Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Theseus stood in the center of a colosseum. The sandy floor crunched beneath his feet. Swordmaidens and servants filled the tiers of benches formed of white stone. The black-haired, cold queen stared down at him from her dais.
He adjusted his grip on his sword’s hilt, willing his palm to remain unsweaty. This was his final test, and he had no choice but to win. His Court’s survival depended on his victory.
A door opened in the stone wall surrounding the combat arena. A figure dressed in leather combat armor sauntered toward him, her head high, her grip on her sword relaxed. Her golden hair was wound in many braids around her head, the braids studded with winking diamonds.
Ariadne.
Except…Theseus studied her more closely. Her swaggering confidence. Her smirk glinting in her eyes.
The pieces and hints he’d stashed away for thought fell into place with each step she took toward him.
The swordmaiden he had known as Ariadne halted in front of him, her mouth twisting into a smirk. “Well, King Theseus? Are you ready for your final trial?”
“It is an honor to fight you.” Theseus held her gaze as he added, “Queen Hippolyta.”
Her smirk widened, and she languidly swung her sword. “I am the queen of the Court of Swordmaidens. Of course I will be fighting for my own hand.”
She glanced at the dais and nodded.
The fake Queen Hippolyta—most likely the real Ariadne—stood, then stepped aside, taking her place next to the throne as one of the queen’s guards.
Theseus tightened his grip on his sword and faced Ariadne—no, Hippolyta.
It had taken him far too long to realize the truth.
But the signs had all been there. The way the servant he had known as Ariadne was clearly a swordmaiden in disguise.
The time she spent with him each day, as if trying to get to know him.
The way the fake Hippolyta had barely interacted with him.
All the little tricks Hippolyta had played on him all along, each one yet another test, including hiding her identity.
He might have been angrier at all the trickery if he hadn’t been so relieved to find that he had been fighting for her hand—not the hand of that cold-eyed swordmaiden—all along.
It would come down to this. His skill against hers.
He had no hope of truly beating her in a sword fight. She had, after all, dedicated her life to learning the ways of the sword and battle. He was the king of a court of librarians. While he had some training, it had not been his focus nor his purpose.
Would she let him win? Would she give him her hand? She knew how important this was for his Court. Surely she felt the same attraction that he did.
Hippolyta prowled in a circle around him in graceful strides. “I ask again, King Theseus. Are you ready? I will even let you call the start.”
It wasn’t fair the way her smirking mouth heated his blood and sent his thoughts everywhere but battle. If she felt a similar distraction when she faced him, she didn’t show it. She was all deadly grace and beautiful boldness, now that her true identity had been revealed.
Theseus drew a deep breath and told himself to focus. He adjusted his grip on his sword, forced his muscles to ease, and faced Hippolyta. “More than ready.”
He didn’t yell or give any other signal. He simply lunged, swinging his sword and testing her reactions.
She parried without so much as a start or a blink to show she had been surprised.
He stepped in closer, trying to put his taller height and heavier frame to good use. He hammered his sword down at her.
She swayed back, flicking her sword to parry his weapon to the side, using his own momentum to send the tip of his sword into the sand.
Theseus stumbled, then threw himself to the side as she darted her sword toward his chest. A line of pain sliced along the top of his shoulder, and he nearly dropped his sword.
“Is that the best you can do?” She lightly hopped back a step, giving him room to collect himself instead of pressing her advantage.
Though, she didn’t have to press. She had clearly shown she could have ended him right then and there had she wanted. Giving him space was a power play, not mercy.
Theseus gathered himself, righted his stance, and forced his mind to calm. He had to do better than this if he had any hope of winning her hand.
Hippolyta waited, her stance balanced and light.
Theseus gritted his teeth. She was forcing him to take the offensive.
He swung low, aiming for her knees. She hopped over his swing, thrusting at his stomach.
As he dodged to the side, he turned his backswing to go high. She parried before twisting her move into another slice, this one burning pain along his ribs.
He sucked in a breath and went on the attack, trading blow after blow with her. As hard as he tried, all he managed to do was give her a slight scratch along the back of one wrist.
She didn’t slacken, her reflexes never faltering. Her light blue eyes glowed with a fierce light. Her face shone with her grin, as if this combat filled her with joy.
That joy was mesmerizing. If Theseus could, he would step back and simply watch her in this deadly dance.
She dropped, sweeping out a foot. Next thing he knew, he was flat on his back, staring up at blue sky and her golden hair.
Kicking his sword out of his hand, she pressed the tip of her own sword to his throat. “You have lost, King Theseus.”
His heart throbbed in his throat, his chest twisting.
He’d lost. All this time, all this effort, and yet, in the end, he had failed.
The joyful sparkle to Hippolyta’s eyes hardened into a cold glint more reminiscent of the swordmaiden who had been playing her role during his trials. She stepped back, lowering her sword. “You have failed to win my hand. It is time for you to leave.”
What was going on? That was it?
“Hippolyta, wait.” Theseus rolled to his feet. Surely she wasn’t just going to toss him off the island. He’d felt a spark between them. Hadn’t she felt it too?
Yet she spun on her heel, placing her back to him. “Throw him off our island.”
“Hippolyta…” He didn’t understand. After all the time they had spent together, it couldn’t just end like this. Could it? “Will you at least send swordmaidens to save my Court? Please. It’s all I ask.”
She kept marching away from him, giving no indication that she even heard him.
The real Ariadne and another swordmaiden stepped into the arena. They gripped Theseus’s arms and dragged him backwards. Another swordmaiden picked up Theseus’s sword and followed them, cutting off his view of Hippolyta.
Apparently, she had not felt the same things he had. For some reason, that hurt even more than failing his Court.
* * *
Theseus slumped against the windowsill in his study, staring down at the evening light glinting off the Library’s dome.
One week until Midsummer Night. Still no word from Hippolyta. Perhaps she really had washed her hands of him and his Court. If that was the case, then she was not the person he’d thought she was.
Then again, she had deceived him into thinking she was a handmaiden named Ariadne for most of their acquaintance. She literally wasn’t the person he thought she was for most of the time he’d known her.
“Your Majesty?” Philostrate’s voice came from behind him. “Are you all right, sire?”
Theseus released a long breath and pushed away from the window to face his steward. “I’m fine.”
Philostrate’s gaze searched his, then he shook his head. “You haven’t been yourself ever since you returned from the Court of Swordmaidens.”
Theseus wasn’t going to tell Philostrate about Hippolyta and the constant ache in his heart ever since. He focused on the floor rather than on his steward. “I failed, and now the Court will likely be overrun on Midsummer Night.”
“There is always the Court of Sand or Stone or any of the other Courts we can turn to. We aren’t out of options.” Philostrate’s tone remained neutral.
“Perhaps. But the cost to bargain with another Court will be high. Perhaps higher than we are willing to pay.” Theseus itched to slump against the windowsill yet again. He had paid for this attempt to save his Court with his heart. Maybe another bargain wouldn’t be so dreadful.
Yet he couldn’t bring himself to give up on Hippolyta. Surely she would come. She would save his Court.
Even if she didn’t love him the way he had come to love her.