Aeris pressed her hands flat against the polished surface of the table, the heat from the roaring fire washing over her palms but doing nothing to calm the storm in her chest. Across from her, Prince Arthur leaned back in his high-backed chair, expression hesitant, brows knit in careful consideration. The study smelled of old parchment and burning wood, a quiet contrast to the chaos she carried inside.
"I’m sorry, but once my father makes a decision, nothing can—" the prince began, voice measured, almost pleading.
"We don’t have time," Aeris cut him off sharply, her tone low but unwavering. She leaned forward, eyes locked on his. "We can’t wait for a tournament, or sit around debating procedure while Ashenhold burns."
Prince Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I understand, Aeris, truly I do, but my father... he isn’t happy about your last visit here. Having a royal guard bested and killed brought shame upon the family. He doesn’t seem to believe the urgency of what’s happening in Ashenhold either. To move troops now... he’ll only authorise it after the royal tournament."
Aeris’ jaw tightened. She had anticipated resistance, but the words still landed like stones in her stomach.
"And Edward? What about him? Is he supposed to stay alone in Ashenhold, facing the Crimson Oath by himself?" Her fingers dug into the armrests, knuckles pale.
Arthur’s gaze flickered to the floor. "Edward is capable, we both know that. If anyone can hold the line, it’s him. But the truth is... if you win the tournament, Father will send half the kingdom’s troops to Ashenhold, including the Lord Commander of the Royal Guards."
The name alone made her chest tighten further. The Lord Commander was not only one of the most powerful fighters in the kingdom—he was also a tactician capable of dismantling entire battalions with precision. If he joined them, the Crimson Oath wouldn’t stand a chance. But the timeline... the tournament was a week away. A twelve-round gauntlet of combat. Even if she won, it could be ten days before troops actually moved. Could Edward survive that long? Could she win against dozens of highly skilled fighters in such a short time?
Seraphine’s hand brushed against hers across the table, eyes wide, imploring. Aeris could feel the weight of the responsibility pressed onto her shoulders. She drew a slow, controlled breath, letting the firelight dance across her sharp features before speaking.
"Fine," she said finally, voice low but steady, threaded with determination. "I’ll win your tournament. And you... will keep your word."
Arthur chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "Little tournament? Yes, I will make sure my father keeps his word."
Aeris arched a brow but held her gaze firm. "If you win," he continued, "Father will honour the promise. But if you lose... Ashenhold will be left to the mercy of the Crimson Oath."
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded without hesitation. There was no other option. Every day Edward spent alone in Ashenhold was a gamble. Every passing hour brought more risk.
"Then it’s settled," she said. "I will win."
The following seven days passed like a torment.
The capital buzzed around her with preparation, servants, weapons, and trainers keeping her schedule tight, but no matter how busy she remained, her thoughts were always on Ashenhold, on Edward, and on the soldiers he had to hold back without reinforcements. Every night she lay awake, listening to the distant echo of drums from the royal barracks, imagining the beat as the march of time against him.
Finally, the day arrived.
Aeris stood in the narrow tunnel leading to the arena, her armour polished to a muted gleam, her rapier secure in her hand. The metallic scent of steel mixed with the smell of dust and sweat. Beyond the tunnel, the metal gate loomed, massive and ominous. She took a measured breath, allowing her mind to settle into the rhythm of combat, to focus on what needed to be done.
The gate lifted with a low groan, and she stepped forward into the colossal structure.
Rows of spectators roared as she entered, the sound washing over her in waves. She didn’t flinch. Her gaze swept the arena, first landing on the podium where the King and Prince Arthur sat, observing.
Then, lower, she saw her opponent.
A middle-aged man, broad-shouldered and armed with a double-edged sword nearly as tall as she was, stood waiting. His expression was one of casual confidence, his lips curling in a mocking smirk.
"Huh, what’s this? A girl?" he laughed, as if victory was already assured.
A horn blared sharply across the arena, and Aeris sprang into motion.
Her body moved before her mind could even register the threat, wind catching her as she lunged forward. The man raised his sword, but she was already upon him, rapier cutting across his abdomen with pinpoint precision. He gritted his teeth and swung wide, trying to counter, but Aeris’ feet moved too fast, her pivot seamless. She thrust again, her needle-like weapon, tearing through the opening she had made.
He collapsed to his knees, the world narrowing to the glint of her blade, the roar of the crowd fading to a low hum. Aeris took measured steps closer, eyes glancing toward the King and Arthur once more.
Then, in one fluid motion, she finished the man.
The cheering rose, deafening, as the victor stood alone in the center of the arena. Servants began to clean the blood and debris, but Aeris’ eyes remained focused, her gaze somewhat distant. She had won the first round, but every cheer, every clap, was a reminder of the stakes she carried.
She closed her eyes briefly, feeling the adrenaline surge and fade, then opened them to the horizon. "Just wait, Edward," she murmured under her breath. "I will win this tournament, and I will bring help."
There was no time to rest, as her next opponent already entered the colosseum, his large axe resting on his shoulder, ready to be unleashed.