Warrior Hearts

Chance Encounters

"Who let him in through the palace gates?" I ask indignantly. "Firstly, he fails to show up at the time of his arrival, and then to top it all off, he sends no letter of apology. Yet," I let out a humourless laugh. "The man is sleeping in my castle's guest chambers today." Spreading my arms out at my sides, I cast a glance around the breakfast hall. "Does he consider this to be a lowly pub that he can simply stroll in to as per his desire?"

"Pardon, Your Highness." A timid voice speaks up. "His Grace was expected, and so I - "

"You what?" I yell, slamming my fist against the dining table. The man visibly jumps in place, his gaze landing on a spot near his feet. Solely because this kingdom is led by a princess, and not a king, those from other kingdoms treat me like a mere joke. Truth be told, this is not the first time I've been taken lightly. However, I have invested far too many years into building a respected reputation for myself, and I will simply not allow for it to be tossed away by this poor excuse of a king.

"He let me in," a male voice echoes around the four corners of the dining hall. "And rightly so. After all, he, or the force of your entire kingdom, cannot keep me out." The tone of this said male is lined with confidence, and high handedness. Unaffected, I continue to cut through my steak, understanding fully well who's the speaker.

The behaviour of my help changes at once. Their heads turn towards the floor, all of them offering small courtesies to the intrusion in this room. The sight makes my grip tighten even further around the handle of the knife.

The chair next to me is pulled back by a hand bearing two rings. One of them is in the shape of a lion, while the other is a plain black band, with the emblem of a sword. Through the corner of my eye, I watch as a lean man lowers himself into the said seat. Without another word, I rise from my place at the table, the napkin on my lap landing on the floor.

"Kindly clear the table," I say.

"B-But, Your Grace - "

"Celeste, do I need to re-inform you regarding the rules of this palace? Once the princess is done dining, the table is cleared out. It is not my concern if certain guests do not wish to oblige with our meal's timings." I turn around, noticing the lack of action in the hall. "Now!" My voice booms around the four corners. At once, a flurry of action breaks out and the help begins gathering up the dishes, and other breakfast items. As I am heading towards the oak doors, I await for a comment from the man who is the cause of my itching palms. None comes. Just a while back, he seemed more than glad to willingly interfere and speak up in order to aid the help, so I wonder what's wrong with his tongue now? Oh, if only he would have given me the chance to blow up on him. Tonight's games will make for an interesting spectacle when I embarrassingly defeat him in front of a crowd.

*****

"And with this, we bring the jousting round to an end." The announcer yells, a round of applause erupting through the arena.

"Now after a break of fifteen minutes, we shall commence the swordplay." Sliding the iron helmet off my head, I shake out my sweat-filled hair. By now, most of my tresses have matted themselves against the skin of my neck, and forehead. Deciding on giving myself some relief, I tug at the clasp that is holding my hair together. Chucking it towards a corner of the arena, I shake my tresses out once more, tension rolling off my head in waves. As I knock my head forwards - or at least try to - something tugs at a strand of my hair, a gasp of pain escaping my lips. Frowning, I glance over my shoulder to find a familiar lean frame stationed behind me.

"Well, if you wouldn't assume this to be your bedroom, such a situation would not arise." The man's deep voice enters my ears. Of course, I recognise it at once. Also, there is only one man in this entire kingdom who possesses the audacity to speak to me in such a manner, and tone.

Lips pursed, I turn around, only to be met with a black robed chest. Without wasting even a second, I get to work, trying to unlatch the disobedient strand from my enemy's body.

"Allow me," his warm palms wrap around my hands. At once, I jerk my head backwards, the strand ripping from my scalp, and hanging loosely from the top, silver button of the man's robes. Before any further words can be exchanged between him and I, I pivot, ensuring that my hair whips itself against his face as I do so.