AYLETH

As she weaved through the crowds, her Knight hurried alongside, hissing at her for caution, but she only shot him a look over her shoulder and tugged him into the barracks as soon as they were past the arena. The dark corridors were empty and echoing, all the soldiers either out guarding, or watching the sports.

"We have to stop this!" she snapped at Falek. "They're going to kill each other!"

"Princess, I know your cousin is young, but he can take a hit. He'll beat the man later and—"

"He will not, and you know it!" she hissed. Falek ran a hand through his sandy brown hair and frowned at her. He had been her Knight Defender since she was in shortskirts. He knew more of her life, more of her secrets than anyone, even her maids, who never accompanied her out of the castle. And certainly never trained her in combat. "He is a bully and a babe who is accustomed to winning through sheer strength and he cannot do it against this opponent."

"So, he will lose. It would probably do him some good."

Ayleth folded her arms. "I do not disagree," she said quietly. "But… I fear what the two of them may do to each other in the process—what it may do to the Peace among our nations."

Falek gaped. "You expect any Zenithran to sustain peace with a Summitran?" he said, his normally gruff voice, strangled.

"I expect men to act like men, and not take petty opportunities to injure each other during a truce!" she snapped. "But perhaps that is why Zenithra needs a Queen in truth," she muttered leaning to look past him and make sure there were no others near enough to hear her. "I need you to call Dugg out—to let a Challenger fight in his stead."

He blinked. "I cannot fight the Lords, Princess," he said his face sad. "It wouldn't be fair for a seasoned soldier—"

"It wasn't you that I intended to challenge him," she said quietly and stared at him until his confusion gave way to wide eyes.

"Absolutely not," he said in the clipped, authoritative tones she'd heard him use with the ranks many times.

"I am an heir. And I am trained," she whispered.

"And I will not put you in a ring with that… that… savage!"

"He is not a savage—he was cheated against! Twice! Let him take a fair fight. I would wager I could beat him."

"Ayleth—" Falek started, "You are very skilled, but he easily outweighs you—twice!"

"And wasn't it you who told me you would pit me against any of your soldiers hand-to-hand?" she said, eyebrows up.

"Not in true combat! I meant to spar!"

"This is little more. I took Lord Vitren down last night."

Falek's eyes narrowed. "What reason had you to grapple with Lord Vitren?" he asked quietly. He treated Ayleth like a sister—and he a very, very strong and capable older brother. She realized her mistake immediately.

"My father is already dealing with that," she said hurriedly. "Don't try to distract me. By every written rule of the Festival, any heir can compete—there is no distinction made. And you train even your men that it isn't a person's size, but their use of weight and balance that wins a fight."

"Ayleth, your father would have me beheaded!"

"Not if we win."

They glared at each other for a long minute, Ayleth's heart racing. She could tell he was considering it, and suddenly she wasn't as sure as she'd been. What if Etan recognized her?

"We will need one of those face coverings. You can introduce the Challenger from among your ranks. And—"

"Good afternoon, Highness," a smooth voice called from the doorway halfway down the hall. Ayleth startled and turned to find Borsche peering around the corner. Her heart thumped painfully—thank the Goddess they had been whispering!

"Good afternoon."

"Do not let us interrupt your conference with your Knight. We are only resting until the rematch," he said tightly, his eyes on Falek.

Ayleth forced herself to raise her chin and drop her hands to her sides. "Is your Lord with you?" she asked, impressed by her own ability to stop her voice from shaking, despite the fire within her that yearned to see—Etan! She'd felt him close, but hadn't imagined he was right there. He stepped out of the room, eyes still red, but at least there were no longer tears streaming down his face.

He swept a deep bow. "Highness," he said smoothly.

Falek stepped so he was slightly between Ayleth and the men, one hand on his hilt.

Ayleth snorted and pushed him aside. "I watched the fight," she said, staring at Etan, pleading with him to understand her double speak. "Not all Zenithrans value a cheaply won battle."

He nodded, his eyes lit with a strange light. "Please feel free to offer your expertise, Highness," he said coldly. "You have a vast amount of experience, I'm sure."

She raised an eyebrow. "You drop your shoulder whenever you launch an attack. You will lose to an opponent skilled in the arts, who knows how to make use of that."

His already cold smile thinned. "When you're adept enough to break a fingernail on fighting leathers, Princess, then perhaps we can speak," he snarled. Was he truly angry, or just playing along?

"She's not wrong," Borsche muttered. Etan jabbed him with an elbow, and Ayleth had to bite her lip not to laugh. Etan's eyes fell to her lips, and although he didn't smile, the fire in his eyes climbed higher.

"I am attending her Highness," Falek cut in, his blue eyes cold as steel. "If you have need of rest, perhaps you could find your way to the meeting room at the back of the barracks."

Etan glared at him, but nodded once, then tipped his head at Borsche to follow him.

Falek turned, hand still on the hilt of his sword, and followed the men with his eyes, ensuring they truly left the hallway and were out of earshot before he turned back to her.

"Very well, Ayleth. We can try your plot—I would gladly see that brute put on his ass by a woman. I would herald the fact from the towers, in fact."

Ayleth smiled. "I need my ladies to help me change. And you need someone to distract my father."

Falek sighed, but nodded. "I pray neither of us regrets this," he muttered and gestured for her to go first. They would return to the box to make their arrangements.

And the fire in Ayleth's belly burned higher—but at least she had a focus for it now.

Break a fingernail?

She was going to break a lot more than that.