Anton knew the instant that Anne bent to kiss his sword that his original assessment of her had been wrong. Saurella had already warned him and he really should have listened more closely to his most favored advisor. This little Queen, barely into womanhood, was no complete innocent. In fact, Anton mused to himself, she might actually present a challenge. The gaze he gave her as she rose was far more calculating than the way he had looked upon her at their first meeting, and as he made pleasantries and took his leave there was a hint of legitimate desire behind his eyes. No longer was this an easily accomplished task and a way to an heir for him. It had become a contest of wills, and Anton thrived on competition. It was time to actually put his pieces into play. He would win that kiss.
The king was one of the very few people to actually have a tent, his rank and wealth giving him what many of the other competitors could never have. In fact he could see the Queen's knight set up by a piece of fencing as one of his colleges checked the straps of his armor. That ridiculous rose had been ties to the man's sword sheath with a bit of white chord, and for a moment Anton had to suppress a thread of irritation that ran through him at the sight. He was unused to having to work so hard for what he wanted, especially not for a woman, though since finding Saurella he had not actually done much searching in that department since the first night she had granted him access to her bed.
With a sigh he pushed aside the canvas and entered his little area, only to find Lampkin waiting to help him into his armor. It was fortunate that there was a while before his first match. He had plenty of time to calm himself and clear his head. In a relaxed state the sword really was his best event. Odds were he'd be able to humiliate that knight, and the queen's choice in him in a fair fight. If not, there were other ways.
"I could just have him removed," Lampkin murmured as he adjusted Anton's shoulder guards, and Anton realized with a jolt that he had spoken the last though allowed. "Or there could be an accident on the field, there are dangers associated with this competition after all.
"No," the king snapped, "It's not just the people I need to win, but Anne. The world might see a man comforting a woman over the loss of a faithful servant, but if I have anything to do with the death of one of her people, things will become infinity more complicated. We need to distance her from her advisors, convince her to trust me over them, but that purpose is better served if she loses faith in them. Making her doubt her knight's abilities would be a good first step. Tis fortunate for us she did give out that rose, otherwise it would have been far more difficult to know which one to target."
When the Queen made her announcement before the start Anton was one of the very few who smiled. This could only solidify his plans further. If he could bate the other man, provoke him to attack in anger while his Queen watched what was supposed to be a friendly duel . . . yes, yes this would do nicely.
Nicoli and Anton had started nearly on opposite ends of the scoring bracket meaning that while each won bought after bought, they didn't actually face each other until three matches away from the one in which the winner was to be decided.
There was a decided difference, Nicoli noted, between those that had been trained to fight professionally, and those who did so only for sport. Those who practiced recreationally were quick to yield in order to avoid serious injury, while a few of the knights had gotten themselves minorly hurt by failing to yield at all. He understood that instinct, the one that said continuing to fight when all was lost would perhaps buy the time needed for victory. Yet this was sport and not a battle. There would be no retreat to cover or reinforcements to wait for. As he took the field against king Anton, Nicoli wondered which route he would take should he find himself in a similar situation. The other man had already proven how good he was with the blade, which meant there was every chance Nicoli could lose here.
They shook hands, they drew, and the moment the shout came for them to "begin," blades crossed.
Perry, block, thrust, overhand, overhand, it quickly became apparent to those watching that King Anton and Nicoli were nearly evenly matched, or at least it was to those who had no idea what they were watching for. Up on the dais Captain Oswin kept a running commentary for his queen, but he was almost lazy about it. On the other side Lampkin had returned and as he watch he murmured "why is he holding back?" it was unclear which of the competitors he was speaking of.
On the field it was clear that both men knew exactly what was going on, that neither was quite fighting with all they had, Anton because he was not being pressed, and Nicoli because he had not yet been given a reason to risk the anger of a King. Everything was about to change though.
"Is this how you fight for your Queen's honor?" Anton whispered as their swords crossed again, each pressing against the weight of the other and the sound of steel sliding on steel filling the air, "Or has she already been so free as to give it away?" Nicoli's next blow was more than enough to force Anton to leap away, but the knight's face remained expressionless and he said nothing, even as he internally quelled a spark of anger.
Anton, however, wasn't done. He knew that what was said between them now would never be revealed, and between the clash of weapons and the cheering of the crowd there was little chance they would be overheard. "Or perhaps it is the other way around and you spend your time searching for men
willing to court her?" he hissed. "You will find it a comfort then to know that before this is finished I intend to have her wanting me so badly she cries out my name in her sleep."
Again Anton was met with silence, Nicoli firmly held himself back from rising to the bait, but as the king raised his shield to block Nicoli's next blow the knight felt a slight twinge spasm through his right leg. Anton saw it and took advantage. He dropped low to avoid the next swing and acted as if he was going to throw his shoulder into his opponent's stomach, but as he did so the king also slammed his shield into the side of Nicoli's right knee. Of all the people there Nicoli was the only one who truly understood what had happened.
Up on the Dais Captain Oswin bit back an oath as Nicoli crashed to the ground, sending up a small cloud of dirt, a sudden cry of pain ripped from his lips. Anton backed away from him, sword lowered, as if to give the man a fair chance to rise to his feet, concern painted across his face. The crowd shifted uneasily "Damn it, I told him not to fight on that leg!" Oswin cursed softly, unaware that the words had been spoken in hearing range of both Lampkin and the Queen.
On the field Nicoli rolled to his feet and reclaimed his sword, but this time he quickly and obviously put Anton on the defensive though every step he took was with a notably heavy limp. Yet Anton met each blow with his own.
"As if he wants to end this quickly before it gives out altogether," Lampkin murmured to no one in particular, "He's been toying with him this entire time! Does he not know what it means to humiliate a king? Someone will be hurt if this keeps up. If only he had conceded the match when he fell!"
"Your majesty," Captain Oswin turned suddenly to Anne, "You have the ability to end this now. Tell him to withdraw before he makes it even worse."
In the arena Nicoli had reached a similar conclusion, though he might have done so sooner had the other man not been attempting to fuel his temper. The knight slowed mid swing and suddenly sheathed his sword before turning and hobbling away.
"I yield."
A squire ran forward to offer him assistance from the field. There was no hiding the fact, as he was taken to a medical tent, that he was leaning heavily on the boy's shoulder.
Anton struggle to keep the rage from his face. The fool knight had just given every single spectator reason to doubt his previous wins. As Lampkin came to his side Anton grasped the knight's shoulder and whispered in his ear, "Do what you think you must, so long as it is not traced back to me."
