Peeble's antennae perk up. "The champion gets a private audience with the host territory's leader to negotiate any single request. No refusal."
"If I win, I get time alone with her."
"You're going to fight your way through a bunch of competitions you've never trained for just to have a conversation with a woman who wants to kill you?"
"Yes. If winning gets me near her, then winning is the only option."
Peeble is quiet for exactly one second. "I love it. Let's go."
The first event is the Stone Hurl which is a throwing competition using boulders roughly the size of a human torso, carved from the Wyrmwood's bedrock and polished smooth. Competitors stand behind a root-marked line and launch them as far as possible.
I watch the first three competitors . The technique is straightforward. Rotation, momentum, release. The bark-armed male from Elle's crew goes fourth and sends his stone sailing an impressive distance. The crowd cheers. Elle, watching from the terrace, gives a curt nod of approval.
My turn.
I heft the stone. It's heavier than it looks, dense with mineral deposits, but I've carried worse. I settle my stance, rotate, and—
"HEY KAELREN, YOUR FORM IS ALL WRONG!" Peeble shouts from somewhere behind me. "YOU NEED TO BEND YOUR KNEES MORE! THAT'S WHAT THE LAST GUY DID AND HIS WENT REALLY FAR!"
The stone releases at an angle that's about fifteen degrees off from where I intended. It sails wide, still covers good distance, but lands crooked. Still places me second behind the bark-armed male.
"Great job!" Peeble says, landing on my shoulder. "Almost perfect!"
"You yelled in my ear mid-throw."
"I was helping."
Elle smirks from her terrace. I catch it before she wipes it away. "Not bad for a prince who sits on a throne all day," she calls out.
"I don't sit on a throne."
"Could have fooled me."
The second event is the Canopy Run, a race through an obstacle course built into the trees above the amphitheater. Rope bridges, swinging platforms, balance beams made from living branches. Speed and agility, measured by whoever reaches the far platform first.
I'm good at this. Climbing, running, navigating uneven terrain. This is what I trained for during the rebellion years. I launch off the starting root and hit the first rope bridge at full sprint, my boots finding the knots by instinct.
Behind me, I hear Peeble: "GO, GO, GO! THAT'S MY PRINCE! WELL, NOT MY PRINCE, BUT THE PRINCE I'M CURRENTLY TRAVELING WITH AGAINST HIS WILL!"
I’m halfway across the third platform when I grab a vine to swing to the next section.
Then I realize too late. Peeble has landed ahead of me, right in my trajectory, exactly where I will squish them if I grab my next hold. I swing low, clip my shins on a branch, and barely catch the platform edge with my fingers.
I haul myself up and finish third. Third.
"Oops," Peeble says from the branch above me. "My bad."
Elle wins this one. She moves through the canopy course with the ease of someone who's spent years living in trees. No wasted motion. No hesitation. When she reaches the far platform, she doesn't even look winded.
She looks down at me, dangling from the edge, and smiles. It's not a nice smile.
"Try keeping up, princeling."
"I intend to."
Over the rest of the day and into the next, we cycle through events. The Log Walk, balancing on a spinning log suspended over a pit of mud while your opponent tries to knock you off with a padded pole. I win three rounds before the wiry female from Elle's crew catches me with a strike I didn't see coming and I eat mud.
Peeble provides helpful commentary from the sidelines: "That was embarrassing. Should I get you a towel, or would you prefer to just lie there and think about your choices?"
