"Where is your beautiful mount?" a puckered servant says, and I recall his scathing looks when he realized I had named my horse Ran. He thought I was a bastard for treating such a regal mount with such despairing insolence.

Hah. If only he knew.

"She is... feeling unwell." I scurry on before he can question me further.

But not before I hear, "Fed her some bad grain, more like. He should not be allowed to own such a magnificent animal."

For some reason, his words make me smile. It's much different than the hero's welcome I received outside the arena gates. They flew my flag and cheered my name, asking for me to strike their swords and autograph their shields. I swallowed down bile at my deception and waved. Am I to forever be locked into lying about my identity?

Until you have no family or friends to protect against your enemies? Yes, you will conceal your identity until such a time, comes Ran's unsympathetic voice. She has officially called foul and will not give me quarter since I told her I will not ride her, as a wolf, in the games.

It seems that although she wouldn't hardly let me ride her at all when we were children, she's become used to being my primary mount. She scared Sir Hans' poor horse to death when she pounced on me and forbade me to leave on such a scrawny animal.

I didn't point out that the horse was a trained warhorse with hooves the size of dinner plates. Ran would call anything other than herself names if it meant I'd ride her.

Heard that, she mutters, pouting. I feel her chewing on a raw piece of meat and retreat far from her brain before my breakfast makes a reappearance. Tasting food secondhand is not my idea of fun... especially raw, chewy meat Ran finds fantastic and I find... yeah, just no.

I don't want to hear it, beaut. You get to stay there and chew on bones instead of socializing with the other horses.

I feel more than see her jaw go slack as she drops her bone. You didn't call me a horse.

'Course not. I called you another horse.

Her growl makes my head hurt, but I can't help my grin. Finally. Finally some revenge for the pounding she'd given me that morning.

As I travel the underground passageways to the arena sub-floor, I'm amazed at the lack of people. Normally, this down here is bustling with competitors and servants.

I shrug, pausing at a silver helm to adjust the dratted wig on my head and make sure the cap that makes me look like some dandy of a man is secured on my head. If the pins keep poking me, I'm liable to chop my hair right off. Momma would kill me, but that'd be the least of my problems if my cap fell off and my hair was long and luxurious beneath. Questions I can't answer would be asked... and that would be dangerous.

That done, I make my way to the actual arena.

And walk into pure chaos.

The stands shake with the mere sound so many folk make speaking to one another. It creates an indistinct roar and I wanna cover my ears. The competitors are lined up in a row near the center of the arena, shoving each other and shouting to be heard over the roar of the crowd.

A wave of… something overwhelms me and I’m suddenly bombarded by more than the sounds in the stands and the multitude of colors and movements and scents.

The emotions nearly drive me to my knees right inside the arched entrance to the arena. I step back into the shadows, leaning my head against the cool and porous white stone and praying no one comes upon me in such a state. Cold sweat breaks out on my brow and I clench my fingers into fists until they shake. Cold, shivering fear, gritty determination, broken hope, heated desire, flaring disappointment, heart-pounding excitement, and so many more overwhelm me until I can’t hardly pick out who I am in the looping and tightening bonds of emotions between me and all those here.

I whimper, beating my fist on the stone, just wanting it to stop.

A soothing warmth comes from a golden thread. Easy, rider. You’re alright. Focus on my voice, says a voice I know well but cannot place. There. Take hold of me, I will guide you back where we belong.

I grasp tightly to the hope she offers, and something gentle enfolds me, and a drifting scent of warm sunshine enfolds me. It's the scent of a meadow in full bloom with the sunshine high above granting her light and life to a valley of flowers. Freedom and hope and love and a hint of wildness underneath threads through the golden rope.

I follow that thread, and it cocoons me in a tight embrace as the emotions ebb and flow around us. I take a deep breath, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes at the simple relief of being freed from the many emotions that made me feel like a raft in the middle of a whirlpool. Now I can feel the threads and emotions all around me, as if I were in the eye of the storm instead of the eddies pounding against me.

I turn to see a ball of light in front of me. I gape, even as it bobs up and down in recognition and happiness. “Rose?” I ask softly.

She disappears in the next instant, and I wonder if I even saw her at all.

I glance behind me, seeing the threads right outside the little hole Ran created. We both huddle in the middle of the emotions swirling all around. If I wished, I could reach out and touch the varying colors… some such unique shades of known colors that I have no name for them.

They slowly fade away, going back to the many threads all around, but not flaying me with their whip-like emotions.

The storm fades and Ran and I are left in the center of the calm. A soothing warmth leans against me, and despite Ran’s grumpiness, she wraps me in her love here and supported me through the harassment of my Gift.

Thanks, beaut, I whisper, giving her a mental hug.

She chuffs, turning her back on me. Don’t do that again. Despite her words, I feel her relief. Plus, her tail wags… even as she tries her darndest to still the waggling fluff.

I chuckle, and she looks over her shoulder with baleful brown eyes before she walks off and disappears from my mental sight, tail still waving like a white flag.

I return back to the world, a bit lighter despite how wrung out I feel from the battering against my soul. With a sigh, I let my body sag, held upright by the cold stone that warms beneath my body heat. Ran and I can handle this Gift. Together, we can do this.

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And now I must go out into the sand and ignore the many people I felt in intimate and honestly soul-baring ways without their consent. Not like I could help it, but still. There has gotta be some sort of law against such things.

I just hope it doesn’t happen again. If it does, in the middle of a competition or fight… that wouldn’t be pretty.

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

I scrunch my shoulders to my ears and try to make my way to the competitors without being seen. The sand beneath my feet is slightly wet from a rain shower the previous night, making it less powdery. But it still makes for slightly treacherous footing that shifts beneath my feet.

Perhaps the downpour the night of my fight with Xonier was actually a blessing in disguise. It packed the sand tight and more like mud instead of this shifty footing.

I scoot in, barely making it for the first round. Archery will go quicker than the other physical aspects of this tournament, mostly because they have us lined up with space to spare. That is how large this arena is. Legend has it this was once used for dragon races. Now, it’s unknown if dragons still exist at all.

But I know better. Mom mentioned that Father was Bonded to a dragon. I need to ask her about that, but in the midst of everything, such a fact was near unimportant with everything else going on.

Sneaking to the back is easier than I thought. A few point me out and the overall roar gets louder, but I breathe a sigh of relief when I make it to the row of competitors without any further embarrassment. I give a little smile as I squeeze in between a bickering set of knights throwing insults on one side and a beefy, glaring knight on the other. His countenance is enough that even the most daring of men wouldn’t dare to match his glare head on. I’m just a crazy girl, so I do.

He gives me a smirk and a wink, earning a slight chuckle from me, then he goes back to glaring at the rest of men.

A hand grabs hold of my arm and jerks me out of line. A richly dressed attendant with hanging jowls and a top hat that would look better on a peafowl glares at me, still holding my arm in a vice-like grip. I'm tempted to break his little finger and make him let go... but that wouldn't look good with so many folk watching.

“What do you think you are doing?” he hisses in my ear, causing the knights to abruptly stop their insult war to glare back at me and the attendant.

We-ell, excuuse me.

The attendant pinches me. I give a slight yelp and glare at him.

“What were you going to do back here, you little idiot?” he asks.

I stare for a moment then give my sweetest smile. “I was going to moon the audience. What else would I do?” I ask innocently. I'm tempted to bat my eyes, but I stop such an urge just in time. It would look quite strange on a boy.

I have been hanging around Jack too long. And Ran. And Silver. Grand. Just grand. They're rubbing off on me.

Have you ever wondered if you rub off on us?

I ignore that very unhelpful statement.

The attendant turns all sorts of mottled red at my answer, making him slightly resemble a lobster I had seen in a fancy dining inn. No, that’s unfair. The lobster was prettier.

I watch in fascination as the red extends down to his neck and his mouth flops open in sputtering outrage.

A hand sits on his shoulder, stopping the man before a tirade can even begin. Strong fingers with one small golden ring on the thumb.

“I’ll handle this. Thank you, Gerald.”

Gerald puffs his cheeks out like a bullfrog before bowing deeply.

I watch Gerald waddle off with a smile of amusement in place.

“What’s his problem?” I ask, slightly bemused.

“He’s a bit stressed, understandably, since our crowd favorite has been an absentee for the past days since the first challenge. I do suppose you had a good reason for missing the ball—which was in your honour.” I abruptly stop looking at the retreating back of the shuffling official’s coattails. That voice—I’ve heard it before. I slowly look up... and gulp, meeting eyes of sparkling lapis lazuli.

I quickly descend into a bow. “My Prince. I—uhhh—umm…” That was so intelligent. Great job, Aria.

But how do I explain I missed all the balls and celebrations because I was kinda fighting for my life against monsters of legend and preventing a world-wide infiltration and assassination from another world?

He waves me to follow him, and there’s a suspicious gleam in his eyes that has me questioning my sanity for being in close proximity. It’s less threatening and more—scheming. “Come, Sir Ri, you are supposed to be in front for all to see.”

I frown at him. “What’s wrong with back here—errr—that is...” I backtrack, wondering how hard it would be to stick my boot in my mouth.

I scuff said boot on the ground.

I glance warily at his face, wondering what cruel and unusual punishments come from back-talking the Crown Prince. He has a mostly unreadable expression, but my heart slows just a tad when I see a twitching at the edge of his lips.

“Come,” he says and walks off.

I hop to it, trotting to keep up with his long legs.

“Do I have to?” I mutter.

He sends me a sideways glance, one raised eyebrow making me gulp—again. Thankfully, he otherwise ignores me.

I take that moment to study him. He wears a sword and I see the barest imprint of a dagger in his shirt sleeve, but besides that, he doesn’t seem to be armed.

He wears a silver doublet with gold thread over a sky-blue button up, which should look gaudy, but instead somehow enhances his wide shoulders. He wears plain black breeches with a black baldric of fine leather tooled with gold loops for his sword.

I look up to meet his eyes and see that he’s been watching me as I’ve—erm—studied him. He smirks and lifts his eyebrows, somehow reminding me of a certain assassin. “Like the view?”

I scowl at him, but quickly smooth the expression. He’s definitely not my cuddly and sweet assassin. No way. Their eyes are different colors. But the banter is the same. I’d have to get hold of a knife to be sure. A knife wielder develops—shall we say a liking?—to a certain type of blade. Now, how to steal from the crown prince?

We reach the front before I can take that thought any further. I am parked quite literally right in front of the Royal Box. I gulp and adjust the unstrung bow on my back.

WHY ME? I internally shout at the sky. All I get in return is a vague sense of laughter. Somebody has a sense of humor at my expense. If only I could look him in the face as I scowled at him.

I bow to the king and queen. The king is wearing a jolly red overcoat over a silken sky blue button up that accentuates his rather robust belly. He smiles and waves enthusiastically when he sees me, almost making his crown topple off. An attendant grasps the thing before it can fall and gently straightens it. The king is none the wiser.

The queen regally inclines her head. Her sky blue dress with glittering silver swirls over the bodice emphasizes her sea-blue eyes, making them appear almost silver. The smile lines around her eyes and the silver streaks in her dark amber hair make her appear capable and confident, someone worthy of the throne she sits on, while the slight smile playing about her lips and the warmth in her gaze makes her seem approachable. Which helps the image of the throne, since the king is throwing back wine like a man a third his age.

Today the younger siblings are also in attendance, talking and laughing and nudging until the queen sends them The Look. The one that every child learns to fear by the age of two.

The kids immediately straighten and go quiet, looking like little mannequins of pristine royalty, all accented one way or another in the sky blue of their parents.

“There you go, Sir Ri.”

I bow deeply to the prince. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

He returns the bow with a lesser one. “One question.” I had started to string my bow, but at his statement, I turn expectantly. “Why hide?”

I quirk an eyebrow. What the what now?

He quirks one right back at me and winks, the flirt. Or… he doesn’t know I’m a girl soooo... grrrr. I don’t know how a man would handle this. And I don’t know why a man would be winking at a boy. This is way too confusing, so it goes to the back of my mind to muddle through later.

I turn my gaze back to my bow, absently tracing a leaf carved into the wood. “I’d prefer to remain in the background until I'm needed.”

He nods slowly, then backs away and turns on his heel without another word. Why in the world would the crown prince come to help me find my unwanted spot?

“Brother.” Sir Xonier gives me a wide smile that crinkles up his eyes until they’re hardly visible, then slaps my back hard enough to make me stumble and cough.

I grin at him when I step back in line. “Brother. Cruising for another bruising?”

He honks out a laugh that startles the man on his other side, apparently the third ranking person. That guy turns, and I’m startled to see Sir Robin.

“Fancy seeing him here, eh, Sir Xonier? Thought he’d up and leave us battlin’ for the rights to guard our wee prince.” He grins at me, giving a welcoming tilt of his head despite his words.

“Wee Prince? He’s what, half a head taller than you, Sir Robin?” I tease.

“Eh, known him since he was a babe, I ‘ave. He’ll always be a wee prince to me.”

I concede the point with a bow, then go to string my bow, seeing as all the rest have begun testing their strings and preparing for the second round of the tournament to begin.