The Princess Knight Brawl

Dora was embarrassed by having to be a glorified escort, helping lead the Lord-Prince Albert Vallois and his son to the family’s private viewing area.

The area was an open wooden platform firmly at the halfway point of the jousting field, with the most luxurious chairs hands could make generously laid out to get the best possible view. Denial spells kept the riff-raff from joining them or from overpowering their conversations with their shouting. One of her family’s personal chefs was parked in the corner, grilling an assortment of meats and small snacks for his patrons.

All for the luxury experience as they watched the biggest event of the day: the Princess Knight Brawl.

“You grow more lovely every year,” Vallois told her.

Dora nodded politely. “Thank you, sir.”

“May I be bold?”

You’re going to be anyway. One of Dora’s ear’s flicked in annoyance. “You may.”

“I know your sworn oath with your parents,” he said in hushed tones. “But should you wish for an alternative if this one goes poorly… your father and I were bosom buddies when we fought the Emperor. I would not think he would object if you were to begin a courtship with my son.”

Vallois gestured to his son Shaunce, who had already taken a seat next to where Dora would. He was a decent looking man. The blue hair, the stern eyebrows. It was nothing personal about Shaunce but the new offer made a shiver run down Dora’s spine. She wasn’t going to get away with this for much longer – and then the Black Rose would live in a gilded cage.

Dora retrieved a bag of popcorn and took her seat as a man stepped into the jousting field to announce the start of proceedings.

Tapping a wand to his throat, his magically enhanced voice carried across the field and over the din of the audience. “Welcome, one and all, to the Princess Knight Brawl! This fine day, we have twenty-one knights fighting for the honor of their sworn maidens! Here they come into the arena, first it’s Sir Gregorious of the Azure Lily!”

The audience applauded as a red-haired man with a blue flower in his hair and wearing a matching set of armor jogged onto the field, hefting a broadsword into the air with a cheer.

One by one the knights were introduced and the rest of the viewing party took their seat. But it was when Dora’s chosen champion was announced that she saw something.

“Lavender of the Black Rose!”

There was Lavender walking onto the field with her own sword, wearing a set of purple armor like the others that the other combatants. Dora’s black rose was set in Lavender’s hair like all the others as well. But she was looking around like something was wrong.

And she wasn’t the only one. Lord-Prince Vallois was staring at her chosen champion like something was on the tip of his tongue. Why would he be interested in her? It wasn’t like he knew who she was.

----

Lavender could barely get to her position on the jousting field. The roar of the crowd, the hundreds or thousands of people in the stands staring at her, it was all too much. She wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball, cover her ears, and try to drown out the din of the crowd.

Everything felt off. Her armor had been summoned into existence with a number of yearning spells. It felt a little too small against the gambeson she was wearing beneath. Everyone was looking at her. Everyone was staring at her.

That was all before someone in white armor bumped into her on the left. “You again?” a familiar voice complained. “Gods, how do you keep finding yourself in my life?”

Lavender looked at this man and was shocked. She’d recognize that surly grey-haired elf anywhere. Their experience together during Lavender’s first quest with the Adventurers’ Guild would be difficult to forget. “Renthorn?”

Renthorn readjusted the fake hand on his right arm and flicked the ‘pointer’ finger on it. “I guess you decided to move up in the world. Which noblewoman did you trick into falling in love with you?”

…Love?

“Doesn’t matter. You’re not getting in the way of my retirement plan,” said Renthorn.

Lavender was almost shaking with worry when the announcer who’d been speaking to the audience turned to address the assembled knights. “Remember the rules, everyone. No spells with lethal intent. If you leave the arena, you are disqualified. The last knight standing wins the prize pot and the hand of their chosen maiden!”

The hand of their chosen maiden?!

She didn’t hear the announcer tell them that proceedings had started. Lavender got the news when a metal projection spell threw a solid cube into her midsection. Then a giant boot kicked at her side, sending her rolling across the entire field and into the side of the arena.

Lavender got back to her hands and knees before diving back into the grass to dodge a spear of pure light embedded in the wall behind her. The crowd’s shouting was ringing in her ear without end. In the center of the field she could see a dozen knights all clashing in a chaotic cluster of magic. The field itself had been turned to molasses with yearning, with at least three knights standing on air with projection while two more were flittering around in the wind with desire.

It’s too much. The noise, the crowd! How was she supposed to concentrate?! She didn’t sign up to get married!

Lavender gripped her sword and worked her way back to her feet.

“Come on, sis!”

The words are a cool balm on a hot day. Lavender could see the source at the very top of the stands. Hazel was up there waving a makeshift flag with a black rose on it and waving it around while a shirtless Robert had somehow found a bunch of black and purple dyes and rubbed them across his barely clothed body.

Her eyes locked onto Balerifon’s, which bore back into her own. And she could hear the old man’s voice in her mind through the crowd without him moving his lips.

Lock in, whelp.

The spear of light stuck in the wall burst back out and into the hand of a knight in green armor who had decided to try and pick off the person lingering on the perimeter. Lavender brought her sword up to bat away the knight’s thrust and then brought the blade down on its shaft. Her strike broke the weapon in half and sapped it of its magic power.

The knight in green armor barely had time to be shocked at his weapon’s breaking before Lavender cast an air desire spell, blowing a gale-force wind at him with the slash of her sword and sending him flying towards the stands. His body crashed into a blue denial barrier separating the audience from the field, distending slightly from his impact before shattering open to let him pass through.

That must have been what the announcer meant by ‘leave the arena’.

She was dimly aware of the audience losing their minds over the elimination. But she had already started moving back towards what was left of the chaos in the center of the field. The molasses had frozen over into a slurry of ice and mud and only a half dozen knights remained.

Six quickly dwindled to one. An ice denial spell created a dome of ice around one of the knights before exploding outward, sending the others flying helplessly into defeat.

The lone knight at the center was Renthorn, whose arm quickly moved to block a jumping slash Lavender had launched at him.

“Alright Miss High and Mighty,” he taunted. “Teach me something.”