Warrior Hearts

Lose Some, Win Some

"And now for the most awaited match of the night." The announcer's voice causes a hush to blanket the arena. "Between Her Royal Highness, and His Grace." As I step out through the folds of the tent, and onto the soil of the duelling ground, I can sense the tension, which is almost tangible. My eyes land on my Master of Arms, and Malhotra's, as I reach the centre of the ground. They are each holding our respective swords, awaiting to hand them over.

"Your opponent's sword has been cautiously and thoroughly examined, Your Grace, and it is ready for the match." Before Malhotra can materialise in front of me, I sense his presence, as he approaches our trio of three.

"Your opponent's sword has been cautiously and thoroughly examined, Your Highness, and it is ready for the match." Once our respective Master of Arms have delivered their well rehearsed, monotonous speeches, I reach over for my sword from Malhotra's man; simultaneously he reaches for his weapon from mine. The slightest of frowns crosses my face, as Malhotra's arm rests above mine; the foreign feeling of being touched by someone who is not Noel, is most certainly disconcerting. Grabbing the hilt of my sword, I hastily yank it out of its sheath. Once my familiar friend is in my grasp, I turn around, passing my index and middle fingers over the blade.

"We have to win this one," I murmur, inhaling a deep breath. It is imperative that I bag the victory of this match more than any other battle I have fought before.

"Begin!" I turn around, shielding my front with the blade, just as Malhotra's makes an arc, swiftly coming down towards mine. Swordplay is not solely based on physical acts. It also contains an element of playing with your opponent's mind, and for me that has never been a tough task to achieve. Unblinking, I lock eyes with Malhotra, only to find him meeting my gaze head on. This is the first time I have allowed myself to take a proper look at the King of Naiq. I now know why Noel is going gaga over the man in front of me. Regardless of the masculine role that I am expected to fulfil, at the end of the day, I am a woman. In fact, I also strongly believe in giving credit where credit is due, and truth be told, Malhotra is a fine piece of art.

"Like what you see, darling?" Malhotra's sarcastic question draws me back to the present, as it reignites the fire of victory in me. A grunt escapes my lips as I deflect my enemy's blade once more, driving him towards a corner of the arena.

Over the years, I have grown used to wrapping up such duels in a couple of minutes. However, a gut instinct tells me that this particular one shall draw on for a while longer. I may harbour great distaste for my opponent, but he is a worthy one, indeed.

*****

Laboured breaths escape my lips as I lock eyes with my opponent. For the first time in a long time, someone has been able enough to exhaust me during a duel. However, what matters is that his sword is in my left hand, while my own weapon rests in my right. It is a lost battle for my opponent and a victory I have been craving for since the day he stepped foot into my kingdom.

"Do you yield?" I ask, a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. "You may as well, while your honour is still intact."

"Oh darling, always underestimating me." He tsks, shaking his head. Confusion clouds in my brain as I see a flicker of amusement ignite in those mischievous orbs of his. My grip tightens around the hilts of the swords. It infuriates me that I can comprehend and judge everyone and anyone around me, except him. With this man it always seems as if I'm turning around a blind corner.

"Your weapon is mine," I state proudly. "How do you plan on fighting in a sword fight without a sword?" I cock an eyebrow at him challengingly.

"It's not over until I say it is." Smirking in return, he turns around to face the gathered spectators, spreading his arms wide. What in the world is this man up to? "Congratulations to all who bet against me." I raise my sword, ready to aim it at his heart if he gets any closer. "For you will lose," he adds, re-igniting the confusion in my head. Without further delay, he kicks at the ground, causing plumes of smoke to rise into the air. Squinting my eyes shut, I look away from the particles. Simultaneously, the weapon in my left hand gets snatched out of my grip. Hurriedly, I step backwards, moving away from the site of danger.

"Not so fast, love." He whispers, tugging at my left hand and spinning me around. The dust that has managed to enter my eyes is a great source of discomfort as I try to regain my bearings.

"We don't play dirty in my kingdom." I growl, as he spins me around and presses me against his front. My breath catches in my throat as his sword makes contact with my neck.

"Aw, is Her Royal uptight Highness afraid to get her hands dirty? Quite literally." My fist clenches itself at my side as I feel him smirk behind me. With a ghost-like touch, my opponent slides his palm along the curve of my waist. Had I not been solely focused on him, I could be well capable of missing out on this feather-like movement.

"Do not overstep your boundaries," I hiss, through gritted teeth. "I am no mundane opponent. I am a princess."

"And I, a king." He whispers, placing his lips against my ear. A feeling that I would rather not dwell upon causes my stomach to drop, as his breath fans against the bare skin at the crook of my neck. Is the King of Naiq trying to seduce me into defeat?

"Five," the commentator begins his countdown. However, his words seem far-off, as if we are in two separate realms.

"Your niqab is distracting, darling." He whispers, as the surface of his blade makes contact with my chin. With the gentlest of hands - a movement that contradicts the warrior status that we bear - he begins to tilt my head upwards, with the help of his weapon. "Your kohl filled eyes have the power to force the greatest of kings to prostrate in front of you." My lips part, as my opponent's black orbs lock onto mine. They say that the eyes are a window to one's soul, and his are shining with experience; the kind that would make for an interesting storytelling.

"All hail His Grace!" The crowd's chants draw me back to the present. Frowning, I look around the arena, only to find Malhotra's flag raised higher than mine. This means, he won...