The courtyard had been transformed overnight into an arena of roaring anticipation. White banners embroidered with the royal crest fluttered in the wind, and velvet-covered stands brimmed with nobles eager for entertainment. The scent of polished leather, fresh hay, and anticipation filled the air. The Pastime Competition had officially begun, and today—of all things—was the jousting tournament.
I could hardly sit still. Fiora, meticulous as ever, fussed over the fastenings of my fitted armor, adjusting the clasps around my shoulders and smoothing the navy and gold fabric that draped over my tunic. The armor wasn't too heavy, but it certainly wasn't comfortable. I shifted awkwardly in the saddle, trying not to let the tension show.
"You look like a royal knight yourself," she said, stepping back to admire the final look.
"You mean a royal fraud," I muttered under my breath, glancing around at the other ladies.
Rebecca approached, all leather boots and clipped confidence. "Your horse has been fed, groomed, and walked. He's ready. He was bred for balance and speed, so if you fall, it won't be because of him."
"Encouraging," I said with a weak smile.
Lady Amara sat gracefully atop her stallion, her armor almost ornamental. Silver etchings danced along the surface of her breastplate, and the ribbons tied to her horse's reins sparkled in the morning sun. Her poise was terrifying. If she was nervous, she didn't show it.
Nearby were the other three: Lady Katarina, Lady Ivana, and Lady Farah—a trio I had grown used to dodging in corridors and salons. They had their usual faces on: smug, powdered, and hungry for humiliation. My humiliation.
I kept my eyes ahead.
The first round began with the blaring of trumpets and the voice of the emcee—a tall, flamboyantly dressed man in teal brocade and breeches that shimmered in the sunlight. He announced the order of matches with a flourish, his voice as rich as wine.
"First up: Lady Diana Swan versus Lady Ivana of House Greymoor!"
Cheers erupted. I took a breath. My heart hammered against my ribs.
Ivana smirked from across the arena. Her helmet was adorned with a feather so tall I feared it might lift her off the horse. She looked confident, and why wouldn't she be? I was still new to all of this, and she was a seasoned noble.
We rode to our marks. I lowered my lance, adjusting my grip just as Rebecca had taught me. The whistle blew. The horses charged.
Ivana struck first, but her lance only scraped against my shield. The blow jarred me, but I held on. I leaned, adjusted, focused.
Second pass—I angled low and hit her squarely in the shoulder. She reeled, unbalanced, but stayed on.
Third pass—I saw her tilt her lance too early. I ducked slightly and drove forward with all my strength. My lance struck her breastplate, and she flew backward, landing with a muffled thud in the dirt.
A pause.
Then the crowd erupted into cheers.
I couldn't believe it. I had won.
Ivana climbed out of the mud, her face redder than her family crest, and stormed off without a word.
The next match was with Lady Katarina. She never stopped talking, even while we waited at the starting line.
"Still wearing borrowed armor, Swan? Is that peasant polish I smell?"
I said nothing. I knew better than to let her bait me.
The whistle blew.
She charged forward, shouting another insult. I angled my lance but missed. She barely struck my shield—but her distraction had done her more harm than good. She swerved off balance and toppled from her horse mid-taunt, landing face-first in a pool of mud.
I stifled a laugh. The crowd didn't.
Katarina screamed. The mud dripping from her face and hair did nothing for her composure. She ran off shrieking, followed by Ivana and Farah.
That left only one match. The final round: me versus Lady Amara.
The tension in the air became thicker, a buzz of curiosity and excitement. Everyone leaned forward in their seats.
Suddenly, the trumpets blared again—louder this time. A hush fell over the arena.
"His Majesty, King Henry of Zenon, graces us with his presence!"
My eyes shot to the entrance. There he was, clad in an embroidered cloak of royal blue, golden trim catching the sunlight. He walked slowly but with command, flanked by his advisors. Behind him, servants rushed to set up a portable throne.
Amara, ever poised, bowed deeply even in her armor. I scrambled to mimic her and curtsied with as much grace as I could muster atop a horse. The king smiled faintly and sat, folding his hands in his lap.
Great. No pressure.
The emcee's voice rang out again: "Final match! Lady Diana Swan versus Lady Amara De Fiore!"
The field cleared. The air stilled.
We readied ourselves.
First pass—Amara was fast. Her lance missed my chest by inches, but mine didn't strike at all. She turned, eyes sharp.
Second pass—she struck my shoulder. It hurt, but I held on, tightening my grip. She was talented. Composed. Every move she made was calculated.
Third pass—I faked a move to the left and then leaned right. She aimed straight for my shoulder again, but my sudden tilt threw her off. I angled low and swept across with a side-leaning strike, my lance hitting her in the side.
The blow unbalanced her.
Her horse staggered. She teetered. And then, she fell—a tumble of silver and blue hitting the dirt with a loud thud.
The crowd gasped. Then—
Applause.
The emcee raised his hand and bellowed, "Victory goes to Lady Diana Swan!"
It took a second to register. I… I had won.
I sat frozen in my saddle, barely breathing. Rebecca's cheers were the loudest, echoing across the arena.
"You did it!" she called. "You actually did it!"
Amara rose to her feet, graceful even in defeat. She dusted herself off, gave me a curt nod, and left the field.
The king stood slowly, clapping. His expression was amused, if not intrigued.
As I dismounted, Fiora rushed toward me with a goblet of water and a beaming smile.
"Miss, you caught the attention of every noble in the stands," she said, dabbing at the sweat on my brow.
I looked up toward the royal platform. King Henry was still watching me.
Well.
Maybe I was more than a fraud after all.
For today, I was a champion.