Blue is a sweetie. Hans just thinks his horse is a massive monster with a mean streak. I know better.

If he can handle my clinking and clanking and jarring his back with the extra weight and armor I am calling a torture device… yeah, no. He’s not just a sweetie. He’s a being from Sixth.

I lower my helm, nearly dropping my lance in the process.

“Aim and push,” Hans says, patting my knee where it only comes half-way down Blue’s barrel. My heart is trying to beat itself out of my chest.

“Hans… what in the worlds am I doing?” I hiss.

“You are staying in by not being disqualified.”

“Is there any chance I’m going to make it in the top twenty-five?”

He looks at me, sharp grey eyes pinning me in place. “Since you placed top in both of the top two trials, your overall standing must be under ten to stay in the running.”

My brain is slow. It’s seeing Hans’ lips move but I can’t make sense of the words. “Huh?”

He pats my knee, moving his eyes across the field, a dangerous glimmer in those eyes that reminds me the man beside me might treat me like a kindly uncle, but he is a renowned warrior spoken of in hushed whispers in taverns and the castles alike. “Knock one man off his horse when I say, and you’ll stay in the competition.”

I give him a tiny salute with my lance, nearly dropping it again. He passes me a shield, and I nearly tip out of the saddle. Once I straighten, I look across the arena and the partition they put in the middle. All around us are screaming folk with banners waving in the air. A tournament squire stands near to the king and his family, putting up different competitor's flags and moving them after each joust in a grid-like pattern that makes little sense to me, but I am sure means much to those who actually follow jousting.

The crown prince sits beside his mother, his eyes scanning the crowd and arena even as he nods to a pretty little woman beside him.

Oh. That's the girl I met at the ball. Princess Bridget, if I remember correctly. Her pretty blonde hair is up in a coiffed ball and a pretty tiara with glittering jewels adorns it. Her light blue dress accented with darker blue stitching and petticoats matches Prince Arin's silvery-blue tunic and darker blue, nearly black, suit-coat. All the royal siblings are adorned in some form of blue today.

I force my eyes from the prince and princess, who look perfect together. Truly a beautiful couple. They're kids would be gorgeous, with his chiseled features, strong jaw, and full lips and her bright blue eyes, cute button nose, and full figure.

I shake off strangely morose feelings to focus on the field before me. There's a wall about my waist to shoulder height along the center of the arena to keep the horses separate. Across from me is a knight in shining armor and a red plume on his helmet. His sharp white steed paws at the ground. Thank goodness for Blue, who stands here like a placid gelding without the snorting and prancing of the white stallion.

Hans is eyeing his horse and scratching his head as if Blue is a conundrum.

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I pat Blue’s shoulder and almost fall off as my armor shifts. Blue shifts with me, helping me right myself. “What a good boy,” I coo, and Blue perks up, arching his neck with a soft nicker that barely reaches my ears above the clatter and hiss of my armor and the overall roar of the crowd and neighing of horses.

I feel the eyes on me in a different way today. Being extremely sleep deprived and feeling as if anything that touches my skin is a hot iron has taken the anxiety of being under so many eyes—like a bug in a mage experiment—right out of me.

Ran snorts. As if.

You disagree?

Rider, your hands are shaking.

I hiss out a breath. How can you tell that?

She crunches on something, and I pull back from her mind just a hair. Aria, she says, a chastise hiding in her voice. Or… not so hiding in her voice.

I know, I know. You know all.

Go knock that pompous as—

—on his tail. Point made, sis.

I feel her purr echo from her chest and smile beneath my helm.

The trumpet blows and I kick Blue, nearly falling from the saddle and barely holding onto the lance and shield.

The problem? I don’t have the strength to bring the lance up.

I black out when I hit the ground and wake up to a silent arena. I bolt upright… or try to. I’m being held down by a forty pound… armor? I never wear armor.

And then Blue nickers above me, slobbering on my helmet-less head.

I sit upright with help from multiple arms.

Ow.

I’m going to kill whoever made this sport. And if they’re dead, I’m gonna raise them from the dead just so I can stab them to death again.

“He’s alright, ladies and gentlemen.”

A sigh and then cheers rise from the crowd.

I breathe deeply, testing my lungs and ribs. It’s sore, but nothing’s broken. I’ve become a bit of an expert on feeling if my bones are broken.

“Are you alright?” comes a cultured voice edged with sharp concern.

Lapis lazuli eyes meet mine when I take my hands from my sweaty face.

“I’m fine,” I say, somewhat crossly. I haven't yet forgiven him for earlier. And I can't put exactly why I disliked how he treated me... just that I didn't like it.

He cracks a smile, and I struggle to my feet.

Prince Arin grabs one side and Hans' grabs the other.

“I do not believe I’ve seen you move so quickly, your highness,” Hans says blandly, studiously not looking at the prince. “Nor seen you jump from so high for a lowly competitor.”

I cock a brow at Hans. Is he… teasing the prince?

Prince Arin holds onto my arm a moment longer than Hans, ignoring Hans’ statement.

“Is Blue alright?” I ask breathlessly.

Arin snorts a laugh and covers it with a cough. Hans stares at me. “Blue was not the one who just took a lance to the chest from a man two times her—”

I devolve into a coughing fit, and Arin languidly pats my back as we move to the side of the arena to get out of the next competitor’s way.

My cheeks are hot, whether from the false coughing fit or the embarrassment of being knocked flat on my back, I don’t rightly know.

“You can’t do this,” the prince's cultured voice says, all sharp and growly hiding beneath a placid veneer.

My coughing fit ends abruptly. I draw my shoulders back—which is harder than you might think with the metal weighing it down—and glare at Arin.

“What did you say?”

His eyes are flat blue, not the twinkling of before, and they are nearly… cold? No. Scared. I think they look scared, again hiding behind a veneer of calm. He seems to do that a lot.

“You won’t survive another hit. A competition is not worth your life.” The last word is nearly a sneer.

“And you? What is your life worth?” I reply.

“My life is only worth those who I protect. And that is not worth your life.”

I stare at him, a frown tugging at my lips. “Your highness—”

“Arin,” he interrupts.

“Heck, I’m not calling you that.” His grin nearly blinds me, showing a dimple in his cheek. But it’s not exactly a nice smile. It reminds me of when Jack gets an idea for a prank. Cheers erupt behind me, and I wait it out so I don’t have to scream over the crowd. “Your life is worth hundreds of mine. In the war that’s coming, you’ll be the rally point behind those who give their lives and enable the families within this city to be safe and free.”

The grin is wiped from his face to leave an intensity I find terrifying. He opens his mouth.

“Alright, good talk!” I say, clicking and clacking in the direction of an underground entrance.