Cursed by Bandits (Once Upon A Curse)

32. Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Two

T he crowd was going wild. They wanted this battle more than any other one that would happen today. The people loved their prince, and they loved the potential rags-to-riches story of Master Robin. The energy in the air felt like the moment after lightning strikes, and I could feel it buzzing through me as I waited to be announced.

Connor dismounted, basking in the crowd’s adoration, his easy smile and confident demeanor only causing everyone to love him more. Meanwhile, my hands were shaking at the thought of the next match, my nerves making it impossible for me to focus .

Milo, still fully geared up after his win, approached me with a knowing look in his eyes. “They’re about to call you, Rowan. Are you ready?”

Taking a deep breath, I nodded. “I am. I have to be.”

As the herald’s voice boomed through the arena, calling the next competitor, calling me, I felt a surge of adrenaline. It mixed with my nerves, making it feel like I was going to jump out of my skin.

Connor was already mounted and ready, his horse pawing at the ground, eager to begin. My dappled grey stallion stood waiting for me as I mounted and adjusted my helmet. The weight of the armor and the lance the squire placed in my hand felt more oppressive than before, but I forced myself to focus.

“Master Robin!” the herald called. “Are you ready?”

I nodded. I tried to lessen my nerves with a deep breath. It didn’t work. I looked across the arena to Connor, and the world slowed down and came into focus. It was just the two of us and the field. The flag dropped, and we both spurred our horses into motion.

We charged across the arena, the short railing the only thing preventing us from running into each other head-on. Like before, I secured my lance in the lance rest and aimed it. I could barely keep my focus on Connor’s shield, but I did. The impact, when it came, was jarring. My lance struck his shield, breaking, but he managed to stay in his saddle. That blow earned me two points. At the same time, his lance glanced off my shield, not breaking but still making my bones rattle at the force of the impact. However, it wasn’t enough to unseat me. Connor’s blow earned him a point.

I yelled for a new lance as I turned for the next pass, my heart was in my throat, beating faster than it ever had before. The crowd was forgotten as I homed in on my opponent. This time, Connor’s lance struck harder, hitting my shield with a force that made me see stars. But I held on, refusing to be unseated. My lance only managed to graze his shield. We were tied.

On the third pass, everything seemed to move in slow motion. I watched as the look on his face changed as we charged at each other once more. In fact, I swore he winked at me right before our lances met. I saw him as he stood slightly in his stirrups and pushed himself backwards at the same moment I felt the impact of his lance’s graze reverberate off the side of my shield instead of the center. Mine looked like it was going to strike the center, but skimmed the surface as Connor threw himself off his horse.

He landed on the ground with the crashing sound of his armor. The crowd erupted in a deafening roar as I rode past the grandstand, confused by his sudden willingness to let me win.

I dismounted, remembering to leave my helmet on at the last moment, unable to feel the cool air against my sweat-drenched everything. I walked over to Connor, who was already getting to his feet, and extended a hand to help him up.

“Well fought,” he said, clasping my hand firmly. “You truly are a worthy opponent.”

“Thank you,” I replied, feeling a mix of relief and exhaustion. “But that last round, you . . .”

“Ensured the right man won. You won’t be so lucky in the last match.” He winked. What was with all his winking?

He walked away, leaving me alone in the middle of the arena.

As we walked back past the grandstand, I caught sight of my uncle, his expression inscrutable. Jane and Milo were waiting for me just out of sight of my uncle, their faces a mix of pride and concern.

“You did it,” Jane said, handing me a flask. “Now rest. You have another round ahead.”

I nodded, taking a sip of the liquid. It burned as it went down, warming me in ways I didn’t mind at the moment. The next round would be even tougher, but I was ready; at least I was as ready as I could be. Hopefully, it would be enough.

Milo grabbed my hand as I left to hide in the stables. “I’m up against Montfort next. Maybe I’ll luck out and win this time.” Milo’s low score in the other events meant he had to climb the ranks to get to the final set.

“Good luck,” I said, not knowing whether it would be worse to face Milo or Montfort in the last joust.

For what felt like the hundredth time, I made my way back to the stables to rest out of sight until it was time for the last event of the tournament. I sat back in a corner of Artie’s stall, trying to let the scents and sounds wash over me, luring me into a meditative state.

Instead, the muffled sounds of the tournament continued outside, invading my thoughts. The cheers and jeers of the crowd blended into a distant hum that kept me distracted. The exhaustion from the day’s events made it almost impossible to move my arms, especially the one that held the lance. Ignoring the pain of sore muscles, I let myself close my eyes for a moment, trying to relax.

My eyelids were so heavy it was impossible to stay awake—but then the stable door creaked open, and I tensed. My muscles screamed, but I was ready to spring to my feet if it was necessary. It was just Jane, her expression filled with concern .

“I know you’re supposed to be resting.” She handed me a waterskin. “But I figured you would be in your own head by now.”

I smiled, taking a sip of the cool water. She knew me so well. “That does sound like me, if I wasn’t so exhausted, I probably would have been.”

She sat on the ground beside me, and her being here next to me helped slow the thoughts in my head. She was one of the few people that understood how much I questioned everything.

She wrapped her arm around me. “You’ve done more than anyone could have expected, Rowan. You just have one more round, that’s it.”

“One more round,” I echoed. They were just words, but they felt so heavy. “I can’t afford to lose now. Montfort or Milo . . . I thought this would be fun, but now I just want it to be over.”

Jane nodded. “You’ve got this. It’s what you’ve trained for. Now is the time to trust in yourself and your abilities.”

I rolled my shoulders, every move made a different muscle angry with pain. “Thank you, Jane. I needed to hear that.”

The two of us sat in the stable until we heard the end of Milo’s match against Montfort. It was impossible for me not to worry about the outcome .

“Let’s go.” I stood. My body was so tired. “Let’s see who I’m up against next.”

Jane and I walked back to the grandstand for the last time today. She stood back while I walked through the entrance. Montfort was waving to the crowd while Milo was standing on the outskirts, holding the reins to his horse. He must have lost, but at least he was alive and uninjured. Hopefully, I could say the same after the joust with Montfort.

I nodded to Milo before letting my squire know I was back and ready for the final match. He waited for me, my lance and helmet ready, his eyes wide with excitement.

“You’ve got this, Master Robin,” he said. His confidence in me was overwhelming.

I smiled at him. “Thank you. You’ve been the best squire I could ask for.”

I mounted my horse, then took my helmet and lance from him. Adjusting my grip, I felt the weight of the moment settle over me. I took my place, ready to start. The only thing louder than the roar of the crowd was the pounding of my heart. Jocelin Montfort stared at me from across the arena. He smiled his weaselly smile as he sat proudly on his horse, exuding confidence.

The flag was dropped, and we charged towards each other. The thunder of hooves pounding against the dirt echoed in my ears as I focused on my target. Montfort’s lance was aimed directly at me, and I adjusted my seat and prepared for impact.

Everything was blurred together, every color and every sound melded together. Both of our lances found our targets. Both lances shattered. Both of us stayed on our horses. A collective gasp worked its way through the crowd before the cheering began again.

The two of us wheeled our horses around for the second pass, determination fueling my every move. It was like an intricate dance—our squires tossing us a new lance, the white flag dropping, the galloping of the horses; and we were once again running towards each other. I aimed lower, with the goal to unseat Montfort. The impact of my lance struck true, shaking me all the way to my bones. Montfort fell back in his saddle but managed to stay mounted, and his expression darkened with frustration because his lance didn’t even make contact.

The third and final pass approached. I was in the lead but not enough to guarantee a victory. This was my last chance to get the win I needed so badly. I gripped my lance tightly, ignoring the ache in my arms, in my back, and in my legs. Then there was the sweat dripping down my face, attempting to blind me. None of that mattered as we charged towards each other. When I locked eyes with Montfort, there was a flicker of doubt in his gaze.

With the last bit of strength I had, I thrust my lance. The impact was teeth rattling, but it was enough. I watched as Montfort went crashing to the ground with a resounding thud. I dropped my lance, raising my fist in triumph. The crowd responded by erupting with noise: screaming, clapping, stomping their feet.

I dismounted and made my way over to Montfort, offering him a hand. “Well fought,” I said, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me.

He ignored my hand, stood, and walked away. Montfort glanced up towards my uncle as he left.

As the crowd continued to cheer, I followed Montfort’s gaze over to the grandstand. My uncle’s expression was inscrutable, but I could see the wheels turning in his mind.

I had done it. I had won the tournament. Now I just had to prove my father was murdered. But for tonight, I would allow myself a moment of victory.