Page 21 of To Claim a King

The lightheartedness didn’t last. Xandrie had never seen such violence. Sure, there were battles in the Northern Var and she’d been witness to amputations, lethal gashes, and beheadings, but the sheer, bloody rage these women brought to the Arena was a sight to behold. Some bouts lasted many long, heart-clenching minutes, but most were over in a couple of swipes of a well-trained sword.

It was obvious that the Claiming was skewed in favor of the nobility, as Demelza had told her. It was they who had the superior weapons, the dedicated trainers, and the time to hone their craft to a point. The women of the lower class limped, crawled, and hobbled out of the ring, their dreams of Queenship in tatters.

Demelza took her turn in the ring. From the moment she raised her flamberge, she comported herself with skill and dignity. The flame-sword was known for its wicked reverberations, but Demelza wielded it as though there weren’t a thousand jolts of reverb traveling up through the hilt and into her shoulders. She was an artist. Neither did her friend go for the easy victory; she fought with passion and precision, but invited her opponents to strut their stuff.

Demelza had explained her strategy to Xandrie, and she was visibly sticking to it. She was going to fight to send a signal that she was not to be fucked with, but she saw no need to humiliate anyone who’d had the guts to appear before the highest in the land and fight. Their families were in the stands; these women would have to go home and tell tales of battling for the King’s hand. She wanted them to do so with pride. No one who fought her left the ring demoralized or with more than a scratch. She danced with them until they relented, then a bowed as they exited. No surprise, then, that she was the crowd’s favorite.

Demelza had won every bout she’d fought and come out top of her ranking when she was paired against the statuesque blonde Xandrie recognized; the one who’d led that Councilman away from her earlier. The crier identified her as Saskia Xaxan.

Saskia was clearly of noble birth; she held herself in a way that made that clear, and she wore shining armor that made Xandrie smile.

Honestly, these things that all these women, her friend included, were adorned in couldhardlypass as armor, come to think of it. It was made of metal, sure, but it seemed crafted to flatter their figure rather than to stop a blade from piercing their skin. Saskia’s was worse; most of her breasts and stomach were exposed.

Xandrie wondered if it was she that the King had meant, when he’d said he wanted to put money onthe pretty blonde,and right then, she wanted the woman to lose.Badly.

Not that it would make a difference - to win the first round, they simply had to win one single fight. She’d bet anything that the woman had won her fair share.

“Saskia,” Demelza greeted, bobbing her head. “You look well.”

They knew each other, then. The other woman sent a stiff nod her way in response, without saying a word. There was some history there.

The crowd must have felt the tension, too, for a hush fell upon them and did not lift when the women each selected their weapon for the bout. Demelza took up her beloved helmet-breaker, with its sharp, dirk-like point while Saskia went for the more predictable, yet just as efficient, longsword. Both women clearly meant business. They began in a blur of silver, so fast it was almost impossible to see who had the upper hand or whether either of them was injured.

For the first time that day, the bout went long. Demelza and Saskia lunged and pricked, dodged and parried, swung and slashed and swiped at each other with heaving grunts and cries. The stands were awash with onlookers screaming for Demelza.

Out of the corner of her eye, Xandrie saw a flower – a gorgeous orange lily – soar over their heads and into the ring below. It was meant as a tribute, but Demelza turned her head, no doubt checking to make sure no one else had entered the fight.

As Demelza turned, Saskia charged, her sword ripping through Demelza’s sleeve and slicing her arm.

Red. Demelza was bleeding - and not just a little.Fuck.

The crowd was on its feet, screaming for justice.

Xandrie didn’t question her actions; first, she turned to Claws and told him, “stay,” then she leaped to her feet, took three steps, and launched herself over the barrier and into the ring, then threw herself in front of her friend, shielding her from further assault.

Demelza would do the honorable thing. She would acquiesce, if she’d lost. But no one should be permitted to take her down with villainy.

The Replacement

Not a second afterSaskia skewered Demelza’s arm, Rhey was on his feet and half way out of the royal enclosure. Bad enough that there had been blood spilled in his name, but his friend being slashed when her back was turned was more than he could bear.

Nathos held him in check, his fist tight around Rhey’s arm. No words were necessary: it wouldn’t do for him to show favoritism today, even though Demelza was easily the darling of the hour. Royal lines had been toppled with less provocation.

The crowd gasped and, looking back at the ring, Rhey saw why. Xandrie. Of course, Xandrie. He wasn’t even surprised. She’d vaulted from the stands, jumping down without fear, and when the angry, full-fledged dragon warrior advanced to finish her fight, she stood between the woman and her prey.

A white tiger roared in the stands, pawing at the lip of the ring, threatening to join in. Xandrie held up her hand and spoke a word Rhey couldn’t catch. Her animal sat, his eyes on his mistress, but made no further move to defend her.

Nathos was at Rhey’s side, begging the King to remain in the royal box. The problem was a technical one, he explained. “Had play been halted or not? It’s that simple.”

The Code of Combat Conduct dictated that no person be permitted to strike a blow if the bout was halted.

Saskia was screaming foul. Her claim was that there’d been no signal, no sign from the marshal, that there was a break in the proceedings. “I struck in good faith,” she bellowed.

Unfortunately, she was right, but Demelzahadbeen distracted by an outsider, which was also outlawed.

The Elders huddled around Rhey, urging him to resume play, but Demelza was injured, badly – her arm hung limp at her side and ran red – and he longed to end the whole, damned mess. He knew she’d kill him if he interfered with her ability to determine her own fate, though. Then again, he couldn’t let her continue with a slashed arm.

His heart stopped for a beat, as it often did when his eyes fell on the dauntless human in the pit, but it wasn’t lust that fired burned inside him now. It was hope. Struck by an idea - a stupid idea he couldn’t quite formulate - Rhey whispered in Nathos’ ear. His Councilor beckoned a squire and relayed the order.

---