Chapter 1: Withdrawal

Author's Note: I'm not really interested in grammatical corrections or spelling errors. Include them in your review if you wish, but know that I will not find them beneficial. What I am interested in is improving my writing as far as sentence structure and flow goes. If a sentence doesn't sound quite right, please mention it, even if you yourself aren't sure what needs to be changed. Tell me about my characters; do they feel real? Do they annoy you? Do you like them? I hope you enjoy this chapter and thank you in advance. :)

Princess Gwendolen sat with her family on the balcony overlooking the stadium. She wore a low-cut red dress with a flowing skirt that trailed behind her. It was decorated with long ribbons that draped down her back and had bows that adorned her short sleeves. Her hair was done up in a tight, intricate braid that wrapped several times around the back of her head before sprouting out and hanging a short ways down. For the special occasion, she even wore a little bit of makeup, despite her earlier protests; her mother had won the argument.

Gwendolen shifted uncomfortably in her gown, then stole a side-glance at the young man standing just to the right of her father's chair. He was tall and broad-shouldered and wore tight fitting leather armor. His eyes were of the lightest green and he had a crooked nose that somehow seemed to make him all the more attractive, if that were possible. He was called Bleddyn, and he was the King's Champion. Her eyes lowered to his perfectly sculpted legs and she suddenly felt hot. She flicked her eyes back to the empty arena.

Every year her father, King Ulewyn—just like every king before him—would hold a tournament at the very heart of Roria. Anyone, no matter where they hailed from or what sort of record they held, was allowed to enter. For this reason, the yearly tournament was always an exciting time, for the prize was great, and anyone who was even remotely skilled in the art of combat wanted to attend. Only thirty-six combatants, however, were chosen from the hundreds of petitions. What also made this tournament interesting and different from the others held around the world, was that women were allowed to enter, they just had to prove that they were at least half as good as the average man.

Gwendolen had tried to enter for herself, but her mother had forbidden it, despite her relative skill with a sword. Her mother had said that it would be improper for a princess to attend such a bestial activity. She'd been angry at first, but that argument had occurred several days before and she'd had time to cool down. Besides, she supposed she could settle for watching her friend Bellona fight in the tournament instead. Her friend had come close to winning last year, closer than anyone would have ever expected from one so slight and wiry, but this year Bell claimed that she was going to achieve victory. Over the past few months, Gwendolen had seen how hard her friend had pushed herself to reach the level that she had just recently attained, and she felt inclined to believe her. Bell definitely wasn't the strongest of the contestants, but she was by far the swiftest and most clever.

Gwendolen stood suddenly as she remembered with a start that she should go see Bellona before the tournament began. She dashed forward, calling over her shoulder to her family that she would return soon as she hurried down the steps. Her high-heeled shoes were difficult to run in, but after years of wearing them she'd learned how to hold herself in such a way as not to stumble or break the thin wedge beneath her heel, even while running. When she at last reached the bottom of the stairs, she turned into a large, open room that lead into the arena. She continued on to a pair of wooden doors and pushed them open, their hinges creaking softly.

She stepped inside. Thirty-six men and women were scattered about the room, some talking quietly in small groups, others standing alone in a corner, glaring at their competition. A few glanced at her as she entered, bowing their heads, but the majority just ignored her. Most royalty would probably be offended, but she rather liked it when people treated her as if she were just an average person. She caught sight of a small figure sitting alone on one of the far benches and moved toward it.

Bell looked up as she neared. “There you are. Finally decided to wish your best friend good luck, I see?”

Gwendolen smiled and took a seat beside the raven-haired young woman. “Actually, I came to see if you were crying your eyes out in terror over who your first opponent is.” Somehow, she managed to keep her face serious as she said the next part. “I just wanted to say that even if that ten-year-old boy looks tough, I know you can beat him, Bell. I just know you can find some way to win.”

Bellona snorted. “He's actually fifteen, I asked him.”

“Really?” She looked over at the teenage boy standing on the other side of the room. “Wow. I knew ten was really too young, but fifteen?” She narrowed her eyes and leaned forward, trying to get a better look at him. No matter how hard she looked, however, she just couldn't wrap her mind around his true age.

“Oh, forget about him,” Bell said. “Check out that guy over there. There's something odd him, though I'm not quite sure what. He won't look anyone, let alone talk. He's acting suspicious, if you ask me. Do you think he's up to something?”

Gwendolen gave her friend a look of amusement before turning to the indicated man. Probably no older than twenty-six, he was of average height and had longish hair. He was slimmer than most men and he had high cheek bones. His lips were full and his skin was pale, and there wasn't a single blemish or discoloration to his smooth face. His clothes were different than what most people wore around here and he held himself rather awkwardly. All in all, he was indeed an strange man, however, she couldn't help but see an odd handsomeness to his features. Perhaps that was because she had never in her entire life seen one such as he.

She turned back to her friend. “He just looks nervous to me. A rather just feeling in my opinion, considering he's about partake in a tournament that has only one winner.”

“Perhaps,” Bell said, a suspicious tone still in her voice. “Let's go talk to him.”

“What, why?” she said. “Just because you mistake his nervousness for something more sinister doesn't mean that we should go interrogate him.”

“Fine. I'll go alone.” She jumped up and started off toward the man before Gwendolen could react.

Gwendolen groaned in frustration and hurried after her friend, weaving past bodies and making sure her dress didn't drag too much on the dirt floor. When at last she caught up to Bell, she were already standing before the man, who regarded them both with a hesitant look. He almost appeared to be cringing.

“Hello, sir,” Bell said, her voice less than the usual cheeriness one greeted a stranger. “I'm Bellona, but you can all me Bell, if you wish—and of course you know how this is.”

“Hello,” he said softly, his voice slightly higher-pitched than Gwendolen had expected. “I am Emrys. A . . . wonderful pleasure you meet you both.” A smile touched his lips, one that was probably meant to be warm, but came out rather awkward. He wouldn't meet either of their eyes from more than a split second.

“Indeed,” Bell said tersely. “Where do you come from, Emrys?”

Gwendolen cast an annoyed look at her friend, who ignored her.

“From Sithril,” the man said. “But it's been awhile since I've been home.” He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands.

“Why did you decide to join the tournament?” Bell pressed.

Gwendolen nudged her softly, trying to hint that she was being rude, but Bellona just nudged her back, and she wasn't subtle nor gentle about it.

Emrys's jaw twitched slightly, as if his nervousness was turning into irritation. “I joined the tournament because I wanted to, Miss Bellona. I would ask why you joined if I didn't already know the answer: You're just here because of your ego and ambition. You wish to prove that you are superior to others by feats of swordsmanship and by winning the tournament. You care not for enjoying your time here, but for receiving a medal that you will then show off to everyone you meet.” With that, the man turned from them and left the room.

Bell stood with her mouth open, shocked.

Gwendolen snorted harshly in an attempt to keep from laughing, but eventually she couldn't help it back any longer and burst into uncontrollable mirth, tears streaming down her cheeks. Everyone turned towards her in confusion, but she continued to laugh shameless at her friend until, at last, the merriment wore off enough for her to get control of herself. Choking back another giggle, a wide smile on her face, she said to Bell, “That's what you get for not minding you're own business.”

“Don't mock me!” Bell cried, though she wasn't angry. Her eyes were still large with disbelief and she looked very numb.

Gwendolen laughed again. “You should have seen the look on your face. I would do anything to see it again.”

Bellona just shook her head self-pityingly. “That shouldn't have happened. Please make me listen to you next time.”

She put a friendly arm about her friend's shoulders. “I doubt I'll be able to, but I'll try. I promise.”

The two returned to the bench.

As the minutes passed by, people were beginning to grow more and more anxious. It wouldn't be long now before the tournament would begin and the clashing of weapons would fill the air. There were thirty-six contestants, and only one would win, only one would receive the prize. That will make people desperate, and desperate people are dangerous. There were no rules in this tournament, only that you couldn't kill your opponent. Any fighting style, any weapon, any trick. Everything was allowed. If you wanted to throw a kick to the groin, you could. If you wanted to gouge your opponent's eyes out, you could. If you wanted to remove your opponent's hand, you could. Just don't kill them. If you do, then you will not only be disqualified, but you will be sentenced to death yourself.

The wooden doors opened and in stepped the Arena Master, his colorful robes and jewelry looking extremely out of place in the dull room of even duller people. He didn't smile, however, as he usually did when it was time for the tournament to begin. Actually, he looked rather annoyed. “I'm afraid we'll have to postpone the tournament for an hour or two,” he said, his voice harsh. “One of the competitors, Emrys, has decided to withdraw. We cannot continue until we find a replacement. I apologize for any inconveniences. Please wait patiently while we sort this out.” He left the room.

Silence.

Gwendolen cast a side-glance at Bellona and, to her surprise, saw a look of guilt flash across her friend's face.

The angry talking began a moment later. People began shouting and complaining about how they shouldn't have to wait just because some 'lowlife' decided to wimp out. One kicked over a bench in his fury, which drew the startled attention from those around him, but other than that Gwendolen was relieved to see that no fights broke out. The anger and frustration soon died down, replaced with an irritated and tense silence that was somehow worse than the previous complaining.

Gwendolen let out a soft sigh through her nose. It was unlikely that they'd be able to find another competitor within an hour or two as the Arena Master had said, for the petitions for the tournament had been burned this morning. There was a chance that someone in the audience would volunteer—or that someone who had petitioned was among them—but then they'd have to be tested to make sure that they were of good enough skill to join, which could take a long time. She looked over at Bell, who still appeared to be dismayed and was now staring at the ground. She opened her mouth to say something to cheer her up, but Bell spoke first.

“I still think that he was up to something,” she said stubbornly.

Gwendolen snorted. “Regardless, he's gone now.”

“Yeah, well, if I find him I'm going to make sure that he takes back what he said about me.”

“Or,” Gwendolen said, “you could just forget about it and move on.”

Bell didn't respond for a long moment. “So you think what he said was true?”

“No, I think that you should just forget about it,” she said. “Soon, you'll be fighting in the tournament and you won't want to be thinking about all that while you're trying to win. It would be distracting and hinder your ability to react quickly.”

“That isn't what I asked you.”

“Regardless, that is my answer.”

The large wooden doors swung open again, but it wasn't the Arena Master who strode in. This man was taller and wore a short beard that was greying slightly in a few places, but was mostly a deep brown. His clothes were that of a wealthy sailor with neatly polished boots and a heavy coat, but his face told a different story. It was handsome, regal almost, and nicely sculpted with a strong jawline and deep set eyes, which were hazel. The air he held was foreign, but warm and welcoming at the same time.

The Arena Master stepped in beside him an instant later, a slight frown on his face. “Well, contestants, it appears we've found our thirty-sixth man. He's already been tested and approved.”

The tall man dipped his head slightly in the Arena Master's direction, then walked smoothly away to the bench just in front of Gwendolen and Bell. He didn't meet their curious gaze.

“Now, we await the sound of the horn,” the Arena Master said. “After that the first two competitors names' will be called and the tournament will begin. Good luck to all.” He left with the heavy thud of the doors closing behind him.

For a moment, Gwendolen studied the man across from her, then she stood and said to Bellona, “I should be going, then. I wish you well in the tournament.” She embraced her friend firmly, then moved hurriedly over to the doors. She pulled them open and moved to leave, then found herself glancing back at the man sitting just opposite Bell. Their eyes met.

Gwendolen left.