Knives were a girl’s best friend. But when ya couldn’t have a knife, your fingernails work just fine for clawing out eyes.

Ran growls. Knives can’t murder you in your sleep, she hissed, imagining her jaws around my throat.

Of course they can, it just takes a fair bit of rolling around and falling on it, I reply with a wry grin. Did that once. Don’t recommend it.

She snorts. Knives also can’t hold you when you cry, she says, quite smug. How’s a wolf smug, you ask? Hah, you’ve never met a wolf like my girl.

I hiss out a half-laugh. Fine, fine. You’re better than any old knife. Better?

Much, she preens, flicking her metaphorical tail in my face.

I watch the next hand-to-hand brawl with some sense of amazement. I hadn’t seen such downright nasty moves since a bar fight I kinda helped along. By hitting a man on the butt and then pointing to another man.

The Honour Guard was hot on my tail and I had to escape somehow.

Ahhh, those were the days.

Are you seriously reminiscing about the days we were running for our lives and trying to not starve?

A blush tinges my cheeks and I cough into my hands when Sir Robin sends me a puzzled look. Shut it, I reply.

But those days really were fun. Maybe I forgot a little about how many times I fell off buildings and got stabbed. Sometimes, when looking back, it’s easier to see the good than the bad and it begins to seem better than it was.

And then there are the times the bad is like a slap in the face and sticks to you like Eldertree sap.

Eh, can’t win for losing, I don’t suppose.

It’s why wolves enjoy the now and don’t look back nor forward, rider. There are times to just… be.

The words resonate deep in my soul. That… that sounds wonderful. Thanks, sis.

She flicks an ear and sends a bundle of warmth over the bond.

And then my name is called.

There are ten boxes along the arena floor, all near to the tall concave grey walls of the arena so the spectators may cheer and throw things at the knights rolling around on the ground.

Hand to hand looks a lot like something Pa taught me. Something he called wrestling. I loved it as a girl, but I worried my skills were rusty. I smile, knowing Papa is back with Momma, resting.

And… ahh, heck.

I’m a girl.

And I’m squishy in places men aren’t. I glance over at Sir Xonier, who’s watching me as if thinking the same thing.

I can’t let anyone take me to the ground.

Xonier pulls me aside. “Little wolf good for this?” he whispers, his eyes wide and his skin wrinkling like a prune on his forehead. His lips are pressed into a thin line as he throws an arm over my shoulder, nearly knocking me over.

All the men here are bigger and stronger than I am. And most are wearing leathers at most, and many are even going shirtless, much to the glee of the young—and some old—ladies in the crowd.

“I’ll have to be, won’t I?” I ask through clenched teeth.

He pats my shoulder. “Xonier help any way he can.”

I send him a grateful smile, warmth rising in my soul for good men like him. If I don’t protect the prince, then at least he’ll likely have someone like Xonier or Robin at his back.

And that makes me wonder⁠—

Rider, we’ve been over this!

Yeah, you helped me with the joust so I didn’t lose out… but now? So what if I just happened to throw the proverbial hilt at Robin or Xonier? Then I would be free, and the dratted prince would still have someone to look over his shoulder that he could trust. It’s likely they’ll be even better at the task than I am!

You don’t seem to realize just what the prince needs. And it’s not the others.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

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My name is on the board next to a man I have seen in passing but haven’t yet faced in combat or joust.

If I remember correctly, he’s a man with a wiry but deceptively strong build and an easy smile.

There are only thirty of us left. Slowly but surely whittling us down to the very best for the melee. And I will be in that melee so I can choose who I want to be the Protector.

So I gotta win this fight.

The man stands before me, his torso bare and showing skin tanned from long days in the sun. He might be wiry, but he’s used to hard work. His hands are calloused and his face weathered by time. His eyes are the brown of warm earth and show an intelligence that are taking me in just as much as I am him.

He stands like a statue as our ring leader tells us the rules.

“No throat jabs. Weapons are forbidden. Kill strikes are automatic disqualification. First to tap out or be knocked unconscious is the loser. If I blow this whistle you will separate immediately. Any questions?” The monotone voice sharpens, as if saying there had better not be.

I shake my head, my competitor saying no at the same time.

“Face me, bow. Face each other, bow. Fight.”

I stand with my knees bent and shoulder-width a part. We circle, my eyes finding a limp in his right leg. The man lunges for me, and I leap to the side, bringing my elbow down on his back.

He rolls, grunting as he gets back up, his eyes wide. Hey, I actually learned something from my bout with Wolfsbane so long ago: don’t let an opportunity or opening go unpunished and be quick enough to take advantage of it.

Focus! Ran screams into my brain, and I nearly roll my eyes.

We’re circling again, beaut.

You need to make the first move this time.

Thanks.

Always my pleasure to be of service, she replies, just as sarcastic as I.

A grin tugs at my lips, and it makes the man appear a bit worried. My heart beats frantically in my chest but everything else seems… calm. This is my zone. I can control this.

The slight scuff of his boot is all I need to know what I am to do.

I duck beneath a punch, block a knee with my forearms, grab his leg and use my legs to pull his leg out from under him and jab his crotch at the same time.

He wheezes out a breath and I straighten. He lands on his back, and I manipulate his leg until he’s face-first on the ground and tapping out.

I grin, standing up to the shouts of applause and Sir Handsomlot grinning in approval and Momma, Papa, Jill, and Jack screaming at the top of their lungs about two horse lengths above us. Wait… why are they here?

But Papa’s proud smile as he drapes his arm over Momma’s shoulders makes it all worth it.

I give them a bow, making the crowd go crazy when they think I’m bowing at them. Roses and lillies are thrown down and a smile parts my lips.

That was fun.

What was I so scared of?

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I hit the dirt with a man on top of me.

This. This is what I was so afraid of.

My palms sweat and my heart tries to beat itself out of my throat. He tries to pin me, not seeming to notice anything… strange. Yet.

So I do the only thing I can think of. I scream in his ear.

I don’t think he expected that, but that screech was something I perfected to run off wild animals before Ran.

The things you learn living in a house in the woods as a child.

He’s a well-trained and experienced knight, so my bamshee scream doesn’t do much—but it does make him pause, so I use the moment to twist my hips and throw him off, then rise to my feet and circle the man still on the ground, who ends up laughing like a deranged hienna.

“What are ye, a sprite? Can’t say I’ve nearly had my ear blown off like that since a mountain cat about stole my soul.”

I raise a brow, a knight rising from the dirt and dusting off his leathers. I relax minutely, cocking my head in an unconscious imitation of Ran when she’s puzzled.

“I get why the big knight calls ya minx. Now why don’t we fight like men, eh?”

I raise a brow, fear transforming to relief as he doesn’t seem to guess anything. And then humor rises in me.

“Are there any men here?” I look around, as if searching for one.

The knight laughs. But then his hand is coming for my face and I duck, but he expected that. The punch was a blasted fake!

He pulls it, his eyes glimmering with humor and that big grin still tugging at his lips when his body plows me over and I’m on the ground again when he pounces. But I roll and roll again, even as he curses behind me.

“Quit your wigglin’!” he says when I kick him in the face with my boot when he tries to grab my leg.

I scurry forward, rolling and popping to my feet just in time to turn and jump away from a kick.

I back-pedal, blocking a punch, kick, and backfist in quick succession.

And that’s when an idea hits. He turns his back when he throws the backfist. If I can time it right⁠—

I can’t duck. If I do, I’m toast. I’ve gotta change up my usual patterns because he’s been watching too close.

When I would usually dodge and roll, instead I step inside his guard and catch him with a knee to the crotch. But he shifts at the last moment and I only got his inner thigh and then he nearly pins me to his chest, but I dart out of range.

And then came the pattern. Punch, kick, there!

I dart forward, jumping on his back. The knight is quick as a snake, but turning your back on an opponent is tricky. It gives more power to a strike but gives them a chance to do something you can’t see.

And I wrap my legs around his waist and my arm under his chin. He tries to duck his chin so I can’t choke him out and nearly beat me to his throat, but I got him, and before I can more than give a light warning squeeze, he taps my arms in the clear signal of tapping out.

I clamber off him, and for once his smile is completely wiped from his face as he faces me with a serious intensity I haven’t seen from him except for when we fought the Bamshee together—and he has no idea that was me. I can’t even remember his name, but he’s a great fighter and seems a good sort.

“That, little wolf, was something else. Well done.” He bows, then sticks out his hand and I shake his forearm as a grin comes back over his face and he swipes my leg out from under me to the laughter of the crowd. “I underestimated you, it seems. You have the gumption of what it takes to be Protector. I’m rooting for you,” he whispers as he helps me up.

My eyes grow wide. He slaps me on the shoulder and forces me into a bow for the crowd while I roll my eyes and his twinkle as if he’s laughing at me, the dolt