The Great War

by Pidgelikethebird, PrettyGoodOdds

Summary:

Baz would like nothing more than to walk away from a fight over a crown he doesn't want, but a certain knight in shining armor has him captivated and stuck in a house that doesn't understand him.
Simon never thought he'd live this long, let alone become a top knight in the King's regime.

Notes:

It's time! Carry On Big Bang 2025!
I hope you enjoy my submission this year.
As usual, I got paired with an unbelievable artist who's pieces blew me away.
Enjoy!

Chapter 1: My Knuckles Were Bruised Like Violets

SIMON

“Why is he even here?!” I yell down the torchlit corridor while Penelope silently mends the castle wall in my wake.

This isn’t the first time this particular stone wall has felt my fury. Penelope has had to mend it (and my fist) more times than I can count. 

“He has every right to be here, Simon,” she says, huffing, as I strike another patch of wall, chipped rock and dust billowing up around me.

Penelope and I have been thick as thieves for years. Ever since King Mage brought me back from a certain death— he found me in a ditch while he and his men were out hunting stags. I don’t remember how I got there, just that, instead of throwing me in a cell for trespassing, King Mage brought me back to his castle and had a young Penelope, barely out of her apprenticeship,  heal me. 

She was the first face I saw when I came out of my sickly haze. She eyed me cautiously for only a few moments before introducing herself as the castle sorcerer (which she was not yet) and launching into enough questions to fill several pieces of parchment paper. 

We’ve been mostly inseparable since then. Since I got here, she’s been the only person that cared enough about me to get to know me. Most people avoid me for fear that if they do something the King will punish them for it. Which is a pretty good fear to have since he did a fair amount of whippings to any person that even looked at me funny when he brought me in.

“Why him? Why couldn’t they send another representative?!” I ask, this time kicking the wall and watching the stone mend itself before it even hits the ground.

“Maybe because they know it riles you up like this?” she says before sighing and explaining, “When the King has to send you out of the room because of your distracting growls in his direction, it leaves the King vulnerable and they know that. You playright into their hands.”

“The war is inevitable at this point, Lord Grimm could have at least shown his face today.” I say, getting angry all over again. 

“Too risky. You know that could have ended in him being hauled off and executed before the other side could even react.”

I punch the wall a final time, Penelope gasping at the dent I leave,  before I stalk down the dark corridor towards my room.

As I walk, I think about how I never wanted to be a part of this, part of a war that’s been brewing since long before the King took me in. He told me all about it while I was healing. About how some of the old families in the area had been slowly forming an alliance and an army with some of the king’s best men. How his kingdom was torn in two and he’d had to execute some of his closest friends for being part of the scheme. But most importantly, how he’d dreamt about me the night before, a lost and scared boy who was sent to him to win this war.

Since I was healed, thanks to time and Penelope's many healing spells, the King has had me training with his best knights. It was months before I could properly hold a sword, let alone fight with one. I was scrawny for my age, not yet grown into my skin or potential. The others were leagues above me in skill and pedigree, and they let me know it at every opportunity. 

But being fed on a regular basis and not having to worry about where I’d lay my head did wonders for my body. I grew taller and stronger. It wasn’t too long before I was the biggest and best with a sword on castle grounds and leading my own men. 

But as the war edges closer, taking more and more of what I hold dear, I worry I was never the boy from the King’s dream and my efforts to help won’t be enough. That somewhere out there is a man with the skills and knowledge to be what the King needs. Some other lost and hopeless boy who never got the chance to fulfill his prophecy.

At the door of my room, I swear I smell the whisper of fresh cut wood. But before I can give it too much thought, I see Penelope rounding the corner in pursuit. I’m done talking about my outburst and I’m definitely not in the mood to hear her reprimand me for having to waste her magic on my temper, so I open my door quickly, slid in and shut it even quicker, and loudly lock it so she knows to leave me alone. I hear her huff and stamp her foot before marching off while I lean my head against the wood.

The room is dark and unusually cold. The fire must have gone out ages ago, which means I forgot to add logs before I left for dinner. I bang my head on the door in frustration before pushing off and hoping there are enough embers left to make small work of starting a fire.

I’m not even halfway across the room when someone slides out of the shadows. 

I have my sword drawn and precariously resting in the hollow of the intruder's throat before they can take another step toward me. If they make one wrong move, their head will roll.

“Quite the greeting, I must say,” they drawl, and I know that voice. I couldn’t forget it if I tried. Their icy lilt sends a rush up my spine that makes me stand straighter.

I jump into action, pinning them up against the wall before they can get too far. Their wit isn’t the only thing that is fast and can leave a mark.

“Basil, does your posse know you’ve wandered too far away for them to save you?” I ask, pressing my forearm harder into his neck.

“I can look after myself,” he says, but his eyes are telling me something else.

“Prove it,” I say.

BAZ

I hate these types of gatherings with a fiery passion. They aren’t meant to do anything but push air into an already out-of-control fire. My father knows this and I have it under good authority that he sent me just to punish me. 

Punish me for what you might ask? That list gets longer by every setting sun. 

He’s furious at me for being unwed to start. What an insult that the great Duke Grimm has an unmarried twenty-four year old son. I mean, when my stepmother is basically my age and has been married to my father for almost a decade, I’m an embarrassment to his family name.

Speaking of family names, not living up to the Pitch name is definitely on the list. But, to be fair, when the castle you're currently being bored to tears in used to belong to your mother and now belongs to some egomaniac man on a half-arsed crusade to rule any land his feet walk on, it’s hard to live up to the name. I was never given a chance to rule beside my mother. And I haven’t haunted these halls since I played hide-and-seek with my caretakers in the secret passageways as a boy.

But my most egregious fault is not caring.

Let this crazy man have my home, what would I do with it? Couldn’t fill it with a family, that’s for sure. Let the people hate him, not me, when they are starving to death. Let me live in some semblance of peace while someone else runs this country into the ground. 

Nothing I can do will bring her back. We lost the war a long time ago, my father’s just too stubborn to admit it. No young bride or brood of children will fix the hole my mother left in both our lives. But he is determined to make me take up the destiny she left behind.

I don’t want it.

Any of it.

So, until I agree to help him with his cause, he will force me to sit in these pointless meetings. Force me to listen to what they say about my mother and her choices. He thinks it’ll light a fire in my soul, but it does the opposite. It drains me of any emotional ties I have left to this place. I sit here and listen with a blank stare, only looking up when the King’s favorite toy growls in my direction.

It’s a lovely sound, the guttural growls. I’m sure he’s trying to convey some message of dislike, but I stopped listening to the conversation around me ages ago, so I can never determine what it is I’ve done or haven’t done. But I do love the brief moment my eyes and his meet—it sends a flood of raw lust swirling in my belly.   It makes all these endless gatherings worth it to have a moment of Simon Snow’s undivided attention.

The day the King brought home this scrawny, freckled-face boy, was the day I thought he’d finally gone completely mad. He’d shouted mostly incoherent claims from his balcony, rambling on and on about the boy from his dreams that would save us all. 

We didn’t see him for weeks; most folk had assumed he died and that the King was hoping we’d all forgotten his grand proclamation. But he not only lived, he thrived. Some decent meals, and rigorous training had him bulking up and becoming the most sought after knight for as far as word could travel.

I can’t deny, if I were a lady of the court, I would be angling to win his attention. Instead, I settle for low growls and narrowed eyes aimed in my direction.

Anger is just a stone's throw away from romance some might say.

If my father knew of my feelings toward the King’s pet, not only would it become the number one reason he was disappointed in me, but I’d most likely be banished and stripped of my name and titles. 

I’d gladly welcome that if it meant Snow was mine.

I send Snow a smirk and a raised eyebrow, which only makes him growl louder and take a step in my direction. My father’s men surround me faster than I can hide a smile, and a red faced Snow is asked to leave the room by a very angry monarch. He gives me one last look before storming out of the room. 

“Sorry your grace,” one of the King’s men says. I think his name is Premal. “Sir Snow is still learning some of the nuances of his role.”

“Maybe until he’s house-trained, your majesty should keep him on a shorter leash,” I quip, making everyone squirm in their seats. That will make my father unbearably happy to hear.

The King levels me with a stare that would make most men cower, but I’ve had the luxury of living my life under a similar icy glare, so I don’t flinch. I hold his gaze until he finally looks away and the meeting resumes without further interruption.

I could not be more relieved when we get dismissed. Nothing was resolved, and everyone is angrier than when we arrived, as was the plan. 

Unfortunately, being dismissed rarely means we get to leave. Looming war does not mean you forget your manners and exit without socializing with the others present. The King is the only one who gets out of this horrible societal necessity. 

When no one is looking, I slip into a hidden alcove in the walls. I feel around for the lever I know is there. After some fumbling, and brushing off the layers of collected dust, I quietly open a door and sneak down a long forgotten passageway.

I don’t think King Mage ever took the time to find all this castle’s nooks and crannies. It’s his biggest weakness, if I wanted to exploit it. I know exactly what hidden door leads to his chambers and, if I chose, I could end it all in one night.

But that’s not where I’m headed tonight.

This particular passage leads to the knights quarters. It was built long ago, by one of my great- great-grandfathers. He wanted to ensure he had access to a particular knight whenever the mood struck.

See father, my appetite for the armored ones is in my blood.

I hope Snow was given this room. The King should give his best room to the best knight.

I’m almost there when the wall beside me shakes and stirs up so much dust that I can barely see. Before I can get my bearings, it happens again. This time I can hear shouting on the other side.

Snow.

I brush the dust out of my hair and pick up my pace. I need to get to his room before him or this whole thing will be for naught. I can’t outfight him, but I can outwit him.

It’s the only shot I’ve got.

The shouting and clouds of dust are behind me now; I know I’m not too far. A few more strides and I reach my destination. This door opens without any resistance. 

I sneak in and a chill goes up my spine. The room is deathly cold and too dark to make much of an assessment before I hear Snow and the Sorcerer closing in. I hide behind a curtain and wait.

I don’t have a plan. I just knew the moment I was asked to go to the castle that I had to do this. I had to take a risk.

My heart is beating fast in my chest. Will he hear that?

I try to focus on keeping my limbs as still as can be when the knob turns on his door. I don’t need the Sorcerer to see me and ruin this whole venture.

The door slams and I nearly jump out of my skin. 

The room is too quiet for Snow to have brought his companion along.  I fear he might hear my breathing if I don’t act quick, though I’ll be lucky to even know his blade’s touch on my skin before he runs me through with it (he’s bloody infuriating with a sword.)

I slide out of my hiding spot and, as suspected, there’s a blade to my throat before I can speak.

It’s hard to feel fear when his flushed, freckled face is taut with focus and rage and his strong chin is jutted out in challenge.

He looks lovely. Ready for battle, a fierce gleam in his blue eyes. It almost makes it worth being on the wrong end of his sword.

I nervously joke about his boorish greeting and just as quickly as he had me pinned with his sword, his forearm is across my chest and he’s got me between him and the wall.

My belly flips in excitement.

Now is not the time to get aroused Basil.

We exchange a few more barbs, all very tame for us. We’ve been known to make even the toughest knight blanch with the words we’ve slung at each other. 

But tonight we have no audience when he says, “Prove it.”

I feel the tension in his arm give way, the slack he’s given me so I can take him on. 

I react out of instinct, but as usual I’m a few steps behind him. Before I can properly get a hold of him he’s got his hands in my hair and his mouth on mine.

It’s rough and urgent. He’s pressing me up against the cold stone wall in his efforts to get as close as he can. It’s almost painful, but I take it all. I hope the bruises he leaves in his wake remind me of this for days to come.

Before I can properly get riled up, Snow pulls away and does his best to fix the destruction he’s caused to my hair. Smoothing it down, but getting it more tangled in the process I’m sure. I can’t bring myself to care as any touch he grants me is one I never thought I’d get.

“How are you here?” he whispers, like we might get caught at any moment. And we could. It’s possible I’m not the only one who knows that the walls hold secrets.

“I have my ways,” I say. He glares at me and I can’t help but drop a kiss on his nose before saying, “You forget I grew up in this monstrosity. I can show you every hidden door in this entire stone prison.”

“No one would find us?” he asks.

I shake my head, a lock of hair falling in front of my face as I do.

“I could do this,” he says, moving the hair behind my ear and kissing me soundly. Kissing me in a way that makes my knees weak, my heart stutter; kissing me in a way that I know will ruin me forever. When he pulls away this time, my lips follow him in an embarrassing way. “In every part of the castle and no one would know?”

“Yes,” I breathe out, wanting more. Wanting all of him.

“I hated hearing him talk to you like that tonight,” he tells me, and just like that, I know that wherever we were headed is paused. 

“That was quite obvious,” I say, stepping around him and kneeling to start up the fire. 

“Do you know how to do that, your grace?” he mocks..

“If you’re not going to warm me up with your hands or — in other other ways–  then a fire will have  to do.”

That shuts him up and produces a lovely blush on his already rosy cheeks.

“I just don’t see the point of dragging your mum through the mud. He’s already done the worst thing he could do to her. Why beat a dead horse. Not that your mum is a horse, or…shit–”

“Quite alright Snow–”

“Simon,” he says, and then adds, more tenderly than anyone else has ever spoken to me, “When it’s just us, call me Simon, please. None of this Duke or Sir shit. It’s just us, I need to feel like it's just us.”

I stand, the fire in a good enough place to do the rest of the work on its own, and walk toward him. He’s sitting on the lounge, elbows on his knees, looking defeated. I stand before him and he makes room for me between his legs, leaning back to look up at me. 

I kneel at his feet. 

His eyes go wide and I can see the panic set in. The urge to tell a Duke to not kneel before him. I grab his hands and keep him still before he can spiral.

“Simon,” I whisper, squeezing his hands. “I will call you whatever you want me to if it can only be us for the rest of our lives.”

“I want that too, Baz. I just–”

“Enough talk of politics,” I say, running my hands up his thighs, just missing where he’s hard and wanting. “It bores me.”

“That won’t do.” He smiles down at me, anger nearly forgotten.  There’s still a frenetic hum to him, like he still needs to rid himself of the energy he’s built up. “Is there something you’d find more engaging?”

“We could talk of how unseasonably warm it’s been, or how well my garden has been fairing. Mr. Petty really is a wonder with the grounds.” Simon begins to squirm under my hands that are still massaging up and down his thick thighs, getting closer and closer to where he wants them but never touching. “Or, you could just shut me up with that cock of yours.”

That has him choking on air. 

Nothing gets him more riled up than me throwing all my good breeding out the door, saying things that would be deemed impolite even amongst your most trusted.

“We can talk about your garden another time,” he says. He’s panting as I undo his trousers. 

“I am rather good at multitasking,” I say, freeing his cock and giving it a good lick from root to tip.

He responds with a belly deep moan and I decide I won’t torture him any longer. Sucking the tip into my mouth, I hollow out my cheeks until I see his stomach contract under his tunic and his hands frantically weaving into my hair to give him something to ground him. 

There’s something about the taste of him post-anger that drives me wild. The hint of salty sweat and something so unique to him. If I could bottle it and sell it, we wouldn’t need the help from royalty or a family name. 

I double down on my efforts. He’s strung tight tonight, a release of this nature will do him some good.

It doesn’t take long before he tightens his grip on my hair and his thighs shake with the effort of holding back. A few swirls of my tongue and one last deep swallow has him pulsing into my eager mouth. I take it all, licking up every last drop until it becomes too much and he whines at the overstimulation. 

I sit back on my heels and carefully tuck him back into his trousers. He takes a while to come down, eyes unfocused on a place above the fire and breath heaving and deep. 

But when he does come back to himself, he pulls me up to his lap and holds me there until it’s well past the time my father would have expected me home. Until, the fire goes out again, and we give up the ruse and stumble to his bed to use each other for warmth.

We both fall asleep resolving to worry about the consequences tomorrow.

Chapter 2: Maybe It Was Egos Swingin'

SIMON

I hate these events. 

Who wants to celebrate the risk of injury to one's friends while people who sit in their bejeweled chairs get to claim all the glory? It’s a disgusting, yet necessary, evil of being a knight.

I learned early on that most participants don’t like this whole performance. And that’s exactly what it had become, a performance. Seasoned veterans knew what the crowd wanted, how much blood needed to be spilled to satisfy them without giving the game away.

This had been working for as long as I can remember. Until our King got a new stock of men in. These knights have no interest in putting on a show—they want glory the old way. 

Through blood, sweat, and tears. 

Especially blood.

I’m suiting up in the stables, talking to my horse Ebb, when I sense a heavy presence behind me.

I turn and see my King. Half undressed, I bow to the best of my ability. I nearly stumble into Ebb, but she’s a good horse and already has her snout out to steady me.

“Your highness,” I say.

“Simon, my boy,” he says. He always calls me his boy, I think he feels it’s an honor,  but it’s never done anything but cause me grief. It’s the source of many rumors and I’ve never heard a single one that was true. “We’ve got a lot riding on today's events.”

“Of course, your Highness,” I say, knowing my role in this act.

“I need you to do more than just win today,” he says, laying his heavy hand on my shoulder. I have to stop myself from flinching.

“Your Highness?” I ask.

“King Wellbelove is visiting,” he says, as if that explains it. When I don’t say anything, he sighs heavily, like he does every time he has to explain something “common” to me,  and carries on. “A neighboring monarch, and potential ally. I need you to impress him. But more importantly, I need you to impress his daughter.”

“His daughter, your highness?” I ask, trying to keep my irritation at bay. It appears my role has changed, but I wasn’t given a choice or a script.

“She’s been difficult, Wellbelove tells me. And a marriage between our two kingdoms would help solidify our allyship.”

‘I’ve never even met her, your Highness.” Nor do I want to, I think. A foreign princess with a disagreeable manner hardly feels like it’s my responsibility.

Besides that, I have an ex-prince with a disagreeable manner that I’d much rather spend time with.

“That hardly matters with these kinds of affairs,” he says carelessly, tossing my concern aside like a stable boy chucking old hay.  “Go out there and do what you do best. Win.”

He walks away before I can say anything further.

I’ve never competed for anyone’s affection. Well, unless you count the time I let Baz best me in sword fighting. That hardly worked though, as he spent the next few weeks tending to the wounds on my back from the whipping I got for losing.

How does one woo a lady in the mist of bloodshed?

Furthermore, how does one woo her enough to appease the King but not make a spectating Duke-to-be jealous with rage?

I’m still at a loss when a squire comes to collect Ebb and me and take us to the arena. I’m dragging my feet, worried about the added expectations suddenly put upon me. Ebb can sense something is off and keeps nudging me.  I sneak her a carrot while they are doing introductions, hoping to keep her mind occupied. She takes the carrot but keeps her worried eyes on me the entire time.

When the princess is announced, she stands from her chair with a bored look on her pretty face. I’ve never seen her at court and she’d certainly stand out. The ladies would be beyond jealous of perfect blonde hair, and stylish dresses. Today she’s wearing a deep blue gown made of velvet with a red belt cinching her small wait. A silver tiara with sparkling gems of every color sits atop her perfect head.

She catches my eye and I wink. Her face doesn’t change except for the eye roll leveled in my direction. 

This is going to be harder than I thought.

I glance over to King Mage and he’s glaring at me with his piercing blue eyes. If I could shrink into my armor, I would.

After pulling my gaze from the King, I try to find Baz in the crowd. Even with all the talk of war and animosity between the old families and the King, they still hold a spot of prominence at court. But I only see Lord Grimm and his wife in their tent today.

Panic sets in.

I wonder if they found out about his side trip to my bedchamber the other day. Would he have gotten punished? Sent away?

He’s the only part of my life that makes sense right now. And that should bloody well tell you something.

He calms my nerves when I’m in a strop about my apparent destiny, always makes me laugh with jokes about my abysmal lack of manners (though I really think he likes that I’m a little rough around the edges), and kisses the scar-ridden spots on my body that he says will be responsible for the fall of man. I laughed the first time he said it, and told him he wasn’t making any sense. He smiled but never explained himself. I’ve come to realize he means I’ll be the fall of him and I don’t know how I feel about that. But it’s hard to care when he’s one of the few people who can touch my body and not send me into a spiral.

I may have to look like I’m fighting to win Lady Wellbelove’s affection, but it’s all for him.

I’m still looking for Baz, when I hear his voice from an unlikely place… just a few men down from me, he’s dressed in shiny armor and holding a flag embroidered with the Pitch coat of arms.

I almost step out of line to go talk to him. To ask him what he thinks he is doing. But I come to my senses before I do anything to call attention to us.

“Lady Wellbelove, could I be so bold as to ask for a token to give me luck today?” Baz asks Lady Wellbelove with a flirty smile.

To my surprise, she not only responds, but looks mildly interested in Baz’s request. A spark of jealousy ignites in my chest and my mind is screaming “why him?!”.

“Do you rely on luck, My Lord? Or skill?” She asks with a coy smile of her own. 

“Both. As most men do,” he says. 

“You don’t need luck if you have the skill,” I interrupt and immediately regret it, but I finally get Baz to look at me. To most he probably looks arrogant and sure of himself, but I know he’s scared and out of his element. 

Baz has participated in tournaments before. When we were younger we were pitted against each other all the time. What Baz lacks in muscle, he makes up for in smarts and quickness. But as he got older and his estate duties took more and more of his time, I saw him less. He only ever competes when his father has something to prove, or wants to punish Baz. I wonder which one it is this time?

“You would reject my favor in lieu of your arrogance, Sir Snow?” Lady Wellbelove asks, leaving me fumbling for the right response, one that won’t get me in a bind later with the King.

Baz swoops in while I’m gaping like a fish, saying suavely, “If it would please the Lady, I would take all the luck you offer me and go into battle with nothing else.”

“Come, retrieve your token, “ Lady Wellbelove says, and Baz steps out of line to take the lace handkerchief with a deep bow and a kiss to her knuckles. Lady Wellbelove giggles and turns pink at the attention. My skin starts to boil under all this metal and a sour taste on my tongue makes my jaw clench. 

I want to run to him and claim him as mine, but Baz refuses to look at me as he walks back to his horse and ties the handkerchief into her reins. 

I don’t understand what he’s doing. He’s never shown any interest in any of the ladies of the court, so why now? Did I do something wrong? Was the other night in my chambers a step too far? 

Has he finally seen me for the failure I am?

BAZ

This is bad. 

Very, very bad.

I can almost smell the anger rolling off of Simon. And even if I wasn’t so in tune with Simon’s ever-overboiling emotions, him huffing and growling would be a dead giveaway. 

He sounds like the bull that used to be in a neighbor’s field. As I child, my friends and I  would taunt it to get it riled up, kicking the ground and charging at us until we’d run in a fit of giggles away from the flimsy fence that kept us from getting harmed. It amused us endlessly.

I’m not amused today.

I don’t even want to be here, but my father heard that the Wellbelove’s were looking to marry off their only daughter and he thought this the perfect chance to whore out his son. And that is exactly what it feels like. Groveling for the affections of a girl I wouldn’t look twice at. Making her think I could love her, selling this love story when it’s all just the stage act of a desperate man. 

I want to go to Simon and explain my predicament, but I know I’ll give us both away if I get within touching distance of him. I opt to avoid him instead, watching from a distance as he gets more and more heated and irritable. He’s making stupid mistakes in his events. Losing because he’d rather risk a glance in my direction than defend himself. He’ll be bruised and battered tonight.

I wonder if he’d welcome me back into his bedchambers to soothe his wounds with my mouth?

The now dirtied token that hangs from my horse is a harsh reminder that neither of us is in control of our destiny. No more than Lady Wellbelove is. She’s playing her odds today. Putting her bet on me instead of Simon. She’d be better off choosing Simon—at least he could possibly love her like she needs him to. I can never be what she wants or needs. Not when what I want is the unpolished man in my enemy's army. 

Sure, we could marry. Produce enough heirs that it would make our fathers happy. I’d be distant, she’d be lonely. I’d sneak Simon in every chance I got, and turn a blind eye to her lovers as well.

I could do it.

But I don’t want to. I don’t want to pretend when the life I want is within my reach and currently glaring at me from inside his helmet. 

And walking straight toward me.

I panic.

I’ve done a good job of avoiding him today. But as he gets closer I can see he’s got me in a bit of a bind. If I walk away, it’ll be a slight to the King, rejecting his best man. And though normally that would make my father very happy, but in this instance, he’d rather I fight the King’s best man, rather I beat him than that I walk away. If I stay, I have to fight Simon, because there is no reason for him to be talking to me unless he’s challenging me. And I know my boy. He feels I’ve left him no choice but to issue a challenge just so he can talk to me.

“Pitch!” he yells as he gets closer.

I force my face into a stony bored look, making sure to raise my chin and look down my nose at him as I answer, “You forget yourself, Sir Snow. You should address me by my title. Or did they not teach you that in the ditch they pulled you from?”

It’s a low blow; I see the hurt on his face immediately. We haven’t traded these types of insults in months, not since we started trading kisses.

“Grab your sword,” he growls. And then almost as an afterthought, before stalking away, “My Lord.”

I do. I’d do whatever he asks me to. But I hate fighting him. He’s unfairly good, for one. But mostly because he’d rather take a beating for losing to me than do me any harm. This is a lose-lose situation for both of us and I don’t know why’d he’d willingly put us through it.

We’re circling each other in a pit in the center of the arena. Dust being kicked up around us as we shuffle around in an attempt to look like we’re stalking each other. Lady Wellbelove has a front row seat to the spectacle. She might even think she’s the one we’re fighting over.

I look over at my father’s tent. He’s eyeing our interaction intensely, while my stepmother Daphne picks at a tray of sweets in front of her. Her pregnant belly guarantees that I’ve gone down the Malcolm Grimm inheritance list another rung. It’s also making her very uncomfortable in this summer heat and I don’t know why my father insists that she accompany him.

“My father’s watching,” I tell Simon, eyeing him carefully, trying to determine where his mind is at. 

He swings his sword in answer. I barely get my own up in time to deflect.

“What are you playing at?” I hiss.

“Me?!” he says,swinging his sword at me again. I get under it this time and get his weapon pinned against mine, bringing us chest to chest, eye to eye. “What are you doing here today? Why are you playing for Lady Wellbelove's hand?”

He pushes me away with the strength of his arms, our swords separating with a clang. I stagger back, putting a good distance between us.  I take a few beats, needing the time to gather my thoughts before I march back into his space.

“I’m sure for the same reason you were,” I explain. “We all have our roles to play, whether we like it or not.”

“She’s not yours!” he yells and I’m caught off guard by how angry he sounds. 

I’m so stunned in fact,that he’s able to knock my weapon out of my hands and slam me to the ground. The air in my lungs whooshes out of me. His blade is pressed against my throat hard enough that I feel a trickle of blood run down the side of my neck.

“I didn’t know you felt so strongly about her,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. I feel the sharp edge of his sword dig further into my skin. 

“You took her handkerchief,” he growls, spit hitting my face as his anger builds.

“And I intended to give it back to her as a winner, but I’m sure you’ve caught her eye with this stunning display of masculinity,” I say. bitterly. I hope I can keep my emotions in check until I can leave this hellscape.

“You don’t belong together,” he tells me. Then he straightens up and walks away.

I close my eyes so I don’t have to watch as he walks toward her . I give myself this brief moment where I don’t have to witness losing the love of my life.

But I can’t stay down for too long. No doubt my father is already mortified at my loss. Staying down just rubs salt in his wound. (He doesn’t care about my actual wounds.) Even though my heart is breaking in front of the whole court, father needs me to stand and walk away with pride. 

And I do.

I brush the dirt from my armor, and stand. But before I turn and walk out the arena, I chance a glance back at Simon.I see Lady Wellbelove throw her head back in a laugh as he kisses her hand with a grin on his face. 

My heart freezes in my chest. 

I feel dead.

Notes:

Thanks for reading!