A beat of silence fell over the table, and the crackling sound of the fire gave Ana Sofia a small sense of comfort. She gripped her chair's armrest feeling overwhelmed by her sudden lashing out. She had always maintained control but, lately, she can't seem to keep her anger at bay. Memories of her late husband flooded her vision, sweat began to moisten her back as her breathing shallowed. She could recall his voice screaming at her as she prayed to the gods that she would survive his outbursts. Pushing the memory away she grounded herself back to the surrounding room only to feel the tension grip her chest again.
"Your Majesty" Wesleynard whispered. his voice breaks the silence, pulling Ana Sofia back to the present. She looks at him, noticing his brow furrowing on his face. She realizes that she has once again let her emotions get the better of her.
"I apologize, Wesleynard." Ana Sofia says, her voice softer now.
His gaze remained glued to his uneaten dinner plate his energy now guarded as his voice rang out coldly lifting up to meet her eyes he seemed to lose all affection for her in the moment, "There is nothing to apologize for, Your Majesty," Wesleynard replies, his voice still carrying a hint of coldness.
He took a deep breath, as if trying to compose himself, "You are not the first person to doubt me and you certainly won't be the last" he paused before continuing, "But know this. I will win this tournament and you'll learn of the fate of those who doubt me."
Wesleynard's words hung in the air, heavy and protruding from his chest. Ana Sofia eyes widen at his blatant disrespect but, she finds herself at a loss for words and so do the servants as they pass nervous glances to each other. Unsure of how they should compose themselves the fire in the hearth crackles and spits, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls of the room.
Advisor Mallorca, who had been silent throughout the exchange, now chooses to speak, "Wesleynard," Mallorca says, his voice calm and measured, "Maybe it is best you retire for the night."
Advisor Mallorca's words cut through the tension, and Wesleynard nods curtly in agreement. He pushes his chair back and stands up, his movements stiff and formal. As he leaves the room, the sound of the door closing behind him echoes through the silent chamber.
"I want him out of the tournament. "Ana Sofia's words are filled with anger and resentment. She can't believe the disrespect Wesleynard showed her in front of her advisor and servants. Her hands clench into fists as she tries to control her emotions.
Mallorca takes a deep breath, sensing the tension in the room, "Your Majesty," he begins, his voice steady and calm, "I understand your frustration, but I urge you to reconsider your decision. His actions tonight were unbecoming, but we must consider the bigger picture." He said as he sat gently in the plush chair next to her.
"What picture?" she cried. Her head began to throb with a ferocity the conversation that has occurred between the two only served to fuel her fears once more.
"The picture of our kingdom's standing in the eyes of the other realms, Your Majesty," Mallorca explains. "Wesleynard's skill and reputation on the battlefield are well-known, and his victory in the tournament would further solidify Elynor's position as a force to be reckoned with."
Ana Sofia's eyes narrow as she considers Mallorca's words. She knows he is right; Elynor's standing in the realm is important, and Wesleynard's victory in the tournament would be a significant boost to their reputation. But the way he spoke to her, the disrespect he showed, burns in her chest.
She was so disappointed by the dinner he regarded the position as potential king too lightly. She was struggling against all odds to survive because as a woman she had no true claim no real power. Yet here he was a small unknown knight galivanting and slashing down his foes without breaking a sweat. He was powerful and an instant crowd favorite, he would get all the glory and her existence would shrivel into ash.
The fire in the hearth continues to crackle and spit, casting shadows on the stone walls as Ana Sophia broods in silence. She knows Mallorca is right, but she can't shake the feeling of disappointment and anger, "Very well. He may continue but let us hope he loses the next round"
"As you wish, Your Majesty. I will make sure to communicate your wishes to the tournament organizers."
*************************
The rest of the week was filled with preparation for the next event, the following days were a whirlwind of activity as the castle prepared for the next round. Servants ran to and fro ensuring that everything was in order, while knights from all over the realm continued to arrive to participate in the competition. The next event was a test of skill it consisted of a series of archery challenges, designed to test the accuracy and precision of the participating knights. Wesleynard, ever confident, spends hours practicing his aim, his movements fluid and precise as he fires arrow after arrow at the practice targets. He gained quick popularity over the span of a few short days here, and many of the other knights began to see him as a serious contender for the tournament's top prize.
Ana Sofia, meanwhile, watches from the castle's ramparts, her eyes narrowed as she observes Wesleynard's movements. From her vantage point, she can see the entire tournament grounds, and she watches as knights do the same however, she can note a stark difference, they could not match that consistency that Wesleynard had. It seemed as easy as breathing for him, he was a marvel She couln't help but feel a twinge of pride as she watches him perform, his arrows finding their mark time and time again. Her mind reels back to their discussion about the potential political implications of his victory. She knows that Elynor's standing in the realm is important, but she can't shake the feeling that Wesleynard's growing fame and popularity may overshadow her own rule as queen. She sighs, leaning against the stone wall of the rampart. Knowing it wasn't about popularity it was about fear. She had spent every morning in council meetings hearing new information about a rebellion in a neighboring kingdom. It was headed by a vicious man known as "Daeth." His forces were growing stronger by the day, and whispers of his atrocities had reached even the halls of Elynor's castle. Ana Sofia knew that she needed to secure powerful allies to protect her kingdom, and Wesleynard's victory in the tournament would certainly help her cause.
However, would he be able to protect them from such a massive threat she wasn't too confident. As the archery competition commences, Ana Sofia watches intently from her perch on the castle ramparts. She sees Wesleynard take his place among the other knights, his confident stance and focused gaze belying any nerves he may feel. The tournament ground is filled with spectators, all eager to see who will emerge victorious in the archery competition. The sun beats down upon the competitors, making the targets appear to dance and shimmer in the distance. As the competition begins, the knights take turns firing their arrows at the targets. Wesleynard takes his turn, his movements smooth and practiced as he draws back the string of his bow and releases the arrow. It soars through the air, flying true and embedding itself firmly in the center of the target. A murmur of appreciation ripples through the crowd, and Ana Sofia slightly smirks expecting nothing less of him.
Yet, the next man also captures her attention. A knight, clad in armor the color of midnight and with a helmet adorned with a fiery red plume, steps up to the line. His movements are confident, almost arrogant, as he takes aim at the target. The arrow is released with a twang, and it flies through the air, leaving a trail of smoke in its wake. Ana Sofia's eyes widen as she watches it soar towards the target, her heart pounding in her chest. It hits the very edge of the target, causing a ripple of surprise to ripple through the crowd.
"Who is that?" She asks one of her ladies in waiting, "Ah, that is Sir Ralthorne of the Scarlet Plume," responds the lady in waiting, her voice barely above a whisper, "He is a knight from the kingdom of Morvendale, known for his prowess in the arcane arts as much as his skill with a bow."
She watches him closely; He seems to be wearing exquisite armor. The armor indeed appears to be of the finest quality, shimmering and shifting in the sunlight as if it were alive. Its midnight hue is set off by intricate patterns and designs that seem to dance along the surface, and the red plume of his helmet flames like a beacon in the bright day. Wesleynard, noticing Ana Sofia's interest in the newcomer, glances over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing as he takes in Sir Ralthorne's appearance. A muscle twitches in his jaw, but he quickly turns his attention back to the competition, firing off another arrow that lands just outside of the center mark. The archery competition continues, with each knight taking turns to showcase their skill. The crowd cheers and gasps with every arrow that hits or misses the target.
As the competition wears on, Ana Sofia finds herself increasingly drawn to the mysterious Sir. Ralthone. She can't help but admire his confidence and poise, the way he carries himself with an air of authority and power. She watches as he takes shot after shot, each one striking true and earning him cheers and admiration from the crowd. She still can't ignore Weslaynard though he also puts on a valiant display, his arrows consistently hitting the target with precision and strength. The tension between the two knights is palpable, and Ana Sofia can sense the animosity growing between them. She wonders what could have caused such a rift between them, but she dares not ask.
A break is called, and she decides to go down to make her presence known, she smiles and waves at the cheering spectators bow in respect as she passes through them. She approaches the line where the knights are gathered, her eyes flicking between Wesleynard and Sir Ralthorne.
"Your skills are most impressive, Sir Ralthone,"she says, her voice carrying over the noise of the crowd.
The knight turns to her, a smug smile on his face, "Thank you, Your Majesty," he replies, his voice dripping with arrogance, "I have spent many long hours perfecting my craft, and it seems my efforts have paid off."
Ana Sofia can't help but feel a twinge of annoyance at his tone. She glances at Weslaynard, who is watching the exchange with a tight-lipped expression. She turns back to Sir Ralthone and says, "I look forward to seeing more of your skills in the tournament. May the best knight win."
With that, she turns on her heel and walks away, leaving the two knights to glare at each other. As Ana Sofia walks away, she can feel the weight of Wesleynard's gaze on her back. She knows he is angry, but she doesn't know why. She turns to Advisor Mallorca for guidance, but he merely gives her a cryptic smile and tells her to trust her instincts. The final round begins, Sir Ralthone is first to take his place at the starting line. He nocks his arrow, pulling the string taut as he takes aim at the target. The crowd holds its breath as he releases the arrow, watching as it soars through the air before embedding itself in the center of the target. Ana Sofia also finds herself smiling at his shot, he puts his hand up in a show of victory he pulls his hood down to reveal his face Sir Ralthone's face is uncovered, revealing striking features and piercing dark eyes that seem to see right through you.
The crowd erupts into cheers and applause, and Ana Sofia can't help but be impressed by his skill. But then, it's Weslaynard's turn. Wesleynard steps up to the line, his movements confident and assured. He nocks his arrow, his gaze never wavering from the target. The crowd grows quiet as they watch him take aim, the tension in the air palpable. Wesleynard releases the arrow, and it flies through the air with an unerring precision. It hits the very center of the target, causing the crowd to erupt into even louder cheers. Ana Sofia can't help but feel a sense of pride swelling in her chest, and she claps enthusiastically for Wesleynard. He glances back at her with a small smile, acknowledging her support. The final round continues, with both knights showing off their impressive archery skills. It's clear that they are evenly matched, and the tension in the air grows as the round comes to a close. In the end, it's Wesleynard who emerges victorious. The crowd goes wild as Wesleynard is declared the winner. He steps forward to accept his prize, a small but beautifully crafted statue of a hawk.
Ana Sofia, sensing the tension between the two knights, steps forward and places a hand on Weslaynard's arm, "Congratulations, Wesleynard," she says, her voice warm and sincere. "You have proven yourself to be a skilled and worthy opponent."
Weslaynard looks down at Ana Sofia, his eyes softening as he takes in her words of praise, "Thank you, my queen," he replies, his voice low and gravelly. "It was an honor to compete against such a worthy adversary as Sir Ralthone."
She glances at Sir Ralthorne with a courteous nod, but he barely acknowledges her, his gaze focused on Weslaynard, "Until next time, Weslaynard," he says, his voice dripping with disdain. With that, he turns on his heel and stalks away, disappearing into the crowd.
She frowns after Sir Ralthone, her brow furrowed in concern. She had noticed the tension between the two knights, and she couldn't help but worry. As the crowd begins to disperse, Ana Sofia turns her attention back to Weslaynard. "Come."