I walked with the grace of a queen, my shadow my only equal. Servants, scholars, and guards parted before me like a tide. Behind me, the heavy clatter of steel-clad footsteps echoed in perfect rhythm—my royal escort.
As we neared the dining hall, I didn't need to lift a hand. The royal guards jogged ahead, pushing the grand doors open without hesitation. They announced my arrival in clear, practiced voices.
Inside, I scanned the room. My father was already seated at the head of the long table, his posture regal and unmoved. The others stood behind their chairs, waiting. My eyes drifted across their faces.
My younger brother, still wet with youth, barely masked his nervous energy. My mother stood across from him—her pale skin even paler under the hall's cold light, silver hair swept back into a perfect knot. Noble Thorne and Director Dutchmund stood near the king, but it was Thorne who held the place of favor—flanking my father's left while my mother stood at his right.
I approached my chair and paused behind it. My smile came easily for once—genuine, radiant.
I felt exuberant.
Let them have their ceremony, their tired traditions. I was ready to be done with this farce and move on to the main event.
"It's good that you joined us before noon, daughter. Pray tell, what had you so distracted that my summons went unnoticed?"
My father's eyes locked with mine. He didn't raise his voice, but I could hear the irritation laced between the words. I had pressed a button by not hurrying to his breakfast call.
"I do apologize, Father… I seem to be suffering from a bit of mind fog this morning. I meant no offense."
I lowered my gaze, wearing a look of practiced dejection.
"That's no—" he began, but my mother's hand gently reached for his.
"Edmund, please… not now."
She hadn't spoken loudly, but her words brought him to silence. He exhaled slowly, then waved a hand in quiet concession.
"Fine. Fine."
With a simple gesture, he signaled for everyone to be seated. Chairs slid quietly across the stone floor as we each took our place, waiting for him to speak again.
"Now, Thorne," my father said, turning toward the noble at his side. "I kept it a secret, but I have a feeling you already know. I brought some extras for the championship ritual today. Considering what we expect—and hope—from Edric, I think this will be more than fitting."
Thorne paused, eyes thoughtful.
"My king," he said carefully, "while I don't believe it's wrong to provide an added challenge, I fear my arena may not be suited for whatever required a cage of that scale. I worry it could endanger the citizenry."
A valid concern. The arena's walls had never been built to contain more than beasts like the manticore. Something greater would test its limits.
"That's why I decided to bring in the royal contractors," my father said with a satisfied nod. "They should be able to maintain a barrier long enough to contain it, should the need arise."
He seemed pleased with his solution. Thorne, on the other hand, looked far less convinced—but he didn't voice his doubts. He simply nodded, reserved as always.
"Understood, my king."
The conversation fell away as we turned to the meal set before us. A dull spread of roasted pork with light seasoning, root vegetables, and a warm amber sauce. Humble fare. I ate it without complaint, though inwardly, I found it uninspired.
When the meal ended, we made our way to the viewing box above the arena. The royal box overlooked the entire floor, with high-backed seats arranged in a crescent. I took my place between my brother and my mother. The two nobles—Thorne and Dutchmund—sat beside my father, already engaged in hushed discussion.
They spoke of contingencies, of how the aftermath of the fight would shape the next stage. I tried to listen, but the farther they got without acknowledging me, the more my irritation grew.
Edric was mine.
Even my father had said so—he had given him to me. That had been the agreement. Just because I hadn't acted on it yet didn't mean I'd forfeited anything. My silence had been a choice. My restraint, a form of control.
And to see them plan around me—without me—irked me deeply.
Sitting down in my chair, I looked down at the arena and watched as they marched out close to sixty men and women, all dressed in rags and looking utterly haggard. Guards followed behind them in formation, and once the group reached the center of the arena, their bindings were removed.
What surprised me was that none of them made a move to attack the guards. Likely, they didn't have the strength to try. Whatever energy they once had was long gone—they looked hollow, like people who'd already surrendered to whatever fate waited for them.
The announcer's voice boomed across the arena, cutting through the murmuring crowd like a blade.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and our indomitable lords! I welcome you to our city's Championship Festival!"
The crowd quieted—just slightly—as the announcer continued.
"Today is a very special day. Our wise king has decided to grace us with a few surprises just for you! So please, show your appreciation for his magnanimous spirit!"
The arena erupted into cheers. The crowd surged with joy and hunger for blood, their voices thundering against the stone. Meanwhile, the prisoners seemed to shrink into themselves, smaller with every cheer.
Then my father stood, walking slowly to the edge of the balcony. The sight of him was enough to silence the masses again. The announcer's voice returned, now louder, almost reverent.
"And now—for our guest of honor, and the focus of today's event… please show your support for the Champion Apparent—Edric!"
A heavy door at the base of the arena creaked open. I leaned forward instinctively, needing a better view—and what I saw did not disappoint.
A figure clad in steel emerged.
His shoulders were squared, spine straight, chest pulled back in a stance that exuded confidence and power. Or at least… that's how it looked to me.
His greatsword rested against his shoulder as he walked, visor down, face obscured. But I was certain of one thing:
He knew exactly how cool he looked.