Mouse blinked. “A woman?”

“Handpicked by your sister. I, likewise, strive to prove that women can succeed in a combat role. My greatest regret is that she did not take me with her to the front lines.”

Mouse looked her up and down. His bodyguard wore breeches and a uniform coat, the same as the male bodyguards. A pair of dark-gray braids coiled neatly atop her head. Lithe and slender, she carried herself powerfully, unafraid of Mouse or anyone else. A sword sat at her hip and belonged there.

She caught him staring, and arced an eyebrow.

“If she can wear pants, how come I can’t?” Mouse grumbled.

Celedesta cracked a smile. She offered him a hand. “Call me Cel. Can I call you Mouse?”

“Everyone else does,” Mouse quipped. A firm grip overpowered his. Abruptly, Mouse tightened his grip, and Cel tightened hers in return. Half smiling, half grimacing, Mouse gripped yet tighter. Eyes narrowed, a wicked quirk to her lips, Cel squeezed harder.

Dayander cleared his throat. “If you two are done strangling each other’s hands, we have a duel to attend to.”

Mouse coughed and released Cel. “Right.”

Cel gave him one last squeeze and winked before she let go. “I win.”

A rap at the door. “Mouse, are you there?”

All three stiffened. Dayander went pale. Cel glanced at Mouse and mouthed, The Emperor?

Wide-eyed, Mouse shook his head in response. Why is the Emperor here?

“I heard about the duel.” Another pause. “Are you there?”

Dayander jolted to life. He gestured desperately at Mouse and the door, then shooed him over. Cel fell back, face stony and posture stiff.

Mouse took a deep breath. He opened the door with a smile. “Your Majesty. What an honor.”

The Mage-Emperor frowned, petulant. “I told you, I don’t like that title.”

Mouse’s lips moved silently, brain running in overdrive. Shit. He told you his name. This is the fucking Mage-Emperor, Twain! Name, name… “…Felix?”

To his right, out of the sight of the Emperor, Dayander’s jaw dropped. He stared at Mouse, then at the Emperor. Words blurred over his lips, running into each other, unsaid. You… Mage-Emperor… first name?

Felix brightened. He reached out as if to touch Mouse’s face, flinched away at the last second, and took his hand instead. “You remembered.”

“Naturally. How could I forget Your—er, such an imposing name,” Mouse said, without the least trace of guilt on his face.

A glimmer of a smile appeared on Felix’s face, chased away by a frown the next moment. “The duel. Do you need a champion?”

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“You’re too kind, truly, but I’ve already found one.”

“I could be your—you already have one?” Crestfallen, Felix released Mouse’s hand.

Mouse stared back, equally surprised. “Your Ma… Felix, I couldn’t…”

Dayander shook his head so hard that his hair lashed the sides of his face. Mouse narrowed his eyes in Dayander's direction. I know! You don't need to panic.

“Trust in me. I have this well in hand,” Mouse pledged, a hand to his heart.

Felix sighed. “What did you do to piss off—er, anger, the Crown Prince, anyways?”

“You should ask what he did to me, first,” Mouse grumbled under his breath.

Dayander sucked in a breath. His eyes threatened to pop out of his skull, and his head shook so fast his hair couldn’t catch up.

“Eh—what?” Felix tensed. He grabbed Mouse by the shoulders and looked him over.

Mouse smiled slightly. Someone cares about my sister. Really cares. Maybe His Majesty wasn’t who he’d taken him to be at first brush.

Dayander’s narrowed eyes froze the smile on his face. Taking him at face value? Dayander mouthed.

Mouse stiffened. Dayander was right. The Mage-Emperor had been in that ballroom, too. He could have stopped Reginald, just like anyone else. Even if it was only ignorance, ignorance in that degree was as dangerous as nefarious intentions.

“Your Majesty, please—it was… don’t think too much. I’m unharmed.” He pushed Felix back carefully. Bowing deeply, he added, “I would be honored to see Your Majesty at the dueling grounds this afternoon.”

“Of course! Of course,” Felix pledged. He hesitated awkwardly, then patted Mouse’s shoulder and retreated.

Only when the sound of shoes fully faded did Mouse stand up. He shut the door, then let out a long huff of breath.

“At least I need not fear your relations with His Majesty,” Dayander muttered.

Cel shook her head. “Damn. Guess His Majesty has a thing for moon elves.”

“I just asked him for a dance, what the hell is all this about?” Mouse muttered.

“You… what?” Dayander asked weakly.

“It was for Sabelyn… Ah! Look at the time. Cel, why don’t we head down to the dueling grounds to familiarize ourselves before the duel?”

Cel cast a glance at Dayander and let out a low chuckle. “Sure. Why don’t we?”

The dueling grounds stood not far behind the castle. Beyond them, the knights’ practice field and barracks stretched, both sweeping well beyond the castle’s walls. In the foreground, between the grounds and the castle, the stables cut a low profile. Occasionally, the wind blew the warm scent of horses and manure over the grounds.

The grounds themselves were simple. A stone platform sat in the center of hardpacked earth. Lines in red, white, and black marked shapes and distances: a circle in white, a pair of red rectangles, black lines separated by six, ten, twenty feet. A few others vanished off the edges of the platform, the purpose lost on Mouse. Simple stone steps marked where onlookers gathered, though they were empty now. Overhead, a few colorful flags dangled from a thin rope. They fluttered gently in the breeze, lonely without anyone to appreciate them.

Mouse fanned himself, ears swept back under a wide-brimmed hat. “Damn, it’s hot.”

“It’s not that bad,” Cel replied.

He glanced at her, eyebrow cocked skeptically.

She pointed at her dark braids. “I’m half sun elf. A bit more resistant to the heat than you full-blooded moon elves.”

Mouse nodded. He turned, slowly, pacing the dueling grounds. Eyes downcast, he twisted his lips in thought. His feet wandered, tracing the path of the circle, then spiraling inward. When he reached the center, he looked up at Cel.

“This is a personal fight. I want to defeat Reginald with my own hands.”

Cel clicked her tongue. “Out here wilting in this heat, and you still think you can demand nonsense?”

“I could defeat him if it were a thousand degrees hotter. He’s nothing.”

“That is inadvisable for many reasons, Prince…ess,” Cel said, then shrugged. “Or so Dayander said. I won’t stop you. You’re free to make whatever mistakes you want.”

Mouse sighed, staring up at the bright blue sky. “He’ll call a champion. I almost guarantee it. And I can’t guarantee I can best that champion. In the north, maybe, but… not here.”

He dropped his head. The gaze he turned on her was intense, ferocious as a hungry tiger. “Cel, will you stand by my side, no matter what I do?”

“I am sworn to protect Your Highness. And none too fond of humans.”

Mouse nodded shortly. He averted his eyes, staring at the ground this time. “Good. Good enough for me.”

“Even if Dayander whoops our asses, at least he’ll whoop us together,” Cel affirmed cheerfully.