Chapter 3: A Duel, A Dagger, and a Slightly Inappropriate Bet
Elaine was getting used to waking up in different parts of the story.
At first, it had been dizzying—people un-remembering conversations, horses un-dying, kingdoms un-burning. But now, she had a system:
1. Figure out where (and when) she was.
2. Avoid disasters rated above "mildly catastrophic."
3. Do not stare too long at Lior. (Especially if he's smiling. Or smirking. Or breathing, really.)
Today's location? A dueling ring.
Elaine sighed, hands on her hips as she watched noblemen slash at each other like sugar-rushed toddlers with pointy sticks. This was the pre-war tournament, where young lords strutted their sword skills to impress allies and possible brides. It was supposed to be elegant.
It wasn't.
"Let me guess," Lior's voice slid in smoothly from beside her. "You're here to cheer for your favorite peacock?"
Elaine turned. There he was, leaning against a wooden post, arms crossed, gaze on her—not the fight. He wore his usual uniform and quiet smugness like tailored armor.
"I'm here to watch egos get bruised," she replied.
"Ah. A connoisseur of noble stupidity."
"Exactly."
The courtyard buzzed with whispers and wagers. Noble ladies fanned themselves theatrically. Coins changed hands. Someone was betting a thoroughbred on a shirtless baron who couldn't hold a sword straight.
"Who's your pick?" asked a silk-clad girl beside her.
Elaine pointed at Lior without thinking. "Him."
Dead silence.
Heads turned. Even the duel stopped for a beat.
Lior raised a brow. "Me?"
Elaine shrugged. "You train half of them. You could beat them blindfolded with one hand tied behind your back."
His eyes lit up—dangerously. "That sounds like a challenge."
She snorted. "Are you challenging me?"
"I'm proposing a bet," he said, leaning in just enough to make her heart flutter annoyingly. "If I win a match, you owe me a favor."
Elaine crossed her arms. "You're not even in the tournament."
"Technically," he said, looking smug, "I'm not allowed. Commanders aren't supposed to show up students."
From the crowd, someone called out, "Then make it an exhibition match!"
A cheer followed. The nobles smelled drama—and bets.
Lior's smile widened. "Looks like they want a show."
Elaine narrowed her eyes. "Fine. You win your exhibition match, I owe you. Anything."
"Anything?" he echoed.
"Anything reasonable," she corrected.
"And if I lose?" he asked.
"You have to declare—loudly and publicly—that I am the most beautiful lady in the kingdom."
Lior blinked. Then grinned. "Deal."
Fifteen minutes later, he stepped into the ring against a cocky marquess who clearly thought Lior was bluffing.
He wasn't.
The match lasted less than a minute. Lior disarmed the man with such practiced elegance it looked like a dance—then bowed mockingly to the roaring crowd.
Elaine gaped. "Did you have to be so dramatic?"
"Always," he said, wiping sweat from his brow as he approached. "Now, about that favor…"
She crossed her arms. "What is it?"
He leaned close, voice low and teasing. "I'll let you know. Later."
Her heart did a full somersault.
Oh no.