Royal Champions Vs. Evil Minions Round One #2
“You’ll fight me fairly?” she asked, warmth spreading through her chest.
He laughed, the sound a deep rumble. “If I wanted to cheat you, princess, I wouldn’t bother entertaining this duel.
The minions surrounding you could overpower you in the blink of an eye.
The lord informed us of your pride and specifically asked us to squash it, so you’ll be a little humbler when we drag you before him. ”
She sneered. “Such loyalty for a man who cares nothing for you.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
Her brow furrowed, wondering which part of the statement he denied.
“Commoner’s rules?” Fyodor asked, holding his blade at the ready.
She nodded once. Orcs had their own sets of rules for challenges and duels, but the novels she’d read barely referenced them, focusing more on … other aspects of the story.
“Let’s discuss stakes. If you win, I’ll escort you safely to the lord myself. However, if I win.” He ended the sentence with a grin.
“You’ll what? Capture me? Take me to the dungeon?” she asked, breathless from the prospect of recreating their first meeting.
“We’ll see, won’t we?” Then he lunged, blade aimed for her heart.
It’d been a long time since Angelica had participated in a proper duel, especially since she’d lived the same two weeks on repeat. Their blades connected and the singing in her ears quickened her heartbeat.
The minions surrounding them created a barrier and delineated the circumference of their arena. They refused to shift no matter how close one of the swordfighters came, standing tall and proud as they watched their leader.
Roots had pushed up the cobblestones, giving them a rough terrain for their dance.
Angelica had to focus more on her footing than she preferred to avoid spraining an ankle or tripping straight into Fyodor’s blade.
Commoner’s rules meant they fought for points, not to the death, but they weren’t using blunted swords.
A line of heat bled over Angelica’s shoulder, but she’d opened a matching one across Fyodor’s thigh.
For a man so large, he was agile, but his swordplay was rusty. He missed several obvious openings and left more of his own. Several times he raised the sword as if to hack her in half, a move so wide and easy to dodge that she almost laughed at him.
As her energy waned, she finally saw the perfect opportunity and lunged forward. The point of her sword touched the spot right over his heart before she withdrew. She kept her sword raised, in case he didn’t acknowledge the hit in time, and braced for anger.
Fyodor stopped his blade a few inches from hers and stepped back, looking down at his chest. A small dot of blood bloomed over his white shirt, unfurling like the petals of a flower. “Damn,” he muttered, “Right to the heart.”
“Do you concede?”
He nodded once. “I do. I’ll take you straight to his lordship.” He gestured to the minion who’d brought him the box and carefully put the blade away.
Angelica’s eyes locked on his strong hands gently cradling the delicate sword. “What would you have asked for?”
Fyodor glanced at her, a sly smile on his lips. “It doesn’t matter, does it? I lost.”
“I’d like to know.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Who am I to deny royalty? I’d have asked for what any man would when meeting a headstrong damsel holding a blade to his throat.
” He stepped toward her, and she held her ground, daring him to renege on their deal and attack.
Instead, he only lowered his head to speak in her ear, “Your hand in marriage.”
She gawked at him, shocked by the outrageous request. They’d only just met! Yes, it was technically the second meeting for her, but marriage was a step too far.
“Perhaps you would offer a consolation prize?” he murmured.
Her heart raced as she gazed into his dark eyes. “What would that be?”
“The next best thing: a kiss, of course.”
“You can’t compare a kiss to marriage! There are so many other steps in between!”
“I’ll take that as a no.” He started to straighten, but she touched his arm, and he paused.
“Wait.” She ignored their audience as she leaned up on tiptoe and gently pressed her lips to his cheek.
A featherlight kiss that ended almost before it began.
She settled back on her feet and crossed her arms, focusing on the front doors straight ahead.
“Now it’s time for you to take me to your master. ”
Deep creases formed in Fyodor’s brow as he scanned her face. “You seem familiar, little princess. Have we met before?”
She pursed her lips, irritated that he’d forgotten, but secretly pleased to have left an impression, no matter how small. “No.”
Tired of waiting, she swept past him toward the lair. She stared the guards there down until they opened the doors for her, then walked in with her head held high and her shoulders back.
Fyodor followed a step behind her, his heavy gaze locked on her back.
Maximus wanted to finish this quest more than anything. Ever since it began, his head felt heavy, his memories fuzzy, confusing things. Sometimes he looked at a person or place and saw multiple images overlapping each other.
He’d seen the shadow of Delilah’s cat ears or a glimpse of a flicking tail before she’d ever put on her collar.
He’d seen the ghost of words carved into Fitz’s skin that shimmered in the shadows.
When Angelica had presented her purchases on the carriage ride home, Maximus could list them all off in his head seconds before she pulled them out of her bag.
When he looked at Trey, he sometimes saw the ghost of a smile. A sparkle in his bright blue eyes. A branch protruding from his back.
It was the worst with Wilde. Everyone else saw the man Wilde presented—pale hair, black eyes, a trim figure in neat clothing.
Maximus also saw those things when he looked straight at the mage, but whenever he turned his head—noticed him from the corner of his eye—he saw a black cloak, a triumphant, malicious smile.
The way Wilde looked at Trey was the worst—a strange mix of longing and possession no one else noticed.
Then he’d slip up, call Trey ‘Treasure’, like something to be owned.
Maximus couldn’t understand how no one else saw it.
How they could speak so easily to Wilde, like he wasn’t hiding a thousand secrets behind his black, emotionless eyes.
Wilde rarely joined their conversations, and he never laughed or smiled, only observed them, like some fae creature who had stumbled across humans for the first time.
Once his true colors were revealed, Maximus wanted to shout from the rooftops: “I was right! I knew it all along!” Yet Delilah and Trey continued to argue with him, defend Wilde, and now they were both missing, lost somewhere in the lair.
It was up to Maximus to save them.
The imps’ crying attracted a guard eventually, who went into the empty room to investigate.
Once their back was to Maximus, he smacked a large book over the minion’s head.
The minion stumbled forward, clutching their spear more tightly in their clawed fists.
It took two more hits for the fiend to go down.
The imps watched in horror, then cried out, “Murderer! Murderer!”
“We didn’t murder them,” Fitz assured in quiet, urgent whispers. “See? They’re breathing!”
The imps ignored him, shouting louder.
Heavy footsteps rushed toward the distressed calls.
Maximus picked up the minion’s spear, testing its weight in his hand.
He’d never carried a weapon before, not even to train.
The only fighting he’d participated in was wrestling his older brothers.
If Maximus could do it over again, he would learn how to wield every kind of weapon to prepare for the day he needed to defeat Wilde and his evil master.
Two minions burst into the room, a burly orc and a narrow, reptilian figure. The second opened a mouth full of fangs in a long, low hiss.
Maximus charged them, holding the spear before him.
The minions swore and dodged to either side, clearing a path for Maximus to run straight through the door. Panting, he turned to face them again, but Fitz stood in his path.
“What are you doing?” Fitz demanded as he raced after Maximus and dragged the door shut behind him. Two heavy thumps followed as the minions threw themselves against the door, rattling it on its hinges. “We’re trying to incapacitate them, not kill them!”
“They’re evil,” Maximus said what should have been enough.
“They are—” thump thump “—but we aren’t.”
Maximus’ jaw tightened, but he nodded in understanding.
Satisfied, Fitz asked, “Can you lock a door with your picks, or does that trick only work one way?”
Maximus locked the door as quickly as he could with the minions constantly trying to force it open. He felt an odd satisfaction at imprisoning them in their own evil lair.
Then he picked the spear up, ready to fight some more minions.
The end of the hallway was empty—they’d already taken care of the guards patrolling nearby.
Fitz and Maximus leaned around the corner.
A pair of minions were talking at the end of the hall, gesturing expansively with their hands.
After a few seconds, they left together, heading toward the front of the building.
“Sounds like Angelica’s fight might have finished,” Fitz said. “Looks like they’re all converging in one place. Should we check on her or take the opportunity to explore?”
Maximus didn’t care about anything in the lair except the Lord of Grimnight. He tightened his hands on the spear and growled, “Let’s finish this.”
“Remember, we’re sneaking,” Fitz said. “Not running in full tilt.”
Maximus nodded and stepped quietly from their shelter.
The double doors of the former courtroom were thrown wide open, admitting a steady flow of minions to watch the show. Maximus could barely see anything over the towering minions’ heads without getting too close, but he could hear the conversation inside.
“Fyodor, I’m disappointed in you. You can’t even beat one little girl in armed combat?” A strange cadence obscured the voice.
“I’m sorry, my liege. Punish me as you see fit.”
The reply was too quiet for anyone outside the room to hear. Then louder, the speaker said, “So, you’ve come to challenge me yourself, Princess? How bold.”
While the minions were distracted, Maximus crept closer and peered through a gap between two guards. A cloaked figure lounged on a throne, one leg thrown over the chair’s arm as he leaned in the opposite direction, spreading himself open as if he didn’t need to worry about defending himself.
“I didn’t come to challenge you,” Angelica said, her tone dismissive. “I came to challenge the Lord of Grimnight.”
The figure threw his head back and laughed, full of mirth and malice.
The move sent his hood sprawling backwards, exposing a curtain of long white hair.
“Angelica, Angelica, Angelica.” Each time he said her name his voice dripped with more condescension.
“You never were the brightest champion, not that anyone could compete with Fitz.”
Fitz had also crept up next to Maximus, and hearing his name invoked, he blanched.
“Haven’t you figured it out by now?” Wilde pushed himself off the throne, his delicate lips curled into a cruel sneer. “I am the Lord of Grimnight.”
“No,” she said, the word so breathy it was almost lost in the expansive room. “No, that was … it was someone else. You were only his apprentice.”
“Not here, not now. I’m the one you’re here to defeat. Still want to fight me?”
“I—” she faltered, her sword slipping to her side.
“I’ll fight you,” Maximus declared, pushing past the minions. They raised their weapons but didn’t attack him yet, allowing him to enter the room and face the Lord of Grimnight.
Fitz groaned behind him, “What happened to stealth?”
A menacing smile spread over Wilde’s lips. He scanned Maximus, his black eyes lingering on his spear, then his gaze shifted to Fitz. After a second, the smile slipped and he demanded, “Where’s Treasure?”
If he needed to ask, Trey hadn’t been caught yet. Maximus would do his best to make sure Wilde never found him again. “He’s not your treasure, he’s his own person!” Maximus reared back, spear in one hand, and threw it with all his might straight at Wilde.
Wilde disappeared in a blink, and the spear clattered harmlessly to the floor. He reappeared several feet away, leaning against the throne in another overconfident posture. But he’d barely had time to pose before his eyes widened and he straightened. “Stop!”
Maximus had only a second of confusion before a heavy weight slammed into the back of his head.
“I told you not to kill them!”
“He attacked you!”
“I can handle my—”
One Hour Earlier
A Random Office in the Lord of Grimnight’s Evil Lair
Wrestling Imps
A sharp ache burst through Maximus’ head, distracting him for a moment as two imps struggled in his arms. He reflexively loosened his grip and the pink one almost wriggled free. He tightened his hold again, waiting for Fitz to help him.
Maximus had a strange feeling he’d done this before.