Chapter 3
1612 Words
Valerie POV
“When will I see you again, my prince?”
“I cannot really say my lady, my father says a ruler must be cold and powerful.”
His adviser lets out a dry cough and whispers something to his ear.
“But not to worry, I would never be cold towards you princess Valerie… I have a gift for you.”
He pulled out a little wooden image of a knight with a sword, crafted neatly with sharp edges.
“It's a piece of my collection, it is very special to me… that is why I want you to hold it for me.”
He was mounted onto his horse.
“I will miss you Valerie vealmar and it is because I will miss you, that I will be back for you.”
And I believed, foolishly. The words of a young prince stuck to my head. In my mind I created a charming perfect prince, one that never existed.
Now here I am, years later. Gravely disappointed.
A scoff escaped my lips, broken, almost pitiful. Pathetic.
I dragged myself to the closest chair I could find, a mirror balanced perfectly there.
How ironic, maybe the universe wanted me to reflect on my actions.
So I stared at the girl in the mirror, her blue eyes darting back at me and her blonde hair resting on her shoulders.
What am I even doing?
My hands curled into fists, the tight pull of the corset biting deeper with every breath. Each inhale came thinner than the last, controlled and contained. Just like everything else.
No.
My fingers moved to the weight on my head, pulling the pins free, one after the other. Metal slipped loose, strands falling with them.
I wasn’t doing this.
Not for him.Not like this.
“My queen.”
Elise said cautiously, I glared at her. My eyes cut through her like a knife.
“What is it, Elise?”
“The tournament starts soon.” She stuttered.
“And so?”
She swallowed hard.
“You're the celebrant.” I exhaled through my mouth, my eyes darting around everything.
“I'm going to change my dress first.”
She sighed.
“As you wish, my queen.”
The new gown was less tighter, white with golden stripes from the shoulder down to my stomach.
I forced a smile onto my face, a desperate bid to convince myself that it was alright.
Then my eyes traced towards the table next to my bed, a flower vase and a Crafted small wooden knight.
Memories of him rushed back into my head, I kept it close to me for fifteen years, because he simply said it was important, to me it became my most valued possession.
My blood hammered and my fists clenched so hard I could hear my knuckles crack.
So it was all a lie.
“My queen… are you alright.” Elise asked, concerned etched in a voice.
I nodded slowly, still staring.
“Yes. I'm okay.” Then I finally looked away.
“Let's go.”
I walked towards the tournament arena, the sound of clashing swords and shields, the ranging cheers of the crowds echoed from afar.
Rays of sunlight spilled into my eyes, forcing a brief squint and then it caught.Silver.
Armor gleamed in the distance, bright enough to pull the eye without effort. Knights.
Their house sigils marked their chests, polished into the metal, while the Blackfyre crest stretched across the backs of their dark coats. With each step closer, the details sharpened—edges, engravings, the quiet weight of presence.
They bowed in unison as I approached.
“I could see your armor from a distance,” I said as they rose.
“We’re fortunate to have caught the celebrant’s attention.”
The one who spoke stepped forward.
Curly hair. Icy grey eyes. A face too sharp to be softened by the light. The stag emblazoned across his chest set him apart from the others.
He stood just enough to block the sun.
“Happy twentieth birthday, my queen.”
Soft voice, measured.
The first, ‘happy birthday' I'd heard.
Warmth stirred unexpectedly in my chest.
“Thank you… Ser?”
“Lucian. Ser Lucian Quinn of Blackridge.”
A faint smile touched my lips. His gaze held mine easily steady, unflinching.
Then…
Cold, It slid up my spine without warning.
But oddly familiar.
My eyes shifted.
The alley stood in shadow and within it… Devon.
Still. Watching.
The darkness around him seemed to gather rather than fade, clinging too close, too heavy for midday light.
Our eyes met.
For a moment, the alley brightened.
“You look gorgeous, my queen.”
Lucian’s voice pulled me back.
“Thank you… I’ll be watching you, Ser Lucian. Good luck.”
I turned to leave.
“Perhaps a good luck charm, my queen.”
My step paused.
His hand closed gently around mine, lifting it before I could pull away. His lips brushed against my skin, soft, deliberate.
A warmth rose to my cheeks before I could stop it, my smile breaking wider.
Until I looked up.
Past him.Devon hadn’t moved.
Something in his gaze had changed.
Darker, too still.
The air around him seemed to tighten, as though the light itself refused to settle there.
My hand slipped from Lucian’s.
“If I win,” Lucian said, “I would ask that the queen name me her personal protector.”
“Well… I’ll be watching, Ser.”
I turned again, not stopping this time.
But, one last glance and the alley stood empty.
Light reached fully through it now, clean and undisturbed.
As though nothing had ever been there.
Inside the arena reeked of horse s**t, sweat and blood all wrapped into one. The air cut through, thick and leaving a damp choking taste.
I covered my nose with a napkin, as I took my seat right next to my father.
“You're late.” He grunted.
“Apologies father… Clothing troubles.” None of us made eye contact. I turned my face left and froze.
Devon sat among them.
His gaze caught mine for the briefest moment, then snapped away, sharp and deliberate, as if the contact had never been meant to happen.
Noblewomen draped in silk leaned close, their voices light, easy, practiced. One brushed a hand along his arm as she spoke; another tilted toward him, smiling as though she had always belonged there. He did not move away.
Something inside my chest tightened, quick and precise.
My attention dropped, settling on the churned arena below, dark and damp where the ground had been torn open. Safer there. Easier.
Still…
A prickle climbed the back of my neck.
Not touch and not sound.
Just the quiet weight of attention, lingering too long to be imagined. My fingers curled faintly at my sides.
The laughter carried on, bright and effortless.
And without turning, I knew his gaze had returned.
A drum beats once and the noises die, an announcer steps out.
“This tournament is held to celebrate our Queen’s birthday. Five knights will compete—not to the death, but until one stands victorious.” The crowd cheered louder.
“And to that victor, a single wish shall be granted.” He turned towards us and bowed.
“Let the tournament begin!”
Several beats of drum rang out and the arena gate swung open. Several knights rush into the arena on their horses.
Ser Lucian held his helmet on one arm, his eyes fixed on me. He stopped right below me, a warm smile whipped across his face. He blew me a kiss, before putting on his helmet.
Devon's jaw clenched harder, his glare shot straight down at Ser Lucian. He stood up, glanced sharply towards me and left.
My attention shifted back to the arena.
The knights had taken their places.
Shields lifted, braced firmly against their chests, edges aligned like a wall of iron. Lances angled forward, steady—waiting.
The horses beneath them refused stillness.
Hooves struck against the damp ground in sharp, restless bursts, tearing into the softened earth. Muscles rippled beneath polished armor, flanks heaving, breath spilling in hot, visible bursts into the air.
One reared slightly, restrained only by the tight pull of reins, its impatience echoing through the others.The ground itself bore the marks of preparation—dark, churned, uneven. Not clean. Not forgiving.
A low tension stretched across the field.
No one moved forward.
Not yet.
Wind slipped through the arena, catching against cloaks, brushing past raised shields, carrying with it the faint scent of soil and metal. The banners above snapped in answer, sharp and restless.
Then,stillness.
Not silence,but something tighter.
Held.
Waiting for the moment it would break.
“Hold on!” The announcer's voice ripped through the air.
“A final contestant wishes to enter the tournament!”
The crowd cheers reduce to murmurs, my father and I exchange confused glances. I turned to Elise, my voice not higher than a whisper.
“Didn't the announcer say five knights?”
She leaned towards my ear.
“He did… I wonder which knight the final contestant might be?”
The door swings open, banners whipping against the breeze. The crowd goes completely silent, my jaw almost falls to my feet.
Prince Devon rides into the arena, his eyes locked onto mine. His horse steadily stopped below me, then his eyes finally shifted to the crowd.
“I will join the tournament!”
His gaze turned back to me, a humorless smile formed at the corner of his lips.
And in that moment, his intentions felt far from pure.
- Writer
