Page 50 of Mated to the Enemy
“Two strikes,” the Queen announced formally, her words drawing approval from the hundreds in attendance.
The Weapons Trial of the nomination was a fight until someone yielded, three blood-strikes, or death, though that was always to be avoided. With one lucky stroke, Kasperi had opened both Klaue’s arm and his back. Two strikes, like the Queen had said.
Blood flowed freely down the bare skin of his back, pooling against the band of his shorts. Klaue knew the wound was deep. The adrenaline of the fight was helping him ignore it, but he was going to be stiff and healing from that for some time if he didn’t want to risk it opening up on him again.
There was no use worrying about that now, though. If he didn’t win this fight, there wouldn’t be another one. Somehow, Klaue had to dig himself out of the hole he’d made.
First step is to acknowledge that Kasperi didn’t get lucky. You got distracted, and he made you pay for it. This is your fault. Put Jessica from your mind. She will be there once this is over, you know that. Just win the fight. Do that, and you’re one win and a formal mating away from being named as Champion of High House Ursa. Nobody will question your decision to defend your mate then!
Anyone could enter the Trial of Champions, if they had enough supporters to secure the nomination for a particular fight, or the support of the Queen, as did Klaue. However, as with all Title Holder positions within House Ursa, one must be mated to assume it.
Klaue had initially been worried about the fact he’d not had a mate when the Queen had used her nomination on him. Now he was worried he wouldn’t succeed in the fights, which were supposed to be his specialty.
Of course, you might lose both if you aren’t careful. You don’t have either yet, so don’t get cocky.
The battle resumed, and Klaue took the words to heart. He’d screwed up, and let his mate distract him. No more. He swept in with a vicious series, then turned aside all of Kasperi’s attacks in return. They went back and forth. Both combatants wore nothing but shorts and soft-soled shoes. With the press of bodies in the room and the exertion of their duel, both of them were quickly soaked in sweat.
The salty liquid stung his wounds, but Klaue shoved such temporary irritations to the side, focusing on nothing more than winning. He knew what he needed to do now, and he let it go into full effect bit by bit. His left arm moved slower, just a hair, every time he needed to grip the sword to handle a strike. Always there in time, but only just.
He also started turning slower to his left, and trying to keep the fight to his right. Nothing overt, but enough that he was confident Kasperi would think his wound was slowing him down. For over ten minutes they battled, with Klaue doing nothing but setting himself up for what he hoped would be the moment that he would even, if not win, the battle.
Kasperi began to take advantage of the weakness, turning to his left more often, and driving at him with continual two-handed strikes that forced Klaue to keep moving his arm to grip the handle tightly to defend.
Retreating constantly in a circle around the massive Throne Room, Klaue kept up the illusion as best he could. The blood had run down his pant leg and into his shoe by now, and the thick bloody footprints and scattered pools of blood marked his path as they fought, the battle going on near twenty-five minutes now.
Both shifters were covered in sweat, and in Klaue’s case, blood, and beginning to tire. The crowd was in a frenzy, sensing the end was near as Klaue came closer and closer to letting a strike land every time.
Then it happened. Kasperi came at him with a slash, the tip of his sword way out to Klaue’s right. He would be forced to parry, and Kasperi would step to Klaue’s left and push in, relying on Klaue’s inability to go to his left to end the fight with a gash to his stomach.
Except, Klaue was ready. He went out wide to his left faster than he had since he’d taken the wound, avoiding the strike and nicking his sword along the back of Kasperi’s hand, across his ribs and—with a pullback—across the outside of his right leg. Three strikes to end the fight.
Except somehow, Kasperi had anticipated it.
Klaue watched in horror as the other swordsman stepped back, pulling his right side out of harm’s way and flicking out the tip of his own blade at Klaue’s completely unprotected body.
It was over. He’d lost.
The blow never landed. Kasperi’s eyes went wide and he started to flail. Klaue managed to parry the suddenly weak strike as his foe lost his balance, slipping in a pool of blood.
Striking quickly, he opened lines on both Kasperi’s legs, batted aside a feeble defense and made his final strike from chest to stomach. One. Two. Three. Just like that, it was over. Klaue stepped back, and a single droplet of blood ran down his blade, falling from the tip to the floor as he held the sword out wide.
Silence ran through the Throne Room. Everything had happened almost too fast for the crowd to process. It had gone from Kasperi winning, to Klaue revealing his deception, to Kasperi showing he’d been setting a trap of his own, to a freak stroke of luck finally ending the fight.
It all resulted in the audience losing their minds. Bear shifters shouted and hollered their approval or denial, some ecstatic, others in complete disbelief. It didn’t matter to Klaue. He’d won.
Looking over at Jessica, he smiled and winked. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, but he could see the relief in her eyes. Relief that he was okay. Mostly. There was a lot of blood spattered about the Throne Room, almost all of it his.
Setting his sword aside, he reached down and hauled Kasperi to his feet before holding the other man’s hand high. Everyone knew Klaue should have lost that fight, and he wanted them to be aware he wasn’t an idiot. Kasperi was the best swordsman he’d ever come across.
The Queen came down from her seat, formally proclaiming Klaue the winner. Though he had emerged victorious, it left a sour taste in his mouth. Plenty of his detractors would be whispering about the way it had played out, saying he only won because of luck. This wouldn’t leave them satisfied.
Klaue knew he would have to win the next fight in convincing fashion, or else risk calls for a re-trial. His path to becoming Champion had grown shorter, but far more difficult, all in the space of about three seconds at the end of this fight.
But he had Jessica, and that made it all worthwhile. He would endure just about anything if it meant she looked at him like she was doing right now.
