The clink of knives hitting the target or clanging off filters past the roar of the crowd and the mixture of boos and cheers.

The sand is hot beneath my feet as the summer sun tries to bake us all in this little oven called an arena. A deep breath fills my lungs until my bruised, still healing, ribs ache and I slowly release it.

Momma taught me to stand a half a step back from the target and to get a feel for the blade hitting instead of the handle. I’m still unsure entirely how she was able to manipulate me in such a way—I should have learned this on my own—but it reminds me that she is a scary intelligent warrior when she wants.

The sand grains crunch beneath my boots as I take a half-step back from where I normally throw from. A cheer rises as I attempt to ignore the challengers on either side of me and focus on the targets.

My hands shake, and I wipe sweaty palms on my pants. Whelp, here goes nothing.

The metal is chilly as I rub it beneath the pads of my thumb and forefinger. Time for Momma’s knives to do their job.

The starburst shimmers as the blade spins end over end, plunging deep into the first target. A warmth pools in my chest upon seeing the blade quiver where it sticks in the black.

Hopefully not beginner's luck.

A part of me wants to take the easy route, or even the middle target. Surely that would be enough to get me through. But something my father told me long ago comes back.

I was lukewarm about learning knives because I wanted swords. I’d taken the wooden blades and thrown them on the ground, screaming at my father to get me a sword and quite teaching me with sprigs. He’d calmly picked up the wooden blades. He sat me on a hay bale and crouched on a knee before me, chewing on a sprig of wheat.

He looked me in the eye, searching my soul. "Without risking all, you’re likely to lose all you fight to achieve. Little cub, there’s going to be times when you will want to take the easy road. The sure way. But ask yourself these three questions. Is it right? Is it wrong? Is it best? Once you answer these three questions, then ask yourself what you want. The path to the sword is through the knife. Is this what you want?" I nodded, eyes wide. He kissed my forehead, giving me his gentle smile which lit up his eyes and made me warm with pride. "When the roads diverge, take the hard way. Take the right way. Take the less beaten path. Take the road of pain. For in the pain, in the trial, you will find yourself. In the midst of the breaking, you will find your strength."

Life has tried. It tried to break my spirit while it broke my heart. Tried to break my mind while it shattered my innocence.

But I will never let it keep me from rising again and again until it either kills me—or I win.

And I have a chance, all because my mother taught me to throw all those years ago, and my father taught me to never accept defeat where hope lives.

Somehow, my eyes find her in the rows of screaming folk, a thread from her heart to mine beating as if it were a bond of its own. I wonder… I wonder if that’s how mothers always seem to know if their child is in danger… or getting into trouble. Maybe they have a special bond with their children, one The King grants at birth.

She gives me a small smile and a tiny salute, joy shimmering in her blue gaze.

Before I can think myself out of it, I flick the knives. Each I measure, each throw consistent, just as Momma taught me all those years ago. But from a new position. A position of knowledge. A position of strength.

And in the middle of an arena teeming with folk and a competition I feared I had no hope of winning, I smile.

Momma is more devious than anyone I’d ever known.

And considering my best friend is a wolf with the jaded mind of a cat and I have a weird semi-friendship thing with an assassin and possible prince, that says quite a lot.

The last knife slips past my fingers, each and every blade quivering in the center of the farthest target. With the surge of adrenaline and confidence surging through my veins, I felt each blade thunk into the target.

So long as I’m in the top seven and am able to skew the winner into a man I like, I’ll be happy. And that’s not cheating. It’s prudence. I want the prince protected well.

That’s all.

And my conscience needs to shut up about it.

You sure that’s all, rider? Ran sneaks into my brain, humor threading her voice.

I swallow a groan, preparing for a lecture from my Bond. And she cackles in glee as she gives it.

She takes the task of being my conscience seriously.

----------------------------------------

The knives clank into the targets, the fourth throw of the three blades. I’m currently trailing at third place. Which I should fine with. No need to win so long as I continue to the next trial.

And yet… something in me balks at third. Blasted competitive spirit. It’s wiser to remain in the innocuous background. That’s how I survived all these years. Hiding in shadows and coming forward only when needed.

Too late for that. Ran snorts, amusement bleeding through the bond.

I wince. Yeah. I might’ve gone along the wrong path for that goal. But I can start now!

And then Sir Handsomlot comes forward, looking at the targets and raising a brow. He whistles. "Remind me not to get on the bad side of these knights." The arena laughs, and someone shouts about already getting on the bad side of Sir Ri. That sounded like the booming voice of Xonier.

My cheeks grow red as the knights on either side of me turn to look down at me with smirks.

"Of course, but I didn’t think the little guy was so—deadly. That’ll teach me to judge a dragon by it’s scales." Sir Handsomlot paces along the arena. "And now, with no further ado, let us begin the final round. There is a hidden trial within this trial, and no one but the king knows what such a thing may be. A herd of rabbits will rampage on the arena grounds. And your task?" I tense. The knights beside me exchange glances, but are too disciplined to comment. "Pierce the flags on their backs with your knives. You each will have five rabbits with five flags. These rabbits are the illustrious pets of the queen, so please refrain from harming them—" The queen has pet rabbits? Poppycocks, I hope Ran doesn’t realize this. "—or you shall earn the wrath of the queen and an automatic disqualification."

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

The knight beside me gulps and pulls at his chain mail. I’m so glad Jenny let me out of the house without the hot torture device.

"Don’t kill anyone and don’t harm the rabbits. Begin!" He claps his hands, and all along the arena, doors creak open and creatures with huge ears and twitching noses, darting eyes, and a flag behind them that’s about the size of my hand.

This reminds me of a child’s game, but the audience is soaking it up, cheering and laughing as the knights stand in dumbfounded silence, watching the rabbits hop across the sand. Their noses twitch as they glance at us. Some rub the back of their head with a tiny front paw, others scratch behind their long ears like dogs. Colors dot the tan sand, from brown to gray to black and white and everything in between.

A few are even... Do they have red eyes? Heck, those are rabbits from Fifth.

Sir Xonier leans around the knights between us, since he’s way up in first place from finishing the joust with Sir Robin right beside him.

"No kill rabbits!" he says, suppressed laughter in his voice.

I have no idea what he finds so humorous about this.

I shrug. He releases a wild cry that scatters the two hundred or so little fluff balls and runs forward to find his flags. I wait, watching as Xonier racing forward is the catalyst for the rest, who go forward. But without Xonier's enthusiasm.

Sir Handsomelot didn’t put a time limit on when we had to have our flags pierced. Time, for once, is on my side as they herd the rabbits around the arena. The tactics they employ are many. Some seek to run the rabbits into corners to throw blades and hit the flags.

Others lay in wait for one to come by and throw. It genuinely looks like a field of knights hunting rabbits.

Which I had never realized was something I wanted to see. I just didn’t want to be one of the knights trying to skewer a flag flying on the back of a darting, hopping, and twirling little fluff ball.

A rabbit flying a blue flag darts past, and I throw a blade.

And the hilt sinks through the fabric of the flag without piercing and I groan as the rabbit squeals and darts off. Old habits die hard.

Sir Handsomlot saunters up. "Not going to join the fun?" he asks, his grin absent for once and the mage speaker turned off.

"Such fun is overrated."

He looks at me. His eyes, normally slightly absent if not dreamy, zero in on me. "Waiting until the field is cleared, hmm?"

I give him a side-eye. "Who are you and what did he do with the jester?"

His grin grows, and something about it seems… familiar. "Not all of us are free to be ourselves," he says, voice deepening.

And my brain glitches. "You—wha—?"

"Better get your targets before they get you," he says with a wink, sauntering off. Terrible, bird dying-type of whistles emerge from his lips.

A rabbit streaks past, a blue flag with a white streak in the unfurling center. I step back further than usual, and this time I feel it will strike true even before it sinks into the flag and the rabbit releases a terrible squeal as it’s pinned to the ground by the harness attached to the flag when the knife sinks hilt-deep into the sand.

I glance around, finding more than a few men along the sidelines with petulant frowns. Seems they harmed the precious rabbits. I once more thank my lucky stars Ran left to search for her pack again. She feels at least half-way across the southern forest and is almost through to the next biggest city further inland. What is she doing near Rinaldi?

Eh, no time to think of it now. But that is the farthest she’s been since all this began, and the bond feels slightly stretched. Not quite as bright and bold as usual, and it makes me miss her.

But right now, I need to focus. Half of the men are on the sidelines, some waving at the stands and pretty maidens.

The rabbits are still racing around, and a few are trying to drag the flags around with them.

I approach my rabbit, and it has almost pulled the knife from the sand. I grab the blade before it can pull free and the rabbit can injure itself while running around with a sharp blade flinging behind it.

It’s a cute thing, even as it quavers, it’s ears flicking on it’s head and nose twitching.

Poor thing. Why is the queen allowing these adorable creatures to be scared like this?

"Shhh. It’s alright. I’m not going to harm you." It squeaks when I pick it up. It uses it’s hind claws like tiny little blades and scores my skin, making blood well. I hiss out a breath, almost losing the squirming creature, but by all the worlds, this thing isn’t getting away and getting me disqualified by stabbing itself with my blade.

I grab it by the back of the neck, letting it kick to its heart’s content as it releases little grunts and tries to stab me again while I pull the knife and sheath it before the squirmy bag of flesh can make the knife stab either of us.

A tiny bullseye is in the corner of the flag, but the rabbit kicks with tiny grunts and I have to adjust my grip before I get a good glance.

I encase the creature in my arms, glancing around, and an attendant comes and takes the thing.

Catching the same rabbit twice would be idiotic. I’m glad the crown took care of that.

One man lunges and nearly flattens a rabbit before it darts out from between his arms, sides heaving. Another rabbit jumps the guy prone on the ground and a knight chasing that rabbit trips over the guy and sprawls on the ground. A laugh catches in my throat.

And then I dive into the melee, picking out my rabbits one by one. The same shadowy attendant takes them from my arms.

Sir Xonier slaps me on the back when I reach the sidelines, sweat beading at my brow on a near-miss. I nearly decapitated a rabbit when it swiveled and my blade shaved off some of it’s hair.

The bullseye type thing was on the second rabbit I caught, so I managed to hit the bullseye on the third and fifth rabbits. Which is daggum hard. I was quite proud I was able to hit that with the creatures.

The audience goes silent as the last knight comes to stand in the row before the royal box. And then the flags rise in order of last to first. Minus all disqualified knights. When it gets to the last three, the crown prince himself rises and goes to do the honours.

He rises the first flag, which is Sir Robin’s. Cheers rise as the cheeky knight waves and bows, grinning ear to ear. Next is Xonier, the laugh booming from his lips making my ears hurt.

And I haven’t seen my flag.

My stomach drops. Did my nick of the last rabbit’s fur count as a Disqualification? Was all this for naught?

I look away from the flags, tightening my hands into fists until my fingernails bite into my skin to fight the horror, anger, and disappointment rising in my chest. How am I supposed to keep the prince safe if I can’t either become the protector or help choose his protector?

Then Xonier booms a laugh. I jerk my head up, my heart skipping a beat before resuming at twice the pace. Xonier slaps me on the back as what I see surely can’t be.

It’s not possible. Nope. Nada.

How in all the worlds did I get first place? Again?

"How’s it feel, winning three of the competitions by the skin of your rabbit?"

I groan, putting my head in my hands.

He pats my back as the audience both laughs and groans at his terrible pun. "There, there. No need to be sad it’s over, only glad to see the light of the new day!"

I eye him. "What does that even mean?"

He grins, shrugging. "I am unsure. But it sounded neat, right?"

I can’t tell if he’s insane, clueless, or insanely intelligent. Possibly all three.

"But you, through trial and flame, have risen to the top three of four trials. Is it possible a little squirt can win the tournament and become our Prince’s next Protector? The next two trials shall show the metal of these competitors who are left. Give a round of applause to these mighty knights who stand with hearts aflame and souls aglow as they fight to protect our coming king and country!"

Cheers rise and my soul quakes as they chant my name.

They want me to be Protector?

The prince isn’t the haughty mule I thought, but I… I groan.

I just want him protected by someone who won’t assassinate him in his sleep.

Is that too much to ask?

I really need to stop getting out and trying to do impossible tasks.

I seem to get myself into all kinds of insane things when I do.

When all this is said and done, I’m gonna become a hermit.

But in my heart, I realize I don’t just wish to choose someone else to guard the prince.

I want to win.

Not that I’ll ever admit that