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Kerrigan had been so focused to the plane around her, figuring out any tactical advantage that she could, that she hadn’t been listening to the announcer until he said, “Allow me to introduce last year’s champion, Marcellius!”
Last year’s champion.
Kerrigan flinched at that, even as she dug her feet in and prepared for her opponent. Constantine had told her that she was fighting Ciseron—a giant of a man, but nothing spectacular. It was who he had expected her to compete against. He’d even gone into the specifics of what he knew of the man. Long reach, slow to charge, excellent swordsman, partially deaf in his left ear. She’d had a plan.
And now, it was shot to shit.
Marcellius barreled out of the opposite side of the arena to a round of glowing adoration. His name was praised from the stands. He raised his arms in the air. He clearly had their favor. It made no sense that he had been paired against her. He should be in a fight of his own, where he could put on a better show. They should have expected the Fae-touched princess, who was stupid enough to claim Doma status in a non-magical fight, would not survive against a grunt, let alone a show against their previous winner.
Kerrigan glanced back at Constantine, but the grate was closed. She couldn’t see him, and she didn’t know what advice he would give her even if he could. Marcellius was a champion. She knew what she would have to endure to beat him.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Marcellius asked when he caught sight of her. “I was told that I’d be fighting a Doma, not a little girl.”
The crowd laughed at his jeer.
Kerrigan let her sword hang lazily at her side. “Is that the best you can do? A little girl?”
He grinned at her. He was Domaran with coppery-tanned skin and dark hair to his shoulders, which he’d left unbound. Kerrigan had braided up the sides of her red curls and tied it back off of her face with a cord. She’d had one too many fights where her hair was a factor to let it all run wild.
“You’re about to see the best that I can do.”
“Oh, I’m looking forward to it.” Kerrigan winked at him and raised her hand in a beckoning gesture. “Come fight the little girl, you big, strong man.”
She’d turned the tables on him, and now, the crowd was laughing with her rather than at her. Marcellius felt the air shift and narrowed his dark eyes.
“I’ll make this quick,” he growled, then dashed toward her.
Her eyes tracked his movements, looking for any weaknesses in his build. Nothing jumped out at her immediately. His weight distribution was spot-on, and he held his sword like a hardened soldier. But even if he had no physical weaknesses, she could break him mentally.
Just as he reached her, she grinned and darted out of the way. Marcellius went flying forward, his momentum carrying him past her. She raised her sword and swatted him on the butt.
The crowd roared with laughter.
She brought her sword up to meet his wild swing, fueled by anger. Their swords clanged noisily together before she jerked back another step out of his way. “I thought you said you were bringing your best.”
“Only cowards run away.”
“I wasn’t running,” she said with a smile.
His footwork was simple but effective as he circled to the right. She matched his steps. Easy shifts in the sand that were more relaxing than threatening. He wouldn’t lull her into complacency though. She had lived and breathed this. Riling him might not have been her best move, but it was the only one she had at present.
Marcellius shifted into an offensive step. She could almost guess what he was going to do next. She used the advantage to duck under his sword swipe, and then slid through a series of movements, coming up on the other side of him and kicking him hard in the back of the knee. He stumbled forward. It was only a couple of steps before he recovered. Faster than she would have wanted. She’d just jumped back to her feet and faced him when he was barreling toward her again.
The crowd chanted, “Doma,” again into the air.
She’d gotten at least some of them on her side. She was the underdog. She needed all the help she could get. But she needed to actually fight now and not just tease Marcellius.
She let the crowd fall away. The noise a buzz at the back of her mind. As her training took over, she let her feet carry her of their own accord. Muscle memory rose her sword at the correct moment to clash against his longer, broader sword. Vibrations rocked up her arm at the sheer impact. She gritted her teeth. It was why she had been trying to goad him rather than fight him head-on. He was bigger, taller, stronger than her. That was obvious to anyone who looked on, but she didn’t have to play his game.
