“I don’t know what you are on about, boy.”
No one else could hear his taunts, only Wesley.
“I’m gonna kick your arse so hard, they’re gonna hear your whimpering all the way back in Dawnhill,” Wesley hissed, before raising his sword and swinging it high into the air towards his opponent.
Petir blocked it swiftly, jumping underneath the strike and causing Wesley to lose balance and stumble.
Petir chuckled. “You are clearly in no state to fight, boy. Let’s call it there, shall we?”
“That’s not up to you.”
The two clashed, their swords ringing. A spark zipped out from the clashing of the steel.
Wesley struck high again, but seemingly without effort, Petir blocked the sword mid-air and pushed Wesley back with his free hand. The crowd, including both their families, watched on in suspense.
Petir fought back, unleashing a barrage of strikes which Wesley struggled to fend off, slowly edging Wesley back towards the wooden fence that marked the outer perimeter of the fighting arena.
Wesley’s reflexes were failing to keep up as he attempted to parry and dodge, lest he damage his sword. His muscles seemed to lag a half second behind what his mind wanted them to do.
But he maintained his composure. Somehow.
Wesley felt rage simmering beneath his skin. It was fuelling him. He swung his longsword in a wide arc, smashing into Petir’s sword and rattling both from their grasps.
Suddenly disarmed, Petir tackled Wesley, launching him off his feet. The two men flew backwards into the wooden fence, crashing straight through it. The crowd thundered as the arena fence split apart in a burst of wooden splinters.
With Petir still on top of him, Wesley panicked and took an opportunity, bashing the side of Petir’s steel helmet with his gauntleted fist.
It worked; Petir was thrown off. Wesley was able to get to his feet, puffing.
“You took her from me!” Wesley growled.
“What are you talking about?” Petir gasped, catching his breath, and lifting his helmet slightly to wipe some dripping blood from his mouth.
The crowd continued their cheering and clapping at the thrilling spectacle.
Wesley took one of the broken pieces of wood from the dust, wielding it like a baton. He charged Petir, smacking the jagged wooden piece into his armour multiple times, unsuccessfully.
Petir attempted to push the drunken prince off him, wincing each time the wood struck him. It couldn’t break through his armour, but each hit still hurt.
Petir got his hand on the other end of the wood piece during one of the clumsy swings, ripping it from Wesley’s hand and tossing it aside.
“You fight with no honour. What is your problem?” Petir rumbled.
Wesley clenched his jaw, holding back a scream. “Jodie,” he muttered through his helmet’s visor. “You… you took her from me. She… she…”
Petir lowered his guard, his eyes went wide before he began to cackle uncontrollably. It only served to make Wesley angrier.
“Oh, goodness me, little Wesley. You have romantic feelings for my wife?” Petir chuckled.
Wesley roared with rage. He grabbed his sword from the dust, determined to strike him down. He launched himself forward, stabbing at Petir’s chest.
With his steel gauntlet, Petir knocked the drunken blow aside with ease and used his shoulder to block Wesley mid-charge, knocking him back down onto his rear in a spray of sand once again.
It was an embarrassingly clumsy move.
Petir found his sword and walked over to Wesley, his shadow casting down over his face. “You really are pathetic, aren’t you?” Petir sneered.
“We have loved each other since childhood… even after you married her,” Wesley said, his words hissing from his dry lips.
Petir huffed. “Even in defeat, you still speak nonsense.”
“I speak the truth. We lay together even after you took your 'holy vows.”
Petir shook his head with a jealous smile. “You are unbelievable. Here you are, at your own wedding tourney after marrying one of the most beautiful princesses in Alyria, making a fool of yourself in front of all these people. You shame your wife and my wife both with your poisonous words.”
“I loved her ever since the day I met her, and you stole her from me!” Wesley growled. “You know nothing about her, you know nothing about us!”
Petir smirked. “There is no ‘us’, you wretched moron.”
Wesley let loose a primal scream and kicked Petir’s shin, his boot crashing into Petir’s greave and knocking him off-balance. Wesley awkwardly jumped up before slashing his sword at the prince as he stumbled.
Petir met each blow with a parry, but Wesley kept on attacking. His swipes were long and clumsy, but powerful, fuelled by the anger coursing through his veins.
Petir waited for Wesley to tire himself, then countered one final strike and knocked Wesley’s sword out of his hands. The sword went flying through the air and landed a few yards away.
It was a clever move yet devastating for Wesley’s chances of victory.
The crowd cheered and the herald announced the winner of the duel. Petir Blacktree.
Wesley lowered his head in defeat, tears streaming down his flushed face.
The crowd applauded in a thunderous roar. The duel had been spectacular. Petir did as he always did- he relished the moment.
The prince removed his helmet to reveal his handsome face, flicking his characteristically dark Blacktree hair back and waving. He approached the edge of the arena with his arms in the air, leaving his opponent sobbing in the dust.
“Prince Petir Blacktree is our victor!” the herald repeated.
Most of the royals were clapping. King Emery appeared relieved. But the look on Tobius Seynard’s face was one of horror. Wesley instantly knew that he had messed up; it was written across his father’s expression as clear as day.
Petir wiped his brow of sweat as he savoured his moment before lowering his arms to prepare
