Archive of Our Own

If anyone ever asks Claudine to join a tournament in the midst of summer again, she will absolutely, one-hundred-percent, say no. With no uncertainty, no hesitation, no matter the prize that is offered to the winner. Even if it is a prize given by the King Himself.

The idea sounded so good on paper. Great, even! Claudine likes the summer. She likes the sun, too. Being out in the sun is even better. And even in the sunny summer heat, she enjoys a scrap here and there. Add a pool of prize money to the mix and it should be the perfect deal for her. She's been in oodles of knight's tournaments before, so one in August should have really been fine, all things considered.

But, by the Gods, she was so wrong.

Absolutely, one-hundred-percent, wrong.

There is sweat in her eyes. There is even more sweat in her hair, making her bangs stick to her slick forehead in messy, matted bunches. Every single time she takes off her gloves, her hands are dripping, the leather soaked through.

It's disgusting.

She is disgusting.

But what's even worse is that every single man around her reeks, and no matter how hard she kicks every single stinky man's ass, they still dare to have an attitude towards her, as if it's a crime for a woman to call herself a knight and, well, kick their stinky asses.

Well, fuck them! And fuck the sun, and the summer, and the sweat, and everything else about this damn tournament! It sucks! It's gross! She wants a bath in a cool stream! But, stubborn and bull-headed as she is, she will not have one of those. Not yet. Because she is Saijou Claudine, proud knight of the realm, and she unfortunately has a stupid, sweaty tournament to win first.

There is gold to earn, and on top of that there is that undisclosed prize provided by the King Himself.

Claudine is not going to pass up on that chance; it's not often the King offers a personal reward for these kinds of things.

There is not much time for Claudine to mope about the situation she put herself in, because the break she is given is a short one. Soon, the judges' horns echo through the air, signalling for the continuation of the tournament, and despite Claudine's apparent annoyance, what comes next excites her: hand-to-hand combat. The perfect chance to really show the rest of these half-baked wannabe knights that she means business and is not to be trifled with.

Claudine is a knight like all of them, gender be damned.

Grimacing, she slips her damp leather gloves back on, rolls her shoulders and makes her way over to the fighting ring. All around her, the men scoff and guffaw at the sight of her. She flips them off, not honouring them with even a glance. When she hops over the wooden fence separating the combatants from their audience, she finds herself opposite her first opponent: a wimpy looking guy, probably a couple years younger than her. He may be taller, but, Gods, she almost feels sorry for him; there is not even a trace of muscle in his arms.

Hmph. If this is who they're matching her up with, it's clear they're really not taking her seriously. Well, sucks for this guy.

“Come at me, then,” Claudine taunts the second she locks eyes with him, beckoning him with a crooked finger. “Show me what you got.”

The guy quirks a brow and laughs. “A woman? What the hell. I've been taught not to hit women, but, well... I guess you put yourself into this position, not me.”

Claudine rolls her eyes, and as soon as he charges her, she knows she's won. Every move of his is telegraphed; his right knee bends ever so slightly before he swings his right arm back as he winds up a punch. She dodges it easily, dipping down to her own right before thrusting her leg forward, slamming her knee right into his groin. He howls, but before he has a chance to react, her elbow lands on the back of his neck and he tumbles face-first into the dirt.

“Aw,” coos Claudine, planting a foot on the small of his back and pinning him down. “That was quite the poor attempt there. Sucks to judge a book by its cover, hm?”

“Oh, fuck off,” comes his muffled response; Claudine knows he's chewing on a mouthful of sand. “You just got lucky, bitch.”

“Sure,” Claudine huffs, feeling him struggle against her weight. She releases him, taking a few steps away. “Come on then. Second chance. Just a warning, though: this time I'm gonna knock you the fuck out.”

He is even less careful on his second try. Struggling to his feet, Claudine knows it would've been better for him to at least attempt to think of a strategy. Instead, he barely gives himself enough time to find his balance before he's back on her. Claudine sighs before he reaches her, and in one flowing motion, she uses her lighter weight to her advantage, twirling out of the way of another very obvious attack, and then crashes her fist right into the centre of his face, feeling his nose crack under her knuckles. Blood spurts from his nostrils, and he collapses in a miserable heap on the ground.

The audience's explosive reaction comes after a moment of stunned silence. Hollers and cheers thunder all around her, and Claudine throws her bloodied fist into the air. Victory. Again. An easy win, just like the one she earned when she had wiped the floor with everyone in the much-too-long archery competition that came before this combat challenge.

“Ye think yer special, huh?”

Claudine doesn't stop smirking as she turns around, and she also doesn't stop smirking when she sees her second opponent entering the ring. This guy is about twice her size, and possibly four-times her weight. His beard is unkempt and dirty, and the glint in his beady little eyes is hateful.

“And what if I do?” She asks, voice smug. “Wanna prove me wrong?”

He spits into the sand. “I'll break yer fuckin' neck if ye don't learn to show respect to the real knights of the kingdom.” The majority of the crowd around them boos him, but he waves them off with a grunt, then shrugs. “Fuck ye all. This ain't right. Women shouldn't be carryin' swords. I'll show ye what ye truly are, bitch.”

“Are you done throwing insults at me?” Claudine growls, cracking her knuckles. “How about you deal with me like a real man, then? Come on, big boy. You wanna prove me wrong? Give it a try. I might even go easy on you.”

The man roars and runs forward, moving much faster than he looks like he could. But he is big, and bulky, and heavy, and Claudine's own weight is once more coming to her aid; she easily avoids his charge, dropping to the floor to roll out of the way. Once she is behind him, she kicks him in the back of the knee, and his leg gives out from underneath him. However, instead of falling, he manages to regain his footing, and he twists his upper body in an attempt to elbow Claudine in the side of the head. She just about manages to dodge that hit, too, but she feels his arm as it whips past her hair. There is hardly a moment to spare; Claudine acts before she has the time to fully decide on a plan, but she digs her feet into the sand, using the purchase to thrust herself upwards. Her head crashes into the underside of his upper arm, and he screams as it snaps up, far higher than it should. She doesn't quite dislocate his shoulder, but it's enough to really hurt. And, more importantly, his shock gives her plenty of time to finish him off.

She grabs his injured arm with both hands, and, using the momentum of his own motion, pulls it further around his back until he loses his balance and falls, slamming into the dirt. Then, not daring to waste a second, she rams her fist under his chin; his head snaps backwards, and he falls silent, knocked out.

The crowd erupts, having found their clear favourite in this specific tournament, and Claudine thrives on their adoration.

She proves herself in five more fights, and by the end of this challenge she is even sweatier, covered in small splatters of blood from the noses she had managed to break. Her win-streak is unbroken, and there is no denying she is superior to any of the other knights present. Pride blooms in her heart as she hears the audience chatter about her, and suddenly she is glad – despite the sun, and the heat, and the sweat – that she came here today.

Again, the horns sound, and Claudine perks up when two of the judges approach her.

“Ser Saijou,” one of them says, bowing his head in respect, “You have proven yourself worthy of the King's challenge. You are expected at the stables to joust against His Majesty's Chosen.”

“Jousting? Again?”

The judge nods. “Yes, indeed. You shall face His Majesty's Chosen in competitions of jousting, archery and combat with the blade.”

“Fine,” Claudine grins. “That's what I'm here for, anyway.”

The King's promised prize; even if Claudine doesn't know what it is, the kingdom's leader is a gracious one – it'll be worth the effort, she's certain of it. She has proven herself as the best amongst many, and who else but the best deserves it, after all?

Her horse, Fierté, awaits Claudine at the stables, raring to go. His coat still glimmers with a thin sheen of sweat, earned during the first round of jousting the two of them had won earlier that day, but his nostrils are still flared with excitement. She gives him a pat on the neck. “Ready to go again, bud?” He snorts in response, and Claudine chuckles, “Good answer. Let's smash that so-called Chosen, alright? Once I'm ready too, that is.”

Claudine has seen enough injuries on the idiots who refused to go for function over looks; without proper armour, a jousting match can easily result in life-altering disability, or, worse, death. She's not going to risk that. Even if it means gearing up in something that'll be even hotter in the blazing summer sun. Only when as much of her as possible is covered in plated steel does Claudine return to her proud, muscular steed, and with the help of the stable-hand present, she mounts him.

Atop Fierté, with his shimmering black coat and vibrant orange-and-white caparison, Claudine feels powerful. Jousting has always been a favourite past-time of hers; the spectacle often draws in large crowds, and she thoroughly enjoys the wonder the reveal that she is a woman causes in the common folk. Today, they all know she is not a man, of course – but the thrill is still the same. She waves at the cheering rows of men, women and children watching her enter the lists – the arena – before she is given her wooden jousting lance. It's a sturdy piece, but still built to break upon impact. She knows exactly how to hit her opponent to throw him off his horse; she had done so dozens of times before, and she is confident it won't be any different now, no matter how proud the King may be of his chosen warrior.

And when that Chosen enters the lists, too, Claudine scoffs behind her helmet's visor; he looks skinny, not at all threatening like some of the other royal knights she had seen dotted around the perimeter of the field this tournament takes place on. He doesn't wave at the masses, but the way he holds his head, high and proud, makes them shout out their joy anyway. His steed is pure white, and its white-and-lavender caparison is decorated with the King's heraldic sign of a swan.

The judges who had called Claudine here take their seats on the ranks beside the arena and raise their hands to calm down and silence the crowd. “Combatants, take position on opposite ends of the tilt barrier. The match will end upon the unhorsing of one, or both, of you.”

Easy enough, Claudine thinks, directing her lance to where it should go and gripping it tighter as she aims it to where her and the other knight will clash on the lists. She's come this far; there's no way in hell she's going to lose now, so close to the end.

Fierté snorts, throwing his head back. His hoof slams into the sand, whipping up a cloud of dust. He's as anxious about the signal to start as Claudine is. There is a tension in both of their bodies, their muscles strung tight. And then, the judges cry out their signal to go, and, like bolts of lightning, both horses spring forward, their mighty legs carrying them toward each other. The crowd roars as they approach one another, and Claudine, full of that fire of determination that always drives her on, grits her teeth, ready to dismount her opponent in one fell swoop.

Three.

Two.

One.

Her aim is off. But her opponent's isn't. With a splintering crash, all the air pushes out of Claudine's lungs as his lance hits her right on her armour's jousting shield; the weapon shatters, and she can feel its steel tip bending her armour inwards. The impact pushes her back and all she can do to stay on Fierté's back is to clamp her legs around his body, willing herself not to fall.

And even though it had been a perfect hit, she somehow manages to right herself, straightening up just as Fierté arrives at the other end of the tilt barrier. Her horse whips his head back-and-forth as Claudine wheezes on him, shaking her head with just as much intensity to dispel the wooziness from the near-loss.

As soon as her vision clears, she grits her teeth harder, urging Fierté to turn around and position herself for the second round. The King's Chosen is already waiting, still holding his head high, a new lance in his hand. Claudine cannot see his face, but she's sure he must be smirking behind his helmet's visor, just like all the other pricks she went against today. And just like with every other prick, she's going to wipe that smirk off his face.

Again, the judge calls, and, again, the horses make towards each other at a thundering pace. And this time, Claudine's aim is better, though not quite good enough. She avoids getting hit herself, but her own lance only grazes her opponent's shoulder, unbalancing him as he gallops past her. Claudine turns her head towards him as she brings Fierté to a halt, and she sees that it is him who has to shake off the impact this time.

Her determination grows; she needs to be better to succeed.

But it's not enough, in the end.

The third time the judge calls out to them and Claudine races forward, her opponent hits her even harder, and her legs can't hold her up. She topples backwards off Fierté, slamming into the dirt with the clattering of steel and the rush of blood in her ears. For a few terrifying moments, she is stunned, unable to properly breathe. Then, the reality of her loss kicks in and she grows still as she lies there, staring up into the blinding sun. Its light is blotted out when her opponent rides up to her, his body shielding her from its glare. Claudine waits for the inevitable gloating she's sure to hear from him, and when he simply stares down at her in silence, she gets fed up, reaching up to push her visor up and reveal her face to growl, “What are you staring at, bastard? Get the insults over with so I can go home.”

The King's Chosen tilts his head, and Claudine's eyes nearly pop out of her skull when not the voice of a man, but that of a woman responds to her from within the knight's helmet. “Home? I do not think so, Ser Saijou. We have yet to compete in the arts of archery and sword fighting.”

“U-um,” Claudine stutters, undignified. Then, utterly hit by confusion: “What the fuck?”

The knight laughs, reaching up for her own visor to push it out of the way to indeed reveal the handsome face of a woman. But it isn't just any woman, no, but one that even Claudine recognises: behind the helmet is none other than the King's own daughter, Tendou Maya.

“H-how? Why?”

Again, the knight – Tendou Maya, Crown Princess – laughs, “Is it that surprising that the King's daughter could also be his most accomplished knight?”

Claudine fumbles for words, and when she can't quite find them yet, she busies herself with getting back to her feet despite the heavy-ass armour weighing her down. Once she is back to a half-sit, she glowers up at Maya and dares to mock, “Most accomplished? Awfully sorry, Princess, but I've never heard of you taking part in any real battle.”

It's a bold thing to say; mockery of the royal family is a sure-fire way to get exiled or just straight up executed. The crowd around them murmurs, then falls silent as it waits for Maya's response. It comes in the form of yet another laugh. “Ah, that is true. Well, Ser Saijou, let us just say that this tournament is as much a test of your skills as it is of mine.” Then, to make things even more confusing, the Royal Princess winks at her. “I hope you will face me in the other challenges as well.”

“Of course I will,” Claudine grunts, heaving herself up. “I won't lose to you.”

“I am looking forward to it,” Maya says, steering her horse away from her and towards the tent on the other side of the lists. “I will have you know, I do so love a challenge, Ser Saijou.”

Claudine huffs as she watches her leave, and when the guards on either side of the entrance to Maya's tents open up the flaps to let her and her steed enter, she rolls her eyes. Of course her horse gets to go in there, too. Couldn't possibly let the royal steed linger with the rest of the common beasts.

What a pain in the ass! But who cares that she lost this round? No-one, especially not Claudine herself. This was merely a warm-up; it's not like she's never been beaten at jousting before, and considering it's much more a spectacle than a show of the true skill of a warrior, it's not really a surprise that the crown princess could possibly be better at it than her. Royalty is all about spectacles, after all.

There's no way in hell Claudine is going to lose at archery, because that she's actually undefeated at, and no lazy crown princess will take that from her. She has fought for her life plenty of times, and not all of those fights were on the battlefield – the ability to hunt for game is essential to survive in the wilderness.

She continues to grumble, pulls the helmet off her head and dusts herself off, until Fierté trots up behind her and mouths at her hair; she pushes him away, though when he flares his nostrils and snorts, she shakes her head and can't help but sigh a good-natured sigh, “You did well, bud. Sorry to disappoint you.”

Fierté snorts again, ignoring her previous attempt to get away from her and rubbing his nose against her face. Then, he digs in the sand with his hoof, shakes his body and turns his big head towards the tent Claudine had entered from.

Again, Claudine sighs, “Fine, fine. Let me get out of this hunk of steel and I'll get you something to eat.”

And despite her loss, the crowd cheers as she makes her exit from the arena, and her mood improves greatly. She still has the audience on her side as the tournament's favourite; she won't disappoint them, just like she won't disappoint herself. She won't give those who doubted her any ground to step on.

No matter who her opponent is.

…

It takes an hour until the judges get her this time, giving her plenty of time to not only get out of her heavy gear, but even clean herself up a little. Archery is one of Claudine's greatest passions, and she knows she is good at it. And back in her familiar light leather armour, she feels so much better – she is more agile, and, even better, there is no steel around her making her feel trapped.

“Ser Saijou,” the judge says from outside her tent, “It's time. May I please ask you to join Princess Maya at the archery range?”

“Sure thing,” Claudine grunts, gripping the bow in her hand. “I'll be there.”

Claudine walks through the makeshift camp with all the confidence she has to offer, the expression on her face one of steely determination. Her eyes burn with passion, the desire to win. No matter what. She will walk away from the place as the clear victor.

Despite the heat, and the sun, and the sweat, and especially despite that stupid, smug princess.

It's just too bad that the moment she finds Maya by the archery range, no longer mostly hidden away by heavy armour, she is stunned into stillness. Claudine knew what her own kingdom's Princess looked like before today, of course – there are plenty of portraits and stories. But nothing could've prepared her for the real thing.

It's infuriating to see that Maya isn't just pretty, but downright hot.

...And exactly Claudine's type.

“Ugh,” Claudine mutters, trying very hard – and failing – not to blush at the sight. It's fine though, she tries to convince herself; it's been sunny all day long, and it's easy to blame the heat on her cheeks on that. Still, when she addresses the Princess, her voice breaks a little and she has to clear her throat to continue. “W-well, Princess, time to see what you're truly made of.”

Maya turns to her, and dares to give her a brilliant smile that does nothing to help smother the fire on Claudine's face, “Ah, Ser Saijou, I assure you, I am rather adept with the bow, too. I am certain not to disappoint.”

“Y-yeah, sure,” Claudine says, her voice breaking again. That girl is too damn pretty! “Sorry to say, but I'm not gonna go easy on you just 'cause you're royalty.”

“I would be insulted if you did,” Maya replies, and the smile on her lips grows. “Trust me, Ser Saijou, but I have known enough people who do not give it their all when going against me – no matter what the competition was. I want you to continue fighting me just like you have on the lists back there. It was exhilarating to have a true battle for dominance for once.”

Claudine can believe that – no-one she knows would dare to cause the King embarrassment in any way, and beating his daughter would be a sure-fire way to do so. But Claudine isn't any of her acquaintances. She is a knight, courageous and honourable, and she would never pretend to be less skilled than she truly is. “You don't have to worry about that. You can trust me that I'm gonna kick your ass. Just a shame you don't seem to want to go hand-to-hand against me, or I would prove that for real.”

Maya laughs. “Ah, goodness me! The way you speak to me is just as exhilarating, Ser Saijou. You are rather fortunate about that, though – not many in my family would allow themselves to be insulted and threatened like that.”

“And you're fortunate that's all I'm doing,” Claudine scoffs. “Like I said, shame you don't let me actually kick your ass.”

“My sincerest apologies about that,” Maya says, and she actually sounds genuine. “It was unfortunately a requirement my father had. I would not have been allowed to partake in this tournament if I had insisted on a fist fight.”

Claudine snorts. “Not pretty enough, eh?”

“I would assume so,” Maya chuckles, and Claudine starts getting quite annoyed at how enjoyable it is to talk to her. “I do hope the other challenges will suffice?”

Claudine shrugs. “They're good enough, I guess. And speaking off – I think all these fuckers are waiting for us to give them a show, so if I can't kick your ass in hand-to-hand combat, I'm at least gonna kick it at archery now.”

“We shall see about that, Ser Saijou,” Maya quips back, shaking her long, way too soft-looking hair, “I may not want you to go easy on me, but I am also not willing to lose.”

“That makes two of us.”

The archery range isn't the same as it had been for the competitions taking place earlier; there are still five targets, but now they're not just standing in a row at the same distance, but are instead staggered. Even for Claudine, the fifth and farthest shot will be a difficult one. But she is still confident; unlike deer, none of these targets can move, and while she hasn't done so often, she has still managed to hit game further away then the one at the far end of the range.

“Princess Maya will go first,” the judge announces once they are in position. “You will both take turns on the targets, beginning with the closest one. One arrow per target.”

High stakes, but it's easy enough. Claudine trusts in her aim; she won't let a single one of those shots go to waste, and she knows she'll be able to hit the bullseye on most of those targets – only the last two worry her. She will hit them, but she can't be certain it'll be right in their hearts. Claudine doesn't doubt that Maya is good at archery – it's one of the few combat arts the Princess easily could have picked up at the royal palace, and that means the biggest question will be whether or not the she learned to shoot at such a distance. And if she did, Claudine simply has to believe she is still better, having gained most of her own skill from moving targets.

Maya, who quickly turned out to be a bit of a bit of a tease on top of being smug, sends another one of those lovely smiles Claudine's way, and Claudine huffs in indignation, blowing her bangs out of her face. That bastard! She's trying to get under her skin, she must be! Well, tough luck – Claudine won't be distracted, not by such cheap tactics. And when Maya turns her back on her, and she doesn't have to bear looking at that infuriating face any more, Claudine manages to focus on the Princess's form. It's impeccable. Maya holds the bow with the confidence of one who has done so hundreds, perhaps thousands, of times. The muscles in her arms ripple, but they do not quiver with the effort it takes to draw the bowstring taut; she is so still, focused so intensely on her target Claudine wonders if she even dares to breathe. And then the first arrow sails through the air, whistling as it soars, and embeds itself in the tightly coiled straw target. It's a bullseye for sure; Claudine can see it sticking out from the most central black circle. Fuck.

The blood rushes to Claudine's ears, and she can barely hear the audience's cheers above it. Her fingers clench around her own bow, and she stomps past Maya to get into position herself, ignoring that stupidly attractive, cocky smirk. She'll show her! She'll show her what it means to be a truly good archer.

Claudine closes her eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath. The sounds around her seem to dull down into a background murmur, and when she opens her eyes again, she channels all of her own focus, levelling her gaze with the target. Maya's arrow is still buried within, but she can see now, being straight ahead of it, that it's ever so slightly off-center. The Princess hadn't managed to hit it right in the middle. She missed, but Claudine will not.

Slowly, at a measured pace, Claudine draws back her bow's string. Her aim is perfect. She knows it is, and there is hardly a reason to drag the shot out like this, but she knows that in a competition like this one, she can show off a little, make sure her arrow truly hits its target; why not impress the masses a little more than necessary while she's at it? She exhales, and her arrow sings as it rushes through the air. It's the easiest shot of the five, and Claudine made it count. She hits it dead on, piercing the very heart of the target, and wins the first round.

“Not bad,” Maya says from behind her, the expression on her face one of genuine wonder. “It took you much less time to line up your shot.”

Claudine snorts. “Princess, I took my time. Perhaps you're just not as good of an archer as you thought you were.”

“Speed does not make a difference if the technique is good, though.”

For a few moments, Claudine stares at her, studying the Princess's perfect face, her perfect skin, so unblemished, so pale. So different to her own, with the slightest hint of grime and a darkened ever so slightly by the merciless sun. “Speed makes all the difference,” she then says, and her voice is gruff. “When you're out there, and your opponent has an arrow trained on you, too. You're lucky these targets can't kill you, Your Highness.”

“My apologies.”

“Huh?” Claudine hadn't expected that to be her response.

“My apologies,” Maya repeats, bowing her head. “I should not speak so carelessly. Of course I do not understand the true risk of battle. I did not mean any offence, Ser Saijou.”

“Um,” Claudine says, rubbing the back of her head. “I-it's not that big of a deal. It's not like any of these folks know what battlefields are actually like. That's why they enjoy these little shows so much. And, to be honest? It's better that way. Battles can be awful, but this is kind of a nice break for us knights. And the kids like it, so,” she shrugs, waving at some of those children who love watching these tournaments so much, “it's fine. I enjoy showing off. Sorry for being a bit of a prick there, Princess. You may not have any experience with real battles, but your form is pretty good.”

Maya gives her a small smile. “Perhaps you could teach me to perfect it then, Ser Saijou. I wish to be better than just, ah, 'pretty good'.”

“Me? Fuck no,” Claudine scoffs. “I'm a wandering knight. I'm not gonna stick around here to babysit some wannabe hero princess. No thanks.”

“Hmm. I do think you would make a wonderful teacher, though.”

Claudine glares at her. “Doesn't look like you need a teacher, though. You seem to be well on your way to that perfection you seek already. Just give it a couple more years, and maybe get out of that stupid palace of yours more often.”

Just as Maya opens her mouth to continue talking, one of the judges shuffles into their field of view. He bows so deep his nose almost hits the grass. “My deepest apologies, Princess Maya, Ser Saijou, but the competition must continue at the behest of the King.”

“Alright, fine,” Claudine grins at Maya, starting to feel oddly comfortable around the Crown Princess. “Show me whatcha got then, hm? I might even consider sharing a piece of advice with you if you impress me. Maybe even two.”

Maya laughs softly. “I always strive to please.”

No matter how good Tendou Maya is at archery, she can't keep up with Claudine's experience with the bow. At the end of the fourth round, all but one of Maya's arrows narrowly, or not so narrowly in the case of the fourth one, misses its mark in the very centre, but Claudine misses none; the one target Maya hit in the very middle, Claudine hit as well, splitting Maya's arrow in two in the process. And while Claudine cannot help but gloat over her victories, Maya proves to be surprisingly patient; she doesn't get frustrated, nor does she get snappy. She is so different from all the men Claudine had faced down in this tournament, and others like it. A respectful opponent close in skill to her own, and one she finds she very much enjoys being in competition with.

It's with no small amount of furious blushing that Claudine realises that this might be the most fun she's had in years. Even though Maya continues being infuriating, smooth and borderline flirty with her.

...Perhaps she enjoys that a little too much, but what else is Claudine to do? Maya is her type!

Ugh.

Focus, Claudine! There is yet another target to shoot, and she has to make it count. So far, Claudine has just about shown to be superior in skill, but this last target is worth the most. It's far, far away from where they are supposed to hit it from, and Claudine already feels like she was lucky to hit the fourth one as well as she did. If she fucks this one up, but Maya miraculously doesn't, she might still be counted as the victor, and Claudine definitely can't have that.

The judge's horn rings, and Claudine looks up, furrowing her brows. They're right at the end. Why do they need to make an announcement now?

“Combatants,” one of the judges addresses them, “there will be a slight change to the proceedings. You will still be required to shoot the last target, but it has been decided to up the ante for this most important round of our archery competition.”

Claudine shares a glance with Maya, who looks as puzzled as she feels. A change not even the Princess knew of? And from the rumbling murmurs of the audience, neither did any of them.

“This is a grand tournament. An show of skill, of courage, and an event that also serves as a stepping stone for our future Queen – yes, Princess Tendou herself has requested it, to prove to all of us, all of her subjects, that she is worthy of the throne she will inherited in the future. And during such an important, meaningful day, the King has decided that more than just plain archery will suffice. You will attempt to hit the target from horseback.”

Claudine whistles. “What a speech for such a small change.” She looks at Maya, finds her staring at the ranks to the side of the field, from where her father, the King Himself, watches his daughter compete, her body rigid. “The King doesn't seem to want to let you get off easy, huh? Hitting a target this far away from horseback is not a simple task.”

“My father has always enjoyed challenging me,” Maya says, the tone of her voice flat. “I must be strong. It will not be easy ruling a patriarchal society such as ours. Not as a woman.”

“I sympathise with that.” Maya gives her a look, and she shrugs, gesturing at herself. “Hello? I am a woman, too. It's not the most respected thing to be when you want to carry a sword. Fuck, half of the people I competed with today would've loved to see me thrown in the dungeon for my transgression. Too bad I kicked their asses anyway.”

The tension drains from Maya's shoulders, and she chuckles, “You must be quite the inspiration to the women of the realm.”

“I hope I am. I'm sick and tired of being seen as weaker just 'cause I wasn't born the gender these fuckers think is the correct one.”

After a small pause, Maya says, “I will admit you are an inspiration to one such as myself.”

“Whu–?” For the umpteenth time since meeting this vexing woman, Claudine finds herself flushing red. “F-fuck off. I'm not an inspiration to the future Queen. I'm rough, and I stink.”

Maya bursts into laughter at that. “I am so sorry to say so, but after physical activity such as today's, even this future Queen has a slightly sweaty scent to her.”

“Shut up,” Claudine grumbles, and she notices Fierté emerging from the crowd, led to her by the stable-hand who had looked after him after her and Maya's jousting match. “A-anyway, Miss Stinky Future Queen, let's show your father what you're made off, then. I'm still not letting you win, though.”

“I would not expect you to, Ser Saijou.”

The last archery challenge is tricky, sure, but Claudine doesn't worry much more than she had when faced with having to shoot that far-away target while standing. Perhaps she even feels a little less worried; this is much more familiar. The target itself may not move, but now she is going to move. She has hunted down deer on Fierté's back before. She had killed dozens of bandits and trained soldiers while on horseback and armed with nothing but her bow. She knows she can hit a target like this, and as long as she manages that, she will count it as a success.

But it's not her turn first, but Maya's. The Princess stands a few yards away from her, whispering words to her snow-white steed. Claudine wonders if she's ever shot a bow from its back; she has the distinct feeling its more likely she has not. Her father likes to challenge her; an odd choice to do so during a public tournament, considering the possibility of her missing the target completely, which could be quite the embarrassment.

Perhaps there is more to that challenge than Claudine had first thought of, though.

“Princess,” she says before she can stop herself, “Don't stress about it. I've seen the control you have when you're on that horse. Don't focus too hard about the fact you're moving. Let your horse take you forward and don't take your eyes off the target. It's not that much different from shooting while standing. Just... bumpier.”

Maya frowns at her. But then she nods. “Thank you. I will keep that in mind.”

“You got this.”

And Maya does it. Not perfectly – far from it, in fact – but she does it. Claudine could tell that the Princess had never done such a thing before, but after she had gotten her horse up into a gallop, racing in a line parallel to the target, she stopped focusing on her horse, doing what Claudine had suggested her to do. Her eyes snap to her target, her arms move to aim her bow, and after a brief, but meaningful moment, she lets her arrow loose, watching it fly through the sky and then embed itself into the hay. It's nowhere near the center, but it's still a hit, and a hit means that Maya didn't fail her father's challenge.

But for the first time that day, Maya looks unhappy with her archery skills, glaring at the far-off target in frustration. She brings her horse to a stop, ignoring the cheers of the audience, and instead turns to look to where her father still sits; he is too far to say for certain, but Claudine can still tell he's not as excited as any normal parent would be for such a feat on a first try.

So, for some god-forsaken reason, Claudine does what the King should be doing right now, and she claps, smirking at Maya when she turns to her in confusion. “Well done. Like, for real. That's a difficult thing to pull off, especially for the first time. I couldn't hit things for shit when I first started training to shoot from horseback.”

And Maya, for some god-forsaken reason too, blushes. “Ah. That is... quite the high praise, coming from you.”

“Don't flatter me, Princess. You haven't even seen if I can hit that target myself yet. I might accidentally shoot someone else for all you know.”

“I may not know you, that is correct, but I can still recognise the skill you have.” A smile works its way onto Maya's face, and Claudine feels oddly pleased with herself to have cheered her back up. “Do try not to hit any innocent bystander, though. That would not look very good on my father.”

Claudine laughs. “Oh, don't worry. That was a joke. I'm gonna hit that thing. And I promise it'll be a better hit than yours. But don't be too upset about that – I've got a lot more practice with this.”

And that practice bears fruit, of course. Claudine mounts Fierté, directing him to the very edge of the field; she hardly thinks before she urges him on, and together they bolt across the grass, the sound of Fierté's hooves the only thing Claudine can hear. Her legs are clamped around his body like a vice, and she straightens up, bow and arrow in hand, aiming at a target that is so far away she can barely make out any of its details. The trees behind are a blur; the audience's chatter dies away as everyone watches, enthralled.

When Claudine lets loose her own arrow, she already knows she had won. It soars through the air in an arc, first up, then down, and despite the warm summer breeze, it finds its mark, tearing through coiled hay as if it were paper. Claudine doesn't need to be close to know it had not just embedded itself into the target, but pierced through it, the arrowhead now sticking out from the back. And it's a bullseye, too. A clear victory, making up for the embarrassing loss she had suffered on the lists earlier.

And the common folk love it, exploding into applause and cheering. Their favourite is back on track to be the tournament's winner; Claudine doesn't plan on disappointing them.

Maya doesn't scowl when she approaches her again. It's a surprise to Claudine, considering her face when she hadn't managed to hit the central circle of the target herself. It does confirm one thing, though – Maya, Princess or not, doesn't seem on the best of terms with her father. Or it's just a desperate need to please him. For all Claudine knows, she may have a severe case of daddy issues, which, if Claudine had to be honest, she would probably have herself if the King was her father.

“Very well done, Ser Saijou,” Maya says, nodding in approval. “You are as good with the bow as I knew you would be. And you are an impeccable rider, too.”

Claudine huffs, though she can't help the smug smirk on her lips. “Why thank you, Princess. Someone's gotta protect the kingdom, hm? And the luxury you enjoy in your palace, I guess.”

“Hah, do believe me when I say I would quite like to be one to protect the people as well. It is... admittedly, a little hard from the comfort of my home, and my father dislikes the idea of it greatly. It is one of the reasons I wish to show him that I, too, can be trusted in the wider world.”

Claudine folds her arms. “Jousting and archery competitions like this one won't protect you from bandits, though.”

Maya smiles. “Which is why the last of these challenges will be a fight. I must sadly say it will have to be with wooden swords – father would not budge on that.”

“Can't really blame him. And I gotta say I'm kinda glad about it, too. Like, I would've enjoyed kicking your ass in a fist fight, but if I had injured you, the Crown Princess, with a sword? That would've gotten me on the execution block for sure.”

“I would not have allowed that to happen.”

Claudine looks at her, realising that this stupidly handsome girl really doesn't have any actual experience outside of the showy settings in her fancy castle. “Look. You have no idea how many people die during these tournaments. It's easy to mess up somewhere. Even in a fight that's not supposed to be to the death, if you give someone a real sword you can easily give them a real injury, too.”

“Have you ever killed by accident, Ser Saijou?”

“...Not killed, no. But I have maimed opponents before. Yeah. I have done that, and let me tell you: it's not a good feeling. I'm not really into the idea of doing that to you, just 'cause you think you can stand toe-on-toe against real knights. Nah, I think wooden swords will suit us just fine. The worst you're gonna get with those is some bruises. I'm not gonna go easy on you, but I am not gonna try breaking your bones, either.”

Maya's smile turns back into that cocky, attractive grin. “You underestimate me, Ser Saijou.”

“Oh? Am I, now?” Claudine tilts her head, letting her eyes wander up and down Maya's form. “You've noticed how much more pronounced my muscles are, right?” To make a point, Claudine flexes her bare arm; her biceps bulges. “This is what someone who kills looks like, Princess. I don't always just fight for the amusement of the people.”

“You still underestimate me,” Maya says again, but Claudine is pleased to see her eyes are trained on her muscles, that soft blush back on her cheeks. “I will not allow you to win that easily. No matter how strong you may be. Do I have to remind you that you are often underestimated because of your skinnier frame than those of the men you beat as well?”

“...Touché.” Maya has a point, but Claudine isn't deterred. “Guess we'll just have to find out the hard way who's the better one, hm?”

Maya is as confident as Claudine is, and it exhilarates her. It's just so... hot. Women who know their worth, who won't back down from a challenge are exactly Claudine's type. “It will be my pleasure, Ser Saijou.”

…

Being cocky towards Maya, it turns out, wasn't the best idea Claudine's ever had.

After their challenge to each other, they had walked, side-by-side, straight to the fighting ring, continuing to banter along the way. The Princess is infuriatingly charming, and surprisingly fun to talk to; Claudine doesn't mind having her here at all. For royalty, she really isn't too bad. And the more she says, the more Claudine starts to think that she perhaps wishes not to be sat on a throne for the majority of her life at all. There is a shine to her eyes when she speaks about wanting to prove herself as a fighter, and about how she wishes to fight on behalf of those who cannot defend themselves.

And Claudine realises that she might actually like the idea of training her – the wish of a fool, of course, because no matter her desires, Maya is still the Princess, and if she had to convince her father to even allow her to take part in this tournament in the first place, Claudine highly doubts he would allow her to leave the capital.

But as Claudine finds herself opposite Maya, both of them armed with solid wooden swords, and she sees that Maya's form isn't half-bad, she decides to allow herself a little fantasy. Because what knight doesn't have a deep-rooted wish to whisk a Princess away in the night?

Unlike the other competitions Claudine had found herself in today, this one is surrounded by the deepest, purest silence she had ever experienced. There are hundreds of people watching them, and yet, every single one of them is silent as they watch them both begin to circle one another, focused on nothing but each other.

And when they move, they move as if they were one and the same. Like a bolt of lightning, they sprint towards each other, and, like a crack of thunder, their wooden blades clash between them with such strength splinters spray through the air. Their eyes remain locked (Claudine hadn't notice how brilliantly purple Maya's are, like the fields of lavender she used to nap on during the spring) and electricity sparks between them, charging the space between them.

Again, and again, and again, their swords crash into each other, and Claudine is pleasantly surprised when she notices Maya's speed and stamina. The Princess keeps up with her, even surpasses her sometimes – it's not just Claudine who manages to get a blow in, and she knows that her legs and arms will be bruised by the end of the day too.

“N-not bad,” Claudine pants, leaping away from another well-aimed strike of Maya's blade. Sweat drips from her brow, and the muscles in her arms are starting to ache. “Looks like I did underestimate you, Princess.”

Maya dodges out of the way of the counter Claudine throws at her, that vexing smirk on her lips despite the exhausted flush on her cheeks. “I told you so. But I, too, must admit that I may have thought my agility would easily overwhelm you – you are even better than I had thought.”

“Hah! As if you could outdo me,” Claudine snorts, rolling out of the way of Maya's blade once more; she feels it graze her back, though. “Have you forgotten how agile I am myself? I might be bulkier than you, but that doesn't make me slow.”

“I have learned my lesson, Ser Saijou,” Maya chuckles, twirling out of the way of her once more. “It seems we are on equal terms with the sword.”

“Maybe so, but that doesn't mean I'm giving up!”

It's a long battle, and it is, just like Maya said, an equal one. It feels like a dance, and it feels good; they move like partners, not opponents. And in the end, neither of them wins. Every limb in Claudine's body is heavy with exertion, and she can tell that Maya must feel much the same: both of their blades begin to swing slower, and their every move starts to show signs of sluggishness. One last time, their blades crash. One last time, they lean into each other. And one last time, their knees buckle, and they both collapse into the sand, their chests heaving as they try to take in the air they had beaten out of each other.

Claudine rolls onto her back, squinting up into the summer sun. “Fuck. That's a draw, isn't it?”

“I believe it is,” hums Maya, lying beside her, a goofy grin on her lips. “That was rather enjoyable though, no?”

With a furrowed brow and a frown, she turns her head to look at the dusty, sweat-soaked Princess. “You're a weirdo. Aren't you supposed to be all prissy and pretty?” She huffs. “This doesn't seem like the outcome you should find enjoyable.”

“Oh, but it very much is,” Maya laughs, all trace of that cockiness she'd expressed when Claudine first met her today gone. “You may not believe it, but I think this is the kind of thing that suits me much better than being locked away in a castle, not a speck of filth on my skin.”

Claudine blinks. “You don't... really want to be princess, huh?”

Before answering, Maya looks around them, making sure no-one is within ear-shot. “It can be, ah... oppressive, to be perfectly honest. I enjoyed being a little less perfect today.”

“Is that why you begged the King to hold this tournament?”

“It is part of the reason.”

Claudine raises a brow. “What's the rest?”

Now, Maya blushes again, though it's not that noticeable under all the dirt caked on her skin. “I am in need of a personal guard, and I did not want any of the knights in the palace at my side. So...”

“Oh, by the Gods,” Claudine gawks. “That's the damn prize the King promised, isn't it? Being your bodyguard? For fuck's sake.”

“I... apologise,” Maya mumbles, averting her eyes. “You are not forced to take the position, of course. I simply wanted to see if I cannot find someone who is strong, capable of teaching me, and perhaps even someone I could be... friends with.”

Claudine snorts, “Friends, huh? And you thought you would find it amongst a bunch of dirty, smelly men?”

“I do not mean to be rude, Ser Saijou, but I believe I have found one such person amongst all these dirty, smelly men.”

“W-whu–?” Claudine flushes red, so red she knows the dirt on her own face does nothing to hide it. “W-what are you saying, you annoying woman?”

Maya looks at her with such earnest eyes, so soft and gentle. “As I said, I will not force you to agree, but, Ser Saijou, I would very much like for you to stay at my side. It would make life in the palace a lot less boring, and lonely.”

Claudine sits up in a brisk, sudden motion, glaring down at the Princess. “I don't like to be tied down. I'm a wandering knight. I'm not a glorified bodyguard.”

“Ah. O-of course. My apolog–”

“But I have the distinct feeling you don't like that, either.”

Maya blinks at her. “W-well, yes. But I am the Crown Princess.”

“The King and his wife aren't that old.”

“Um? I don't suppose they are, no.”

“Then they can have another kid. Boom. New heir. New leader.”

Maya, too, sits up, her eyes wide like dinner plates. “Ser Saijou, you cannot be serious.”

“Look,” Claudine sighs, shaking her head. She gets to her feet and offers Maya her hand to help her up. Maya takes it. “I don't know you. You don't know me. But I think it's obvious that you have some sort of beef with your father over there – don't deny it, I've seen the way you look at him. And, like, I know what it's like to be constantly told what to do. It's why I became a knight. I didn't want to be married off to some rich fucker in the city so my dad can have a better reputation. I'm not just a baby maker. And you aren't, either.”

“Ser Saijou, my father is the King.”

Claudine shrugs. “And? Who gives a shit? Aren't you supposed to be living your life, not his?” Maya stares down at their hands. Claudine hadn't let go, and Maya doesn't either. She grins at her, no longer smug, but open-mouthed and toothy. “You don't wanna be Princess. And I don't wanna be your royal guard, sorry not sorry. I know one thing, though: you want to have a life out here, in the dirt. And you also kinda want me to be a part of it. Not a surprise, that fact, to be honest; I know I'm hot shit.”

Maya continues staring at their hands. Then, she drags her gaze up, to Claudine's face, and then to where her father sits, unmoving. The crowd around them isn't completely silent any more, and their murmuring is thoughtful; no-one knows what a draw means for the tournament, and everyone is oblivious to their conversation. But while the public is oblivious, Claudine is very aware of one fact: Maya's father does not look happy up there, on his seat.

So she squeezes Maya's hand. “Come on, leave with me. Power and wealth aren't worth it, not when you're unhappy wielding them.”

“...But where would we go?”

“Wherever we're free. That's the fun part about being a wandering knight. I don't have a home country. I go where I please, and I heard Siegfeld is quite nice this time of the year.”

Maya looks at her, and then a smile breaks on her lips. “I have never been to Siegfeld before.”

“I guess it's time to change that, then, Princess.”

“My name is Maya, Ser Saijou. Please call me that.”

Claudine grins. “And mine's Claudine. So... wanna bolt, Maya?”

And Maya, former Crown Princess of the kingdom, sweaty and dirty and stinky, meets Claudine's grin with one of her own. “Lead the way, Claudine.”