The day was hot and humid. At least, that’s how it felt to the men in the field. They had been working from when the sun just peeked over the horizon to when it reached its highest point in the sky. Word had been sent from the inner kingdom that the king was collecting produce early for some royal event. So of course the peasants were forced to work twice as fast to prepare their offerings to their liege, under the stern oversight of his knights.

Lander wiped the sweat from his brow as he searched through crops of wheat and barley to find sections that were ready to be harvested. His eyes darted to the closest knight. They were officially described as overseers to make sure the villagers were working efficiently for the king, but he knew what they were really here for. The shifty way the knights’ eyes roved from worker to worker gave them away. They were hunting for sorcerers.

For reasons unknown, the king had been sending more and more of his knights to the outer villages to seize and execute suspected magic-wielders. Now there were even some stationed permanently to keep a closer eye on the peasants. Lander often wondered if something had happened within the walls of the inner kingdom. What else would trigger such a reaction?

One of the knights met his gaze, and Lander quickly turned back to his work at hand. He didn’t want any of them to suspect him of being a sorcerer, because he actually was one. He had kept a low profile since his childhood, mostly due to his parents’ protection and cover-ups, and so far the knights in his village were unaware of his talents. He wanted to keep it that way.

The workers finished their jobs just before sunset. Everyone returned home according to another newly enforced law: the curfew. No one was to be outside after nightfall. Lander walked with some of his neighbors past the knights, chatting idly to make himself look like just another work-weary peasant, however in reality he was listening to the knights’ conversation. He had gotten into this habit a few days ago when the king started stationing the guards in the villages. The eavesdropping had paid off twice since then. He had been prepared for two “random” home searches and had enough time to hide anything in his room that related to magic. So when the other villagers rounded a corner to head home, Lander slipped into a nearby alley to continue listening to the knights.

“…to enter the tournament? I know I am. I heard the prize is a sizable amount of gold.”

“Of course I am. I heard a rumor that the king is going to give the winner a portion of his land in the south.”

“Really? I’m not so sure. The king is allowing peasants to enter. I doubt he would offer up land if there’s a chance some lowly commoner could win it.”

“But what are the odds of that happening? I mean we’ve been trained to kill since birth. The peasants are only there to amuse the spectators.”

“That is very true. I hope I get to fight one of them just to see the look on his face when he realizes he doesn’t stand a chance.”

The two knights walked off, laughing about the foolishness of peasants. Lander stayed behind. A tournament that commoners could enter? The winnings from something that prestigious would pay off his village’s taxes for a generation. It wasn’t even a choice; he had to enter. Lander slipped through the shadows to return home and tell his family the news.

--

“Absolutely not.”

“You’ll be killed!”

Lander glared at his parents as they forbade him from entering the tournament. He had been sure they would be excited about the news. He could win enough gold to secure their home for life. He hadn’t expected they would react like this.

“What if someone catches you using magic in the inner kingdom?” his father said. “You would be executed on the spot.”

“I’m not going to use magic,” Lander said tiredly. “Besides, I’m going to enter this whether you ‘permit’ me to or not. Don’t forget, I’m not a child anymore. I just figured I would tell you my plan before I left.” His parents fell silent at that. He knew they would always think of him as in inexperienced young boy, but that didn’t mean they could dictate the decisions he made. He was only still living with them because he was worried for their sakes. Everyone in the village had noticed the increasing taxes by now, and Lander’s parents were struggling to keep up in their old age. Lander lived with them to help them make payments to the king. Sometimes they forgot that little detail and treated him like he was still under their custody.

“If you do this,” his mother finally said. “Just… be careful.”

“You know I will,” Lander replied. “And you take care of yourselves while I’m gone.”

--

Lander left early the next morning, journeying to the inner kingdom on foot and making use of the cart of the occasional travelling merchant. He arrived as the sun began sinking in the sky, leaving him with plenty of time to explore the marketplace.

The inner city was bustling with activity. There were more people packed together in one place than Lander had ever seen before in his life. He knew they had to be middle-to-upper-class commoners. There was no way the royal family was this large. He wormed his way through the crowds, searching for the location to sign up for the tournament. After a while of being jostled by the elbows and shoulders of strangers, he finally found it. The man in charge of admittance made a face as Lander approached him.

“Let me guess, you’re here for the tournament tomorrow,” he shook his head and muttered to himself. “Now they’re letting peasants enter? What is the king thinking?”

“Careful, saying such things could be considered treason,” Lander said casually. The man shot him a wicked look.

“Maybe so, but it doesn’t matter,” he spat. “No royal in his right mind would listen to the accusations of such a low-class commoner.”

“Well this low-class commoner would like to enter that tournament now,” Lander said. “And he would appreciate it is you add his name to the list.”

“Fine,” the man said. “I hope you know I could send you packing right now, but I won’t. I think I would much rather see that smug look of yours get wiped off your face when you face a real warrior in battle.”

“Thank you for your generosity,” Lander said. He gave the man his name so he could write it down. The man did so, and then looked him over again and sneered.

“I hope you’ve brought something stronger than cloth to wear to the fight,” he said. “Otherwise you won’t last long enough to entertain me.”

“I’m sorry, but this is all I’ve got,” Lander held his arms out and shrugged. “If you point me in the direction of an armor smith, I’d be glad to oblige you though.”

“You’re an odd character,” the man shook his head again and scoffed. “But I suppose I’ll be nice just this once.”

Lander soon had his new armor and sword. It was nothing like the fancy equipment used by the knights, but it would serve its purpose. The only problem was that he had spent all of his money to purchase it. He didn’t even have enough left over to buy food in the lower-middleclass market. He could afford to go hungry one night, but he needed to find a place to stay. After all, the curfew was enforced in the inner kingdom too.

He was fortunate enough to run into a middleclass woman who was willing to take him in for the night. She didn’t even ask for any payment. Apparently he somehow reminded her of her son who had died two years back, so she was happy to help him. He made a mental note to give her some of the money for her troubles if he won the tournament.

Lander woke up early the next morning to practice with his new equipment. He struggled with figuring out how to put the armor on, as he had never worn such a thing before, but he learned quickly enough and soon he was headed out to find a good place to warm up.

It seemed he wasn’t the only one with that idea. Other men in armor walked the streets of Camelot. All of them seemed to be headed in the same direction. New to the area, Lander followed a group of knights to find out where they were going and so he wouldn’t get lost. Eventually he came upon a training ground where the men were sparring with each other and practicing their fighting techniques. Lander stood off to the side to watch. These people were quite obviously professionals, and their training showed through in their swordsmanship. For the first time, Lander felt a twinge of doubt that he could defeat them. He was mostly self-taught, which was helpful in the sense that his style was unorthodox and his opponent wouldn’t be able to predict his next moves. However it put him at something of a disadvantage for the same reasons. He also wasn’t used to wearing heavy armor into battle. It took away from his speed, which he always relied on in the past to win matches against his father and the other boys in the village. If he wanted to win this tournament, he could leave no room for error. Lander approached one of the knights who was standing off to the side, taking a break. He had to fight against one of them to find out where he needed to improve on his own techniques.

“Would you care to spar against me?” Lander said. The knight looked him over and snorted.

“Your armor looks like it came from a secondhand market,” he said. “Where are you from?”

“Why does that matter?” Lander dodged the question. “The only thing that really counts in battle is a warrior’s skill, not where he comes from.”

“With words like that, I can only assume you’re not a knight,” the man narrowed his eyes. “So what are you? A commoner?”

“Yes,” Lander said simply. “Now will you fight with me or not?”

“A common peasant is challenging me to a match?” the knight said, his voice pointedly loud to attract the attention of anyone else who happened to be standing nearby. “Do you even know who I am?”

“No,” Lander glanced to the side as heads turned to see what the commotion was about. He didn’t want to draw this much attention, but the knight was giving him no choice.

“I am second-in-command of all the knights of Camelot,” the knight said haughtily. “You would do well to stay out of my way, commoner.”

“Well congratulations to you,” Lander said “But my request still stands.”

“Then you are a fool,” the knight hissed. “Very well, I am not against putting peasants in their place.”

The knight drew his sword, a beautiful piece of work with ancient letters carved into the blade. Lander’s shabby sword looked like a child’s toy in comparison. He studied the knight’s stance and the position of his weapon, and then adjusted himself to a stance that best matched it. He saw a flicker of something in the knight’s eyes when he did this, but it was gone too quickly for him to read it. The knight lunged forward to strike at Lander’s side, but he parried the blow just in time. While he was safe against the first attack, Lander could feel the effects of the weighty armor slowing his movements. He would have to react even faster to account for the lack of speed.

They exchanged blows for a while, neither one able to find an advantage over the other. But then, as the knight pulled away from him after yet another attack, Lander spotted a weak point in his defense. He moved in to strike at it. His heart sped up as he began to swing his own blade down. The knight was responding too slowly to cover up his blunder. He could win this fight. But at the last second, he turned his sword and missed the opening. The knowledge that he could have beaten the knight was good enough for now. He didn’t need to give his abilities away before the real fights began. Lander purposefully misstepped so the knight could bring his sword down on his shoulder. The armor he was wearing protected him, but the blow still knocked him off-balance. The knight put his sword point against Lander’s throat.

“Do you yield?”

“Yes,” Lander dropped his sword and held up his hands.

The spectating men cheered, but Lander’s opponent looked uneasy. The knight knew he threw the fight, but Lander knew he wouldn’t say anything for the sake of his own pride. He also knew he stood a chance at winning the tournament if the man he just faced was one of the best fighters in the kingdom. Lander sheathed his sword and walked away to continue practicing on his own. His could feel the cold gaze of the knight following his back as he left.

--

The stands around the area were completely packed with people. It seemed like the entire kingdom of Camelot had come to watch the knights battle each other. Lander walked among the tents where the other contenders were preparing. He didn’t have one for himself, or course, so he contented himself with setting up in a secluded corner. So far, he hadn’t seen very many other peasants. He had only come across three or four of them. They were easy to pick out due to their plain armor (or lack thereof) and rugged features. Lander knew he must look the same way to the knights, but he held his head high in the confidence that he was skilled enough to face them.

“There you are,” a voice called out behind him. Lander turned around to see the woman who had taken him in the night before. In her hands was a long, bundled object.

“What are you doing here?” Lander asked.

“I came to give you this,” she held out the object. Lander took it and drew the object from the cloth that covered it. His eyes widened in surprise. It was a longsword, masterfully crafted with a double-edge blade. “It belonged to my son,” the woman explained. “I thought about it for a long time, so don’t try to talk me out of giving it away. I have no use for it anymore. Please, use it to defeat those awful knights.”

“Thank you,” Lander said. He slid the blade into its sheath and strapped it to his armor. “You’ve done so much for me. I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”

“Don’t worry about that,” the woman shook her head. “Just win one for me, okay?”

The knights began filing out of their tents and heading to the arena. The tournament would soon begin. Lander said goodbye to the woman and quickly joined them, slipping into the line as they stepped before the crowd. It was here that Lander got his first look at the king. He was standing in a raised section at the front of the arena, holding up his hands to silence the audience. He definitely had a regal appearance, wearing fine clothes and jewels and a golden crown that reflected the light of the sun. There were only four other people in the stand with him. Two were obviously servants, and one of them looked like some sort of advisor to the king. The last person was a young woman who also wore luxurious clothes and a more feminine crown. Lander guessed she was the king’s daughter. He had heard a little about her, but royal gossip hardly ever reached the outer villages so he only knew her name: Moria.

“Thank you all for coming,” the king’s voice projected over the arena once the crowds had hushed. He described and explained the rules of the tournament to the knights, then called the first two competitors to step forward. Everyone else was to either return to their tents or wait on the sidelines until their names were called. Most of the knights walked back to their tents. Lander marveled at their arrogance. They weren’t going to stay to watch the competition, to find weaknesses in the other knights’ techniques before they had to face them. He chose to watch from the side.

The battles went by rather quickly, as the first knights were badly matched and one side always dominated the other. Then the first peasant was called. He was one of the commoners with no armor, so his status was completely apparent to everyone watching. Lander felt a pang of sympathy for him when the crowd jeered. The fight was over before it even started. To make a show of his skill, the knight didn’t even unsheathe his sword. He just battered the peasant with the covered blade until one strong blow to the head made him lose consciousness. It was cruel, but at least the commoner wasn’t killed, Lander thought.

He watched two more battles before his name was announced. “Sir Baul and Lander, come forward.”

Without the title of a knight, everyone instantly knew he was a peasant. He tried to ignore the jeers as he stepped into the arena to face his opponent. Sir Baul was a bear-like man. His size was intimidating, but Lander could tell he was slow. Compared to the knight he sparred with in the training grounds, this man wouldn’t be much of a challenge. The two fighters unsheathed their swords and the king called for them to begin.

Baul charged first, shouting loudly to try and frighten his opponent. But Lander wasn’t about to fall for such a simple trick. He sidestepped and swung his sword, using the flat of his blade to knock the larger man off-balance. When Baul stumbled, Lander brought the hilt around to hit him in the small of his back. The knight still had too much momentum from his initial charge. When Lander added the extra force, he couldn’t stop himself from falling to the ground. Lander set the blade of his sword against Sir Baul’s neck. The battle was over. His mind was racing. He won. He won against a real knight. He looked up. Instead of the usual cheering and applause that came with a victory, the crowd had gone quiet. The spectators whispered among themselves. No one expected a peasant to defeat a knight.

But that didn’t matter. Lander sheathed his sword and walked out of the arena.

--

He won his next fights with ease. The opponents grew increasingly more skilled as the competition was shaved down to only the best, but Lander was more than a match for all of them. The audience had even begun to cheer for him towards the end. He was an unexpected underdog that made the tournament more entertaining for them. At last, he made it to the final match. There was only one other man remaining.

“Sir Jerald and Lander come forward,” the king said. “I must say, this was not the final battle I was expecting.” His eyes fell on Lander. “However, have proven yourselves to be the greatest among the knights gathered here. The winner of this last match will take home one hundred gold pieces and have the honor of dining with the royal family. I wish you the best of luck.” This time his gaze rested on Sir Jerald. Of course the king would want one of the knights to win the tournament. It would be an embarrassment to the kingdom if a simple peasant bested one of Camelot’s finest warriors.

As Lander took his place in the arena, he lifted his eyes to meet his opponent’s. Then he froze. It was the knight he had fought with that same morning. Sir Jerald smirked at him.

“Well, well,” he said venomously. “It looks like I will have my revenge sooner than I thought.” As Lander had suspected, Jerald had caught on to what he did during their last match. “This time, I will put you in your place, commoner.” With that last word, he darted forward and swung his sword at Lander’s side. It was the same opening move he had used in their last fight. But this time, when Lander moved to block the attack, Jerald altered the course of his blade and struck him in the arm. The blow almost made Lander drop his sword, but he managed to keep his grip.

“I went easy on you last time,” Jerald said as they parted. “Consider yourself honored that I’m using my full force now.”

“Shouldn’t you be focused on the fight rather than bragging?” Lander said. He lunged at Jerald. Despite what the knight was saying, he knew Jerald had made a mistake in their sparring match. He was just trying to use big words to cover it up. Lander still had a chance to beat him.

They both fought viciously, the crowd roaring its approval all around them. Finally, Lander saw it again. The knight pulled away from him after an unusually strong attack. While he was recovering his balance for another blow, he had an opening on his left side. Lander didn’t hesitate. He swung his sword right into it and felt it connect with a chink in Jerald’s armor. The blade didn’t cut very deep, but it was enough to draw blood and knock the knight off his feet. Lander stood over his fallen opponent, breathing heavily. He couldn’t believe it. He won the tournament. He lifted his gaze to see the king’s reaction. If he was shocked or disappointed, he showed no sign of it.

“It seems we have our winner.”

The sunlight cast a bright glow throughout the study, illuminating the dancing particles in the air. The room was spacious and delicately decorated in blues. An elegant table and chair occupied the center, with a few book cases against the walls and various paintings hung where they could fit. A book sat open and unread in front of Moria as she gazed out the window, her tutor droning on about Camelot’s history. Today the focus was on the ban of magic, a subject she had known about since she was a little girl.

The shallow memory of a servant found practicing magic surfaced in her mind, and she remembered the way the servant had screamed as she had been lead away. In Moria’s opinion, she got what she deserved. Magic was an illegal practice, after all, and the kingdom had no use for criminals.

A stern voice broke into her thoughts. “Moria.”

She turned her attention back to her elderly tutor, Nascien, who was currently giving her a rather sour look. Then again, he always seemed to have a sour expression, as if he had bitten into a poorly made lemon cake. His face was wrinkled and weathered, his bald head reflecting the sunbeams.

“Yes?”

“Who was the most powerful sorcerer of all?” He asked it very slowly, exaggerating his enunciations.

Plastering on her best bored look, she responded with the first name that came to mind. “Caxton.” A story about him and a dragon came to mind, though she hadn’t read it for many years. Or had he actually been the dragon?

Nascien’s nostrils flared in quiet frustration, a quirk she found hilarious. “It’s Morrigan. The most powerful sorcerer was actually a sorceress. A very cunning one too. She was publicly executed for her crimes against the crown in Great King Luther’s reign…” He returned to his droning lecture and Moria returned to ignoring him, retreating back into her thoughts and daydreams. Lady Ashlyn had given her a new book of poems. It was about the adventures of a handsome knight named Gwyn, who was brave, kind, and funny. Smiling to herself as she recalled the jokes, she imagined herself as the girl he danced with in one of the poems, her beautiful dress twirling as they circled elegantly in front of the dazzled guests.

After awhile, the lesson was finally over. Moria left the room without another word, escaping down the stone stairs. Her father’s reasons for continuing her studies were understandable, but after six years they would be coming to an end soon. She could speak Latin fluently, recite the history of Camelot from the world’s creation to last month, sew better than her own seamstress, dance like a bard, and sing… Well, her singing wasn’t the greatest, but it’s not as if she needed to be an entertainer. As she walked, she took the time to run her hands lightly over her dark blonde braid, looking for any places she may need to fix. Satisfied with her check, she paused before the doors to the inner courtyard doors. The shrill laughs and squeals from the group of noble girls gathered outside pierced through the wooden door as if it were air. Moria didn’t particularly like any of them, except for maybe Ashlyn on her good days, but they fell over themselves to suck up to the throne’s sole heir. Their thinly-veiled jealousy was a bonus.

The door suddenly opened towards her so quickly she had to step back to avoid it, nearly tripping on her long dress. After the initial surprise, her rage appeared as fast as lightning, burning red hot in the face of near-humiliation. Her gaze instantly zoned in on the servant who had opened the door and frozen upon seeing her there.

“You nearly hit me, idiot!” She hissed.

“M-Milady, I-I am-“

“I could have been hurt!” She continued, venom dripping from her voice. “Get away from me, filth!” He scurried away, rounding the corner in the blink of an eye. Moria let out an indignant huff, straightening her dress. The servants only got more stupid as the years went on. Walking out into the sun, she was greeted with the stares of the three gathered ladies as she approached. “Did you see that? He almost smashed that wooden door right into me!”

“Oh yes, we saw.” Galiene immediately chirped. “He swung it open so carelessly.”

“He could have hit you right in the face!” Vivien added.

“Would have knocked you right out, most likely.” Ashlyn said, looking more amused than anything else.

“That would have been just awful.”

“I know.” Scenes of her falling gracelessly to the ground occupied Moria’s thoughts. It would have been incredibly embarrassing, even more so in front of the other noble ladies. “The newer servants are positively useless. They have no respect for their betters.”

“Quite true.” Galiene hummed cheerfully, blue eyes drifting to Moria’s braid. “You hair looks very pretty today, Moria. I’ve never seen that style before.”

“Do you really like it? I learned it from a foreign noble awhile back.”

The quartet chatted through much of the early afternoon, enjoying the warm day. Birds chirped overhead, occasionally taking off towards the puffy white clouds. Topics the women discussed were mostly light-hearted, and their laughs echoed across the ward.

“So, Moria.” Vivien began after a short silence, “Are you excited for the tournament?”

Moria frowned, tugging absently at the folds of her dress. “I guess. It just seems so… random. There is no need for a tournament right now, except for maybe as entertainment.”

“Maybe King Rion is looking for potential suitors.” Ashlyn said.

Galiene gasped, her eyes widening at the idea. “Imagine all the knights and nobles who will be there.”

“I hadn’t considered that…” It was true of course. The champion would win money as well as fame, but they would also be facing off against one another in front of the king and princess. It would be an excellent opportunity to show off. Her imagination supplied her with images of shining armor and brilliant smiles.

“You know, I hear the king is allowing peasants to enter.” Ashlyn said. “Maybe a farmer boy will be the one to win your hand in marriage.”

Moria made a face as the other ladies giggled madly. “Over my dead body.”

---

“Sit still.” Sebille commanded, promptly ripping the brush through a rather nasty tangle in Moria’s hair. Moria let out a rather undignified yelp, her head aching from the torture. “You made the decision to wrap your hair up in that fancy foreign braid, now you have to live with the consequences.”

Moria may or may not have hissed a few choice cuss words under her breath as her maid continued to brush her hair, pulling through the tangles with strength she didn’t know Sebille had. Her father had a certain fondness for the late queen’s maid and kept her around, though Moria didn’t like her at all. After many grueling minutes, the brush finally passed through her hair smoothly, and she was granted a reprieve.

“I believe it looked very pretty.” Moria said, examining herself in the mirror. She had slept fitfully last night, dark dreams refusing her decent sleep.

“Of course it did, Milady.” Sebille busied herself with searching for what she needed, opening and shutting various drawers on the large vanity. “Now, how about something a bit more elegant for the tournament?” The question was rhetorical, but Moria still gave her a small nod.

“Sebille, do you think father will really let simple commoners join the tournament?”

“The king will do anything for you, Milady. If a peasant is the worthiest in the land, then your father would honor that.”

“As if a peasant could be the strongest in the land.” Moria rolled her eyes, earning her a reproachful glare from Sebille. As if she cared what her old maid thought. “All they do is toil about in the fields and go to church.”

“You may be surprised, Princess. Many commoners learn to protect themselves, and some are quite skilled with the sword.”

“But none can ever win against my father’s knights.” Moria stated, a confident fire lit in her eyes.

“As you say, Milady.”

“Besides, my father would also never allow a peasant to marry me.”

Sebille gave her reflection a befuddled look. “Marry you?”

“Of course. Why else would he be holding a tournament to test the worthiest so close to the end of my studies?”

The woman paused, seemingly lost in thought. Becoming irritated, Moria snapped her fingers to regain Sebille’s attention. “What is it, maid?”

“It is nothing, Your Highness. That idea is a sound one.”

“I am quite smart, you know.”

“Yes, Milady.”

After a long hour of Sebille’s fussing, Moria was made to look “much like the queen herself”, and escorted off to meet her father so they could travel to the tournament. King Rion met her with a smile and a slight bow, both of which she returned.

“Shall we depart, Your Majesty?” The king had been a rare sight during the past few weeks, and she had missed him.

He smiled. “I would never keep a lady waiting.”

---

There were people everywhere, as if the entire population had shown up. It was a loud and chaotic event, many gathered to either watch the show or to be a part of it. She managed to avoid fidgeting in her seat, but she was not immune to the infectious excitement of the crowd.

The crowd was hushed easily, however, with the presence of the king. While he spoke, Moria examined the contenders, finding that her father had indeed allowed commoners to enter. Quite a few had even bothered to show up, though they were obviously ill-matched to the better armored and better armed knights. A few looked slightly formidable, but she paid them no mind.

The first rounds of matches were boring. One side would easily defeat the other, ending the match in a few swings. She observed as a knight knocked a peasant unconscious without even unsheathing his own sword. It was almost comedic, but she kept her amusement in check. After a time, another peasant was called, and the crowd jeered once more. The knight, Sir Baul, was a beast of a man, making the match an easy one. He charged with a shout, and she was surprised when the peasant simply sidestepped him and caught him off balance. Her surprise turned into sheer disbelief as the commoner knocked Sir Baul to the ground and placed his blade against the knight’s neck.

He had won. A commoner had truly won against a knight. The spectators had gone silent, echoing Moria’s state of mind. Then again, it was probably just dumb luck. The commoner had won only once, after all. She settled back into her chair, waiting for the next match.

Anxiety grew in her stomach as she watched the peasant defeat his next opponents with ease. Her nails dug into her arm rests, turning her knuckles white. The king remained quiet throughout the event, observing with an indecipherable look. This peasant, Lander, was making the knights look like bumbling fools. The crowd had even begun to cheer for him.

Finally, the last match was called, and Moria was granted some relief in knowing that Sir Jerald would be the commoner’s opponent. The knight was one of the finest in all of Camelot. The man would be put back in his place, as they would laugh about it over the evening’s dinner.

The king addressed them one last time before they faced each other. The duelists exchanged words Moria could not hear, but the tension rolling off of them was obvious. When the first blows were exchanged, she was mesmerized, watching them fight near equally. The people roared around her, and she leaned slightly forward with rapt attention.

And then, it was over. Lander’s blade made contact with Sir Jerald’s armor. The knight fell to the ground and remained there, the peasant standing above him.

All of the air left her lungs in a surge. It had to be a dream. There was no other explanation. A low class common man did not simply win a tournament against the kingdom’s best fighters, not to mention a hundred gold pieces and the honor of a meal with the royalty. It was outrageous.

“It seems we have our winner.” The king stood, projecting his voice so all could hear, though his eyes remained fixed on Lander. “Lander, you have defeated many worthy opponents. You have proven yourself for the honor of the title of Champion.” The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, and Moria’s stomach was full of knots.

“It seems we will be having a rather unexpected guest for dinner tonight, Your Majesty.” The advisor whispered to the king.

“An honored guest.”

“Yes of course.”

The realization hit her that she would indeed have to dine with this man as if he were an equal. What if he didn’t speak properly? If he stuttered as some of the servants did, she would not last the whole meal without leaving. What would he even talk about? The wheat yield this year? A headache bloomed above her brow, the dull pulsing putting her in an even worse mood. It couldn’t get any worse after this humiliation.

Her father turned towards her, gaining her attention. “We shall return to the castle shortly.” His expression turned abruptly serious. “He is our guest, Moria. Remember your graces.”

She did not bother to hide the subtle distaste that settled across her face, but she did not push the subject.

“Good.” The king then turned and addressed his advisor directly. “Make arrangements with our guest. I have a few things to attend to before we go. He will come with us when we return, and will be staying in a proper guest room.” His gaze flicked over to Moria for a moment, a thoughtful look behind his eyes. “Bring Moria with you to congratulate him.”

“What?”

“Your graces, Moria.” The advisor said, his face completely neutral. “Congratulate the winner. He fought hard for his victory. Come along now."

This was truly the icing on the cake. Sometimes she really hated these royal niceties. Standing up gracefully, she forced her tumultuous feelings aside and put on a mask of perfect regality. Her father gave her a small nod, but she ignored him, turning and descending the stairs. She crossed the arena in quick steps, the advisor just behind her. It would be just like singing lessons: the faster she did it, the faster she could leave and pretend it never happened.

Sir Jerald had already disappeared, but the commoner remained, probably waiting for his bag of gold. Lower classes didn’t seem to care for much else. Halting before him, she addressed him with the best neutral tone she could muster. “Congratulations, Champion Lander. Your fighting skills are… admirable.”

Lander stood slightly dumbstruck, his blue eyes roaming over the crowd. It was the first time since the tournament started that he didn’t have his mind focused on other things, so he finally noticed just how many people were watching him. The roar of their cheers and applause was deafening. He glimpsed a flash of movement in the corner of his eye and turned to see Sir Jerald struggling to get up from the ground. Lander reached out to help him, but the knight swatted his hand away and shot him a poisonous look.

“Don’t touch me, peasant,” he snarled. He got shakily to his feet and put a hand to the wound Lander had inflicted upon his side. His fingers came away flecked with dark red blood. The knight clicked his tongue and muttered to himself, “I’ll have to get this cleaned…” He straightened his back as much as he could without wincing to try and appear dignified as he walked away.

Lander was left standing by himself in the center of the arena. He fidgeted with his sword hilt uncomfortably. The king never gave any directions about what to do next. He glanced up at the stand where the king had been sitting to find that he had vanished. Where did he go? Lander looked around, but there were too many people to pick out any individual face. Was he supposed to have followed the king out? Did the king decide not to pay him because he was a commoner? Dozens of questions like these flitted through his mind as he stood in the arena.

He was put at ease when the man he assumed was the king’s advisor approached him with the princess. The king himself was not among them. Perhaps he thought Lander was unworthy of his time. It was not an impossible theory. Even the princess’s disgust for him was concealed thinly enough for Lander to notice it when she addressed him.

“Congratulations, Champion Lander. Your fighting skills are… admirable,” she said. There was no mistaking the hesitation in her voice when she offered the compliment. Lander was not offended though. He was only here to claim the gold for his village, not impress some arrogant royal with his swordsmanship. She could despise him if she wished.

“Thank you,” Lander said.

“As part of your reward, you have been invited to dine with the royal family tonight,” the king’s advisor said. Lander wasn’t sure if he wanted to attend, but the advisor’s tone suggested that he didn’t have a choice in the matter. He nodded and followed the two out of the arena. Dinner was part of the reward, but what about the gold? The advisor had said nothing about it. Lander once again feared that the king had revoked his offer.

“When will I see my prize money?” he ventured. He knew the question made him sound greedy, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to be sure the king would keep his end of the bargain so Lander could fulfill his own promise to his family.

“In time,” the advisor replied vaguely. Lander fell silent, deciding the man wasn’t going to tell him anything else about the matter. At least it still sounded like he would be paid for his efforts. That was good enough for now.

--

Lander couldn’t help but gape at the sheer vastness of the king’s castle. Even when he tilted his head back he could not see the top when he stood directly in front of it. The walls stretched out on either side, seemingly endless. There were probably hundreds of rooms inside. The royal family had so much wealth, it was astounding. Yet there were children dying of starvation in the outer villages. The thought made him feel sick.

“This way,” the voice of the advisor pulled him from his thoughts. He realized the other two had gone on ahead and were waiting for him by the main portal. He hurried to catch up with them as they went inside.

The interior was even more beautiful than the outer walls. Wood and stone were artistically arranged on the walls and ceiling, and bright red drapes framed the windows. When he looked up, the ceiling rose far above his head, making the room feel enormous. And this was just the main hall. He stared in childlike wonder at the luxurious estate. Off to his left, he heard a quiet giggle. He turned and saw a passing servant girl trying to cover her amused smile with a hand as she hurried past with a basket of clothes. Lander flushed. He was acting completely undignified. He tried to assume a more relaxed composure, but his eyes still flickered to the sides to look at the paintings that hung on the walls. How could anyone come to such a place and not be amazed at the intricacy of it all?

Eventually he was led to the dining hall. The room was long, with the door they entered from being on one of the narrower walls. A table commanded the center with a vast red carpet stretched out below it. Lander wondered if anyone else would be joining them for dinner. The table was built to seat many people. It seemed like such a waste of space if only three of them used it.

A memory stirred in the back of Lander's mind. He remembered the days before the curfew was implemented, when the villagers would gather together in someone’s house and everyone would eat dinner together. The hosting family would never have enough food to serve them all, so each guest always brought a contribution for the meal with him or her. There were also never enough seats at the table, so many of the villagers would sit on the floor or lean against the walls. Children would run around between them, skipping over legs and feet. Adults would drink ale and share stories with one another. Lander felt a pang of longing for those social gatherings. It was just another thing the new laws stole from his village.

“Please have a seat,” the king’s advisor said, gesturing to a chair at the long table. “The king will be here shortly.”

Lander nodded and sat in the indicated chair. The seat was cushioned and soft; nothing like the hard, wooden stools he used in the village. It was a minor improvement, but it still demonstrated the stark contrast between the lives of the royals and the peasants. He watched the advisor pull out a chair for the princess. It seemed like she didn’t have to do any manual labor whatsoever. Spoiled. The word flashed through his mind, unprompted, as he observed the scene, but he said nothing as he sat waiting for the king to join them. Besides, he doubted the princess would take kindly to any attempt he made at conversation anyhow.

Moria was immediately irritated by the man. He hadn’t even waited until they were to the castle to ask about his money. He was not only impatient, but greedy too. How wonderful.

She was halted by the advisor, who was patiently waiting for the commoner to catch up to them. The commoner stood there, staring up at the castle as if he had never seen it before. Then again, he probably hadn’t. Any travelers were either merchants looking to sell things or a village leader looking for some sort of hand out.

“This way.” The advisor said, gaining his attention. He must have had quite the ego, making the princess and advisor wait for him like this. The advisor pushed the door open and allowed her to enter first. The hall was lit by the late afternoon sun, which would soon dip below the wall, and then the horizon. The day couldn’t end soon enough. She kept her pace quick and steady, wanting to sit down and have a glass of strong wine with dinner.

The dining hall was both a blessing and a curse in that moment, but she reminded herself that the faster she dealt with the dinner, the faster she could pretend it never happened. She would certainly be laughing about this later with Ashlyn and the other.

Taking her spot at the table, Moria did her best to completely ignore the commoner. He remained quiet as well, another blessing as far as she could tell. The advisor took his own spot and when they met gazes across the table, he mouthed something suspiciously like “Graces”, earning him a poisonous glare from the princess. He was grating on her already frayed nerves.

Finally, after what seemed like a century of silence, King Rion entered. A few guards followed him, taking their positions by the door as he moved to the table. He held a rather large bag in his hand, obviously the prize money the commoner had been so worried about. Taking his customary spot at the head of the table, the king set the bag aside.

“I am sure you are eager to obtain your well-won prize.” The king said, addressing Lander directly. “However, I implore you to be patient. There is an additional matter I wish to discuss before you leave.”

Moria furrowed her brow, examining her father to no avail. Additional matter? What could the king ask of such a man? The advisor seemed unsurprised, either hiding it well or knowing what the king wanted. Why hadn’t she heard about this?

King Rion did not wait for a response from the other man, motioning to the waiting servants who had appeared out of door to the kitchen. They served separate trays of food to everyone before disappearing again. Apparently no one else would be joining them for dinner, which meant that the eventual discussion would be private.

Moria sipped the wine and picked at her food for most of the silent occasion, her appetite gone in the face of growing anxiety. Guest dinners were usually a loud, festive occasion, with any visitors trading tales and jokes across the table. This quiet affair was a stark contrast, and she wished vainly for Ashlyn or one of the other visiting ladies to be sitting beside her. At least their gossip was entertaining. She lost herself into daydreams of the recent warm afternoons spent in the courtyard, playing chess with Vivien as Galiene chattered on about her husband’s family. A smile crept across her face as she was reminded of a particularly good story about her cousin and an unfriendly horse.

She was drawn from her thoughts as a servant girl drew up next to where she was seated. “Are you done, Milady?”

“Yes, take it away.” Moria said with a wave of dismissal. The table was cleared quickly, and a moment of silence passed, the king seemingly lost in thought. He leant forward and rested his elbows on the table, using his folded hands as a chin rest.

“Now to the matter at hand.” He began, training his gaze onto Lander again. “I am in need of a personal guard, and I ask that you would fill the position. You have shown yourself to be more than capable. It would be temporary, until you are no longer needed, and you would be paid handsomely for your work.”

Moria stared at her father. Had he gone mad? “Father” She began, drawing his attention. “You have the knights. What could you need a personal guard for?”

“Not for me, Moria. For you.” He said.

She stared at him unabashedly, her mind reeling at the statement. “What? For me? I do not need a guard.”

“You do if I say you do. I have received a worrisome threat, and I cannot allow harm to come to you.”

“What about the knights?” She couldn’t believe it. She lived in a fortified castle surrounded by armored guards. What was this peasant supposed to protect her from? “Surely they’re more suited to such a position.”

“That is why I held the tournament: to find the strongest in Camelot. I had naturally assumed that Sir Jerald or one of the others would have won, but it seems I was wrong.” The king explained.

“But… Father, he’s not even a noble!”

His gaze turned sharp. “I do not care what he is, so long as he can protect you.”

“Father, I-“

“Enough, Moria.” His voice left no room for further argument. Sitting back in her chair rigidly, her jaw tightened as she gritted her teeth. A small voice in her head, which sounded suspiciously like Ashlyn, reminded her that ‘at least it hadn’t been a suitor tournament.’ She squashed the little voice ferociously. The advisor looked amused with the proceedings. She wanted to wring his neck.

Addressing the commoner again, her father said “You can always decline and I will send you off tomorrow with your prize. It is your choice.”

The silence dragged on as the king had yet to appear. Lander scuffed his foot against the floor in boredom, the plush carpet masking the sound. He was finding it harder and harder not to try and fill the space with words. He still had things he wanted to say to the nobles, questions he wanted to ask. Why were they doing nothing to help the underfed masses in the kingdom? Why were the taxes still being raised when the villagers were already struggling to keep up? Did he even care? Lander had to bite his tongue to keep from asking these inquiries aloud. If he wanted to make a difference, he would have to be more tactful about it.

Just when Lander was beginning to feel like he could no longer keep his silence, the doors opened and the king entered the dining hall. Lander sat up a little straighter in spite of himself. He had thought the king looked regal before, but up close it felt as though they came from two different worlds. The king wore clothes of the finest material Lander had ever seen and he carried himself in a way that commanded the attention of anyone close by. In his hand was a bulging sack of was Lander suspected was his prize money. The king noticed where he had fixated his attention and addressed him when he sat down.

“I am sure you are eager to obtain your well-won prize. However, I implore you to be patient. There is an additional matter I wish to discuss before you leave.”

An additional matter? He couldn’t imagine what the king would ever wish to discuss with a simple peasant. Before he could inquire further, the food was brought in and set down on the table. His eyes widened at the sight of it. The size his portion alone was enough to feed a small family. It didn’t feel right to eat so well when his own friends and family were hungry at home, but the smell was too tantalizing to resist and he hadn’t had anything to eat since the day before. To make up for the guilt, he slipped some bread into the folds of his clothes to bring home later for his parents. Once that was done, he ate ravenously, only just realizing how hungry he was. The food tasted even better than it smelled. Seasoned with expensive herbs and spices, it was wonderfully rich. The nobles didn’t seem to notice though. Of course, they grew up with such fine cuisine. They probably didn’t know any different.

After he finished eating – there was still plenty of food left on his plate, as the portion was too large to finish despite his incessant hunger – a servant came around to collect his dish. Lander thanked him for doing so, but the servant just cast him a strange look and walked away. He ignored it and turned to the king, who looked as though he was preparing to speak again.

“Now to the matter at hand. I am in need of a personal guard, and I ask that you would fill the position. You have shown yourself to be more than capable. It would be temporary, until you are no longer needed, and you would be paid handsomely for your work.”

There was a long pause. Lander stared at the king incredulously. He wanted him to serve as a guard? Surely he had plenty of knights who were more than capable of filling the position. Then the princess spoke up, mirroring his thoughts with her words.

“Father, you have the knights. What could you need a personal guard for?”

“Not for me, Moria. For you.”

This time it was the princess’s turn to stare. Apparently this was all news to her.

“What? For me? I do not need a guard.”

“You do if I say you do. I have received a worrisome threat, and I cannot allow harm to come to you.”

A threat? Lander leaned forward slightly, as if that would help him hear the conversation better. Perhaps this was the clue he needed about the increasing number of knights in the villages. He was right all along. Something did happen in the inner kingdom. To his disappointment, Moria brushed over the comment without a second thought.

“What about the knights? Surely they’re more suited to such a position.”

“That is why I held the tournament: to find the strongest in Camelot. I had naturally assumed that Sir Jerald or one of the others would have won, but it seems I was wrong.”

“But… Father, he’s not even a noble!”

“I do not care what he is, so long as he can protect you.”

“Father, I–”

“Enough, Moria,” the king sharply cut off his daughter’s complaints. He turned back to Lander. “You can always decline and I will send you off tomorrow with your prize. It is your choice.”

It was a surprisingly generous offer. The king was even willing to pay him for his services. He could send more gold back to his village. He didn’t enjoy living in the crowded inner kingdom of Camelot and he was at a much higher risk of being arrested for sorcery here, but it was a small price to pay for his family’s wellbeing. Lander realized everyone was waiting for his response. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“I will do it.”

“I will do it.”

Moria stood up, a sort of numb anger filling her as she struggled to regain her composure. “If you will excuse me,” she said to nobody in particular, “I’m going to retire.” Not waiting for a response either, she turned and left quickly, passing through the door the guard had opened for her. It creaked as it closed behind her, and she was left alone.

Faint voices filtered out into the hall. “She’s displeased.”

“Of course she’s displeased…”

She began walking with no real intent except to get away from what had just happened. There were few things she disliked more than not having a say in something, especially concerning her own life, but it seemed her father had decided how he would handle whatever ‘worrisome threat’ he had received without her say.

The halls had since begun to take on an orange glow as the sun crept lower in the sky. It was quiet except for the occasional servant, who hurried to pass her with their heads bowed. Her aimless wandering had brought her close to the guest quarters and she made her way towards Lady Ashlyn’s room. There was no guarantee she would be there, but Moria needed somebody to talk to, or at least to rant to. The anger had not dissipated in the least.

Knocking on the door, a few beats of silence passed before the door opened. “Yes, wha-“ Ashlyn’s expression morphed from neutral to questioning as she recognized the princess. “Moria? What are you doing here?”

“I want to talk to you. Privately.”

“Who am I to say no to the princess?” While her tone was sarcastic, she still moved aside to allow Moria to enter. The room was less decorated than her own, but still held all the luxuries necessary for an honored guest. Moria sat in front of the vanity, removing her crown and setting it down delicately. Ashlyn took a spot on the bed, waiting in silence.

Moria let out an exaggerated sigh. “A peasant won the tournament.”

“So I have heard.” Ashlyn said, nodding.

“And my father wants him to be my personal guard.”

“A personal guard? What for?”

Moria gave a dismissive wave. “Some sort of threat.”

“A threat? To you?”

“Of course. Who else?”

“I don’t know.” Ashlyn paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “What is wrong with this peasant? Is he dumb?”

Moria snorted. “Aren’t they all? He barely talks at all.”

“Did you try to speak to him?”

“Well, no.” She hadn’t wanted to talk to him, after all.

“I see. So, I’m assuming you’re here because he accepted the king’s offer?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re upset.”

“Of course.”

Ashlyn gave her a puzzled look. “Why?”

Moria returned the look, though a slightly more irritated version. “Why? Because I’m going to have some farmer boy, not even a knight, escorting me around everywhere for however long my father thinks I need protection from a likely false threat. All because he won a tournament.”

“It sounds to me like you’re overreacting.”

“I am not!”

“Yes, you are.” Ashlyn sighed, clasping her hands on her lap. She sat like a perfect lady, and Moria was silently jealous of her ability to remain poised in any situation. The woman was only a few months older than Moria, but it seemed as if they were years apart. “So what if you have a commoner as an escort? Your father is satisfied, and if the threat is truly false, then he will be gone soon enough. All you have to do is grin and bear it.”

“I shouldn’t have to.”

“If you’re going to be queen, you’re going to have to do a lot of things you don’t want to do.”

Moria didn’t respond, instead reaching out to caress the crown on the vanity. The metal was cold and the adornments glittered in the fading light, a symbol of royalty and glory. What Ashlyn said was true, but it didn’t mean she hated it any less.

“At least it wasn’t a suitor tournament.” Ashlyn said after a moment. Moria grimaced, earning a light laugh from the other woman. “It won’t be so awful. Maybe you should try talking to this commoner. I’m sure it’ll make things easier.”

“Right.” Moria said, sarcasm dripping off her tone. She stood up and retrieved her crown, satisfied with the conversation. Her anger had dissipated, leaving her with clearer thoughts. Mirroring her movements, Ashlyn stood and moved to open the door. “Thank you for your time and advice, Ashlyn.”

“Anything for the future queen.”

“See you in the morning, then.”

Ashlyn’s expression dropped, looking very resigned. “I’m afraid not. I’m leaving this evening to return home.”

“Oh.” Moria didn’t know what else to say, standing outside the threshold. She felt uncomfortable, turning the crown in her hands rather than returning it to her head. “Well, then… Until another time, Lady Ashlyn.”

“Farewell, Princess Moria.”

The door closed softly, and Moria set off down the hallway, considerably slower than her previously aggressive pace. She replayed Ashlyn’s advice in her head as she walked. Just grin and bear it. It seemed simple enough.

Lander watched as the princess stormed out of the dining hall. He glanced back at the king, who just shook his head. Perhaps he expected the volatile reaction. It wasn’t completely uncalled for. Looking at the situation from Moria’s perspective, she was never told about His Majesty’s true intentions and now a bodyguard was suddenly being forced upon her for reasons still unknown. Lander couldn’t help but puzzle over what sort of “unsettling threat” would call for the installment of a bodyguard in the first place. As the princess had said multiple times, there were plenty of knights in the palace already. Surely they provided adequate protection?

“As you can see,” the king sighed. “She will be difficult. However, this is my decision, not hers. Whether she likes it or not, you must accompany her and make sure she is safe at all times. Do not let her out of your sight. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” Lander said. He saw the king’s mouth twitch at his lack of respect. “…Your Highness.” He felt it best not to continue testing the king’s patience, especially with what he was about to ask next. “I would like to send my winnings back to my home village to give to my family. Since I’m to remain in the palace, I was hoping you would be kind enough to have someone trustworthy send it back in my stead.”

“Of course,” the king nodded at his advisor, who left to fulfill the task. He turned back to Lander. “As part of your new job, you will be living here in the palace. I have made prior arrangements to prepare a room in the eastern wing. It shouldn’t be difficult to find, but if you get lost you may ask any of the servants. They have been made aware of your placement in the castle.”

“Yes, thank you,” Lander stood and the king did as well, as their business was finished for now. They both exited the dining hall and went their separate ways. Lander decided to try and find his assigned room first and foremost. Wandering through the corridors of the palace, however, he had to disagree with the king. It was no small task to locate the single room out of the many he passed in the halls. All of the doors looked the same, with no distinguishing traits that he could see. Fortunately, with the guidance of two very amused servants, he found the correct hallway at last. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw that this particular corridor only had four doors. The last servant he spoke with said his room was the farthest door on the right, so that was the one Lander headed towards.

Just as he was reaching for the handle, he heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see Princess Moria rounding the corner from a conjoining hallway. Her own room must be one of the other three, Lander realized. It made sense. The king was adamant that Lander should be near her side at all times. While she was here, he decided he may as well try to speak with her.

“Hello,” Lander inclined his in greeting and offered a smile. “We meet again, Princess.”

“We meet again, Princess."

Moria stopped, startled out of her thoughts by the greeting. The peasant, Lander, stood in the hallway, smiling at her. He hadn't even bothered to bow, she realized. At least he addressed her properly. Composing herself quickly, she attempted a mask of careful neutrality, and succeeded for the most part. "Hello..." Her mind churned with titles, but none of them fit, and calling him peasant seemed to be an unpleasant reminder of her situation, "...Lander."

Her gaze drifted to the door he stood in front of. It stood across from hers, and had been vacant for some time now. What he was doing here, she couldn't fathom. Perhaps he was lost, which was understandable. It took most guests months to figure out the layout, and Moria had the advantage of living there her entire life. “Can I help you find something?” She asked, neutral expression wavering into something more questioning.

“Help me find something?” Lander echoed with a subtle tilt of his head. “No, I don’t think so.” He leaned against the doorframe of his new room. “I was just thinking that we started off on the wrong foot, and I just figured – since we’re going to be spending so much time together and all – that I’d like a chance to start over.”

He stood up straight again, taking his weight off of the frame, and walked over to the princess. “I know you look down on me because of my status. I’m not trying to make you change that.” He shrugged indifferently. “I just hope we can come to a mutual toleration of each other. That is all.”

Lander turned and crossed back to his new room, “Goodnight, Princess.” He waved at her without looking back before he opened the door and went inside. Moria could think what she wanted about it, but that didn’t alter the fact that he was still going to be living across the hall from her. The king himself had ordered it, after all.

Considering the other places he’d seen so far in the castle, this room had a much more subtle beauty. It had simple furnishings – a bed, a wooden closet, a table, et cetera – and one window overlooking the kingdom. While everything in the room was likely more expensive than Lander’s entire house, the plain setup of the room was slightly comforting. It was like a richer version of his own home.

As had had taken hardly anything from home – most of which he had traded away in order to buy armor – he had nothing to stow away. So instead, he took the time to explore the drawers and other compartments. Most of them were empty, but in the closet he found that he had been provided with linen clothes – all free of holes and stains, no less.

Lander changed out of his armor and old village clothes to put on a set of fresh linens. Afterwards, he walked over to the single window to look outside. The view was amazing. The sky had darkened to a midnight blue and the streets of the towns were empty apart from the occasional patrolling knights. Candle lights flickered in some of the windows, dotting the kingdom with pinpricks of orange. Everything looked so peaceful. It was difficult to imagine a hidden threat lurking in the shadows, threatening the life of the king’s only daughter. And yet, here he was: Called upon by the king himself to protect Moria from this invisible power.

He stepped away from the window and flopped down on the bed, raising his arms over his head in a luxurious stretch. Well, threat or no, at least he now had a way to send a steady stream of money to his family back in the village. That was a blessing in and of itself. With that comforting thought in mind, he rolled over and closed his eyes, letting sleep take hold.