Ivana had barely slept since the masked guest's mysterious appearance at the palace. Every instinct told her there was something dangerous about the stranger—and that Edmund knew more than he was letting on. As the first light of dawn crept into her room, Ivana's mind was already racing with the possibilities: was he involved in a plot against the crown? Or was he on a mission of his own, independent from his family's schemes?
The question lingered as she made her way to the council chamber later that night, hoping to catch a clue about the guest's identity. She expected an empty room, shadows to search in silence—but instead, she walked straight into her oldest, most familiar rival.
"Well," Edmund's voice cut through the dark, a smirk already forming, "either you're here to confess your secrets to me, or you've found the palace's hiding places less entertaining than you remembered."
Ivana scowled, her poise hardening into something more guarded. "And either you're stalking me, or I'm not the only one with secrets tonight."
They stood toe-to-toe, tension rippling between them. For a moment, the familiar bickering from their childhood seemed to slip through, but it was underscored by a new intensity—a dance of unspoken motives. She prodded, "What were you hoping to find here, Edmund?"
He shrugged, gaze drifting lazily over the empty council table. "Perhaps the same thing as you. Or perhaps I'm just curious why the princess is so interested in shadows instead of suitors." His tone was smooth, but his eyes were sharp, every word a test of her trust.
Their exchange grew more biting, a volley of cryptic questions and sharp replies, neither willing to give away too much. But each time Edmund deflected, Ivana sensed he was hiding something significant. He hinted at political tensions in the kingdom, subtle movements within noble families—things Ivana hadn't yet pieced together. Frustrated, she finally threw up her hands and left, Edmund's parting smile only addihere you're going!
By dawn, whispers of a royal event spread like wildfire, and soon Ivana learns why. Her father has announced a grand tournament—a traditional gathering for nobles and warriors to showcase their strength, but with an underlying purpose: observing loyalty among those who seek favor at court.
The sun was high over the courtyard, and the royal banners of House Arthur fluttered in the wind as the tournament grounds teemed with eager spectators. King Arthur himself sat beneath a canopy of gilded silk, watching with a keen yet relaxed gaze. Beside him, Ivana took her seat in a throne of velvet and silver, her expression poised, a slight smile gracing her lips as she took in the scene. Beneath her serene exterior, however, her mind was razor-sharp, studying each contestant as they prepared to prove themselves in the trials to come.
Today's competition was more than mere spectacle; it was a layered test of character, loyalty, and skill—a way to see who among the nobility could be trusted to hold their ground. The tournament was split into three main events: the Trial of Wisdom, the Trial of Strength, and the Trial of Endurance. Each one required not only a single skill but also a blend of agility, strategy, and resolve.
The Trial of Wisdom
The first trial demanded not only intelligence but cunning. Contestants were led to a vast, enchanted maze crafted by the palace mages. It shifted as they moved, its walls sprouting thorns or luring competitors down false paths. The objective was to reach the tower at its center, where a banner awaited the first to arrive.
The crowd gasped as one noble was forced back by a sudden wall of flames, while another narrowly dodged a fall into a trapdoor concealed in the floor. Ivana watched with keen interest, particularly as one of the contestants—a lesser-known noble from the south named Lyra—used a clever trick, tossing pebbles down every path to trigger traps before advancing. Her agile mind impressed Ivana, who took mental note of Lyra's resourcefulness.
Near the maze's heart, however, things took a turn as two other nobles collided, each grabbing the banner's pole in a battle of wit and speed. Just as the crowd thought one had the upper hand, a third competitor, seemingly lost, sprang out of the shadows and snatched the flag, surprising everyone—including Ivana.
"That's Ivan Grayson," her father murmured beside her, chuckling. "One to watch."
The Trial of Strength
With the sun now tilting westward, the arena prepared for the next round: the Trial of Strength. This time, participants would need raw physical power as well as an understanding of their own limits. Giant stone wheels lined one side of the field, each inscribed with runes that tested the bearer's strength, while the opposite side featured suspended logs designed for a tug-of-war contest.
The crowd roared as two warriors grappled, each attempting to hurl the other to the ground. Muscles tensed and sweat shone in the sunlight, each combatant determined to prove their prowess. Ivana watched, intrigued, but her gaze kept wandering to the lesser-known nobles, the ones who didn't stand out by appearance alone. They were often the ones with the most to prove.
Near the front of the line was a figure who caught Ivana's eye—a young lord from the eastern territories, lean but fierce. He avoided the brute force tactics of others, opting instead for precise movements, knowing exactly when to push and when to retreat. His restraint, bordering on elegance, reminded her of something—a hint of Edmund's style but with an edge that felt distinct. As he held his opponent in a deadlock, Ivana leaned forward, realizing there was more to this stranger than met the eye.
Suddenly, a bellow rose from another corner. The largest of the contestants had shattered his wheel with sheer strength alone, drawing murmurs of awe and disbelief from the crowd. Ivana noticed her father's advisors exchanging impressed looks, no doubt considering alliances in the wake of such displays.
The Trial of Endurance
As dusk settled, the final trial began: the Trial of Endurance. This was the round that would push each participant to their limits, testing both body and mind. Contestants were sent to an obstacle course rigged with barriers, ropes, and enchanted fields that threw back those who faltered. It required balance, patience, and relentless determination to reach the end.
This round, Ivana knew, would reveal who truly had the resilience needed in times of war or crisis. Already she saw some beginning to flag, and a few had fallen by the wayside, their pride bruised but their will intact. One by one, the contestants endured blasts of icy wind and illusions designed to break their concentration. Only those with steely focus pressed on, defying every setback.
As Ivana watched, her heart beat faster, her attention drawn to one particular contestant—a noblewoman named Mirielle, who refused to surrender despite injury. She gritted her teeth and climbed higher, her movements steady, each step more impressive than the last. Ivana's admiration grew as Mirielle reached the final platform, her strength and tenacity displayed for all to see.
Just as the last contestant crossed the line and the crowd cheered, Ivana caught sight of a cloaked figure standing at the edge of the field, watching intently. There was something uncanny about them, their face hidden in shadow. She felt a strange familiarity in their presence, as if they held a knowledge that somehow entwined with her own destiny.
"Who is that?" she asked, leaning closer to one of her father's advisors. But as soon as she spoke, the figure vanished into the crowd, leaving Ivana with a thrill of curiosity—and suspicion—that lingered as the night descended upon the palace grounds.
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