obstacle, letting the man slowly realize that this feminine lady is a step closer to a "man's profession" than he is.
The final obstacle is a glorified set of monkey bars with a drop about twice my height. As a child, this was always my favorite part of the park, so my only objective was to finish quicker than the rest of the candidates. There seemed to be slightly more than fifty people already ahead of me with more and more dropping to the ground.
I would spend hours climbing through these bars when I was younger, but it seems I assumed they would be the same as a child's playground accessory. When I jumped up to grab one of the metal rungs, the heated steel threatened to burn through my skin. No wonder so many candidates have been dropping. The summer sun heated the iron bars to the point where it was almost unbearable to touch. My eyes shifted below me and I caught a glimpse of a man trying to blow out his burns.
Slick with sweat and heated by the sun, I wonder how so many candidates made it as far as they did. A few power on, the calluses from years of training protecting their nerves, but I unfortunately don't have that luxury in this new body. I don't have much time to cross the bars properly, and I don't have the stamina to even try, so I work a new idea instead.
With a grunt of effort, I start swinging my legs, allowing the momentum of my efforts to guide my body. Soon, my boots reached high enough that I could hook my leg around the metal bar, then the other, then pushed my entire body to the top of the structure.
There I stood, looking out at the crowd now cheering even louder than before. Broken away from the other men, all of whom too large to fit between the bars, I could feel a cool breeze brush against my cheek. My vision is still blurry with adrenaline, my head fuzzy with exhaustion. My eyes flick downward and I see my nicely fitted outfit covered in mud and dirt with a button missing from my blouse. Maybe that's why the crowd was cheering so enthusiastically.
My gaze shifts to Queen Rista, watching the events unfold from her seat. She's...I thought it looked like she was laughing at me, but she's just watching me, ardent disdain portrayed in her eyes. Prince Tristen looks bored, unimpressed by any of the candidates. A maid whispers in his ear but he simply dismissed her before continuing to look on in dissatisfaction. The amount of joy I'd get from watching the pretty boy Prince attempt this course is unfathomable, but for now I vow to bite my tongue and simply laugh at his execution next year. The King looks down, regal as ever, but so motionless you'd think he was a statue, and of course Prince Cole is still nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the Crown Prince will appear first at the ball tomorrow, just like his entrance in the beginning of the original novel. He'll dance with Margarite Hastings and be enchanted by her beauty and intelligence like the author intended, only this time I won't stand in the way of the destined, happy couple.
My focus seemed to have drifted when I hear the announcer boom on the system that a contestant had already completed the course. I turn around to see a large man with his hands in the air, the crowd bursting into an overwhelming round of applause, and more candidates sprinting towards the end. And here I was, standing at the top of the third obstacle, having a staring contest with Queen Rista like an idiot, wasting precious time. On top of the bars, I carefully step to each iron rung, making sure not to slip.
I anxiously listen to the announcer count the amount of candidates that have completed their trial. As long as I'm in the top 50. I've been telling myself this the entire day, but now I'm not sure I'll make it. The speakers announce that 23 people have completed the course by the time I jump down from the bars, and I find myself in a dead sprint back to the start. Men on either side of me are sprinting to the end as well, but my small stature allows me to move faster and weave through the candidates in front of me.
37. I recognize the finisher as Willard Petrova, panting from exhaustion and pride.
41. The man next to me is smaller than the others and kept pace with me. I try to shake him, but he and I are in a dead lock for a spot.
45. I notice that a woman managed to complete the course. It would be nice If neither of us were to feel alone in that regard.
49. The man next to me almost pulls ahead when I throw the rest of my strength into a lung for the end.
50.