I felt a surge of exhilaration, and in spite of my station, I let out a small cheer as the teenager charged the swordsman and brought him down. After dispatching his two adversaries, he returned to retrieve his greatsword. Scooping it up, he dodged a flying arrow by ducking low, then picked up his helmet and gave it a quick inspection before sliding it back onto his head.
I couldn't get a clear look at his face, but a strange excitement began to flutter in my chest. Perhaps it was the sheer audacity of what he'd just done—it was so… cool. I wasn't sure why exactly I felt this tug of intrigue, but I knew I wanted to see more of him.
"Oh? I believe this is the first time you've shown a genuine smile, Princess. I wonder what could have caused it," Thorne's voice intruded, pulling my focus away from the fight.
"…I'm in the middle of an important task. Don't bother me," I replied curtly. "I'm sure you can flap those fat lips at my father if you need conversation."
I made no effort to hide my annoyance; his presence and prying comments had already worn thin on my patience.
I caught a few words exchanged between Thorne and my father, but neither made any move to interrupt me, so I felt confident they would leave me be. Turning my attention back to the arena, I saw my newfound interest engaged in another skirmish, though this time it looked more balanced for both sides.
I could have scanned other fighters for more prospects, but I felt confident my earlier choices were good enough. Fixing my gaze on the match below, I noticed that my chosen fighter's current opponent wielded a mallet or hammer in one hand and wore a gauntlet with a semicircular protrusion on the other. It looked strange—certainly nothing like the shields I'd seen before—so I couldn't guess its exact purpose.
As the two clashed, my fighter again struggled with the opponent closing distance too quickly. A surge of irritation flared within me. Why couldn't he control his adversary's movements better? Was he stupid? It shouldn't be that hard.
Just then, the hammer-wielding fighter swung wide. My chosen fighter raised his sword to block—only to be struck in the head by that odd, metal gauntlet. He staggered from the blow, and before he could regain his footing, he took another hit to the head—this time from the hammer itself.
Something in me snapped. "Get him!" I shouted, my voice edged with frustration. "Don't you dare lose here! If you disappoint me, I'll make death seem like a mercy!"
I suppose I wanted to motivate him. Perhaps I was starting to understand the thrill others felt when they cheered on a favored fighter—though my reasons were hardly innocent, given my station.
A man spoke behind me again, and I refrained from lashing out this time. His voice demanded respect.
"I don't believe I've ever heard you speak like that, daughter," my father said, his tone deceptively mild. "It seems you've chosen someone for your reward?"
"Yes, Father." I inclined my head. "I selected those you asked me to for my brother. But there's also one I'd like for myself."
He appeared more curious than usual, which made me wonder if there was more to this than he let on. Still, I chose to do as asked, pointing first at the fighters I'd selected for my brother.
"Those there," I said, gesturing to a group I considered suitable candidates for the royal guard, "would serve my brother well. And that one, there—" I shifted my finger to the fighter currently being pummeled by a hammer—"he's someone I'm drawn to."
At that moment, the poor fighter was barely managing to gain his footing, still reeling under the relentless assault.
My father's gaze followed my gesture. "Do you have reasons for these choices?" he asked, his tone calm but not without weight.
I inclined my head slightly, adopting a more confident stance. "Yes, Father. You asked me to select candidates worthy of guarding my brother, so I chose three sets of fighters, each for a distinct purpose."
He nodded, his mouth moving a little as though evaluating my words. "Elaborate."
I moved my finger toward the archer who was still controlling her area well, along with the teammate protecting her from the roaming beasts. "That pair excels at teamwork. The archer dispatches multiple targets cleanly, and her guard never wavers when shielding her. Anyone who communicates and supports each other in the heat of battle would be invaluable for protecting a royal. And if they function so seamlessly as strangers thrown together in the arena, imagine what they could accomplish with proper training and discipline."
My father's expression shifted slightly, suggesting he approved of my reasoning. "And the second set?"
I directed my finger to another group. "Those three adapted fluidly to the beasts—both goblins and that dog-like creature. They eliminated each threat with minimal fuss, even as chaos erupted around them. That adaptability is crucial for a royal guard. My brother needs protectors who won't freeze up when the unexpected occurs."
"Good work. I noticed those fighters you pointed out, along with a few others, but I believe you've passed my test. Now, tell me about this reward. Why did you pick him? I'd speak fast if I were you—he appears to be getting beaten to death." My father spoke as though it were a trivial matter, but to me, it certainly wasn't. I wanted to glance over my shoulder, but I knew I had to give him a convincing answer.
My mind raced for a plausible explanation, but that grating voice cut in again.
"Ah, young love. So sweet, yet in this case entirely forbidden… what a tragedy," Thorne said, his tone laden with mocking amusement. Oddly enough, his interruption helped me steady my thoughts.
"He was able to fend off an unfair situation and still remain composed," I said, forcing confidence into my words. "I believe he isn't fully developed yet, but with my sponsorship, he could become a very worthy guard."
I hoped that would suffice—and that the fighter below would survive long enough for me to prove it.
"That's all?" my father asked, his gaze probing.
"Yes, Father," I replied, dipping my head again. "That's my only reason."
"Well, it's your reward," he said, his tone neutral. "I won't question your rationale further."
He cast a look toward Thorne, and while my head was bowed, I couldn't make out whatever silent exchange passed between them. But Thorne returned the nod, then moved to the balcony overlooking the fight.
"Enough!" Thorne's voice boomed through the arena. Instantly, fighters and beasts alike froze in place. Doors opened around the perimeter, letting guards flood in to round up the goblins and those dog-like creatures. They also confiscated the combatants' weapons. A moment later, doctors rushed out to attend the wounded.
I found myself exhaling, unsure whether I felt relief or anticipation at the thought of seeing my chosen fighter—and, with any luck, ensuring he was still alive.