MonsieurPerreault plucked a name from the bag. “Éric Ansel!” he cried. The fans applauded as the young fighter walked out to the center.MonsieurPerreault preened his garments and cleared his throat before taking the next name. By his chortling laugh Philippe knew whose name it was. “Alexandra de Foix to the ring!” he called.
Philippe ground his knuckles into the seat, pleading with the fates for her to emerge. He did not want to be responsible for her missing this honor. All he had wanted to take were her lips, but he feared he had taken so much more.
Alex popped out of the group of boys and came onto the arena floor. She would be fighting, he realized, his heart growing light again. Hehadn’t ruined everything after all. He let out a long sigh of relief, thanking the heavens for the reprieve.
MonsieurPerreault said a few words to the competitors then backed away. The two squared off and faced each other. The crowd hushed, awaiting his command.
“En garde,” he called.
The fighters touched swords and held their positions.
“Pr?t,” he said.
The stadium stilled in anticipation.
MonsieurPerreault paused before continuing. “Allez!” he called and scurried back across the dirt.
The audience settled for the fight, but once the start was called, Alex dropped down, spun around and knocked the boy right off his feet. She held her sword to his neck before he’d even had a chance to move.
She’d won.
The spectators were on their feet screaming both praise for the skill and admonishments at the insolence. Alex hadn’t scored many points, but she’d come out fighting, that was sure. Philippe shook his head and grinned.
“Oh dear,” said the Duchess, stifling a laugh. “Poor Éric.”
MonsieurPerreault tried to settle the audience once again, taking a moment to realize that he was on again, but the people were rabid with excitement. He approached Alex to determine who her next opponent would be.
But something was wrong; Alex andMonsieurseemed to be arguing.MonsieurPerreault shook his head, getting more and more agitated and violent with his gestures, while she stood back with her arms folded. People in the stands around Philippe began questioning what was happening. The murmur rippled through the crowd. Finally,MonsieurPerreault walked to the judges’ table, his face set in consternation. There, the judges listened to him and then looked at Alex standing defiantly, alone in the middle of the ring.
“What is going on?” his mother asked. “Her move was legal. What are they doing?”
MonsieurPerreault stretched a large scroll across the judge’s table. Philippe guessed it was the official rules, but he couldn’t imagine what they’d be lookingfor.
After several long moments, in which the crowd had begun chanting their impatience,MonsieurPerreault came back out beside Alex. “Alexandra de Foix will be challenging…” He trailed off and cleared his throat. “Alexandra de Foix will be challenging his Lordship,MonsieurPhilippe du Chevalerie.”
The spectators went into an uproar. Philippe sat stunned in his seat. What the hell was happening? This couldn’t be right.
MonsieurPerreault continued, “We have checked the official documentation. Though there is no precedent for a junior challenging a master, there is, apparently,” he looked back to Alex, “no rule against it. Lord Philippe,” he cleared his throat again, “to the arena floor please. Or,” he said, “You will forfeit the championship.”
The Duchess turned to Philippe, her dark-blue eyes flashing red with fury. “What did you do?” she asked through clenched teeth.
Philippe couldn’t speak, let alone answer. He stood up, dazed. He didn’t want to fight Alex, yet if he refused, he would be shamed for declining the battle. He moved through the stands, with the buzzing of confused whispers trailing him. He hopped the fence that ringed the dirt and walked across the ring, though he felt unaware of what his limbs were doing.
MonsieurPerreault looked stricken as Philippe approached them. Philippe stood before Alex, her eyes black with hate.
“Don’t do this,” Philippe pleaded with her. “Don’t be stupid.”
“I wish to fight you one more time.”
“You will lose. You know that.”
“I will hurt you first.”
MonsieurPerreault stood to the side. Reluctantly, Philippe took his stance. She looked different; it was more than the loathing shining back at him. He was an enemy to her, he realized. And this was going to be a real fight.
They raised their weapons. The gamekeeper called the start.
Philippe braced himself for the move she had used on Éric, but her sword came from the top this time, knocking him off balance and scoring the first touch of the battle. He spun around and caught her weapon mid-air before she could strike him again.
