Page 30 of The Kingdom of Flames

Finally, the oldest woman bound her hands in linen and leather while Celestine stared at the wall.

“It is nearly time,” the older woman said.

“Thank you.”

The older woman shrugged.

“How is victory proven? The hand sign?” Celestine asked.

“Victory shows itself and needs no confirmation.” The young woman said from the chest where she put linen away.

“If I lose?” Celestine asked.

The old woman shrugged. “Dritha will have the Key to Encarmine’s chamber this evening. She will take your boon of Taste. Though it will likely end her life, the fool. Such is the seeker of glory instead of sense.”

Celestine shook her head as her hands were bound tightly. “Women do not fight thus, in my land.”

The older woman snorted. “Every woman in every world defends her bed and groom. Those who seek to take, we stop. Whores with lusty eyes and filthy promises are the siege of all married women.”

“I’m not married.”

“You lose this bout, that may remain a truth.” The old woman tugged on the straps at her hands and nodded, standing.

“It is time.”

Celestine stood like a prized knight going to joust for a lady’s favor. The young woman in her attendant circle touched Celestine’s shoulder. “Don’t hold back. Fight for what is yours.”

Butterflies the size of piglets tumbled in her stomach. They walked from the readying room to the great hall. Every seat and bench was filled with the entirety of Rosendal. Even the walls held people three deep. These were not a barbaric people, but they were raucous, and the wine flowed as the martial entertainment continued.

Two men were being led away to tend to their wounds. Encarmine sat upon a throne and raised his hand for silence. The middle of the hall parted, and Dritha waited in leathers and linen before the hall.

“Now comes the challenge, and its answer,” Encarmine’s words rang out. Celestine looked upon him, his circlet on his brow, his eyes a red glow from this throne.

That will be my prize, that man. No other will taste him.

Dritha stepped in front of Celestine as the crowd parted. Her mouth curled into a churlish sneer, “That beautiful face of his will be my throne this night. I’ll have his key, girl, while you sleep with the hounds, and I warm your bed.”

The air was smelled of smoking braziers that hung from the ceiling in thick chains. Celestine had left her home behind, her entire world, braved death and dismemberment and now at the meekest sign of solace—this one thought to take her place? To deny her that which was hers?

“No hand or thigh sits upon my rightful throne,” Celestine spat the words. “None.”

Dritha grinned. Celestine looked up at Encarmine, his stoic face staring at her, willing her.

That which is won must be defended.

Encarmine leaned forward and started the bout with a clap of his hands like a hammer on an anvil.

“Begin!”

No weapons were brought. Dritha circled her, falling into a crouch.

It's like I am a champion upon the Court at Calendar, and I’ll win my prize or die here.

Dritha flew at her, and Celestine flinched to take the blow. She had never been the fairest or the skinniest. She had heft. But she was no weakling daughter of a high landed lord. She had worked plow and labor her entire life among her people. The thought of Dritha’s nude form writhing with her Lord was fuel enough.

The tackle was ferocious. Dritha slammed into her.

Celestine gripped her under her shoulders, straining, fighting their weight against one another. Their heads rose, and Celestine gritted her teeth when Dritha slammed her forehead into her face, filling her eyes with stars.

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