Three more matches passed, and by then the bell tower was ringing its midday toll. The next straws were drawn, and by the time the last peal faded in the distance, Kiet's name was called out to the crowd. His opponent's name was drowned beneath roars and thundering of boots upon benches.

Isla peered down at the walkway. 'What? Who did he draw against?'

'High Prince Temchin.' Rajini Chei smiled back at her. 'The High Khan's youngest son.'

No. She scooted up the platform and caught the man as he walked up the pit, his older brother pounding him on the chest as he passed. He looked a replica of High Prince Amargai, but with less braids in his hair and only an early growth around his jawline. He was a slighter build, too, if only by a margin. Perhaps there was hope yet for Kiet.

They performed their bows and stepped around one another. As always, Kiet was too unbothered—casual—as he watched the Napoan prince at an angle. Both his kalis and offhand remained loose at his side, while High Prince Temchin held his weapon with both hands and kept it trained to a point. Only when the latter moved in for a cut did Kiet raise his guard; a swift movement and the air was clanging with their cuts and parries, cuts and parries—Kiet's gently undulating blade against harsh Napoan steel.

It carried on for a while, the movement of their blades becoming a blur, until High Prince Temchin came in for an undercut between Kiet's rhythmic maneuvers. He stepped back, but not without the edge of the weapon taking a strip off his breastplate.

'Kiet!' Her call merged with all the other cries and whoops of the crowd.

'Calm yourself.' Rajini Chei pulled her down with a hand on her shoulder, but Isla did not sink back into her cushions until Kiet's eyes found hers and he flashed her a smile.

'That blade could have cleaved him in two!'

Down in the stage, he checked his leather plate and lifted his fingers into the air, the tips of it red. 'Your point, Prince Temchin.'

'Why is he throwing this game?' Did he mean to avoid an outright duel against Maharaj Khaisan?

'Perhaps he is simply outmatched.'

Their second encounter certainly made it look so. Emboldened, Prince Temchin kept his guard high, pushing Kiet into a defence. Again and again he took Temchin's blows, beating them away with the smallest flicks, no movement wasted, but finally High Prince Temchin used the momentum to draw back and return with a thrust.

Kiet twisted back, kalis pulled tight to his side. Steel scraped with a ringing that chafed Isla's ears. But as the distance closed, he wrenched back his sword, ripping up into the Napoan prince's forearm before shoving him away.

'Point!' Yelled the tournament master.

But Kiet, too, was nursing his side. The Napoan blade had grazed just past his waistcoat, blood peeking through the tear in his leather. 'Make that a double.'

Gods. Isla unclenched her hands.

High Prince Temchin winced through his bleeding. At least Kiet had injured him deeper with one cut than he had done through two, but both refused the therapeut's interventions. The Napoan prince rose to his feet, resumed his position, now back to a cautious posture.

One more point and he wins.

But Kiet rolled his shoulders and nodded at the prince, his own sword still held low behind his body, provoking an attack, and the High Prince Temchin did not disappoint. Down came his blade. Left, right, left again. Each time Kiet only checked it, matching his speed. Each time Temchin slipped past his guard, his weapon always struck just a hair's length out of reach. Each time he would catch Kiet in a counter, he was always just a beat too slow to deliver.

'You've been playing with me, maharaj.' He snarled, lunging in with a wide cut to meet Kiet's sudden upper strike, only recognising his mistake too late. Kiet wheeled his kalis up the length of his blade and around, crossing deep past the prince and pulling back up with a nip to his extended wrist.

'I never play, my good prince,' he said as the tournament master called another point in his favour. 'I study.'

High Prince Temchin wiped his wrist on the yellow and red of his tunic. His sister yelled something out to him from the platform; some sage advice, perhaps. Whatever it was, he was not quick to jump into their final encounter. They were back to stalking one another, a poke here, cut and counter there ... most of Temchin's blows were aimed to the gut, and Kiet simply batted them away like waving off flies.

Even the High Princess Jihan grew frustrated, cursing with every missed counter. Her brother's movements grew slower with every exchange, his evasions slipping more and more, until at last Kiet deflected a weak blow, and before the prince could bring his guard back up, Kiet had already answered with a rapid whip of his blade.

High Prince Temchin stepped back, hand covering his cheek.

Kiet flicked the blood off his blade, but Isla could see his shock from the tautness in his face. The therapeut leapt on stage; this time Prince Temchin did not stop him. She saw only a flash of the mangled wound before the view was obstructed from all.

'Ifrit's breath.' She did not realise she was clutching onto her grandmother's arm until she felt the rajini's warm fingers on top of hers.

'The High Khan's children knew what they were signing up for.' Her voice was reasurring. 'As do all of today's challengers, including your maharaj.'

'But still.' She had learnt enough from her academy days to know how little love was shared between Napoa and Surikhand.

A loud thud broke through the strained murmuring. Slowly Isla turned to peer some tables left of the Maha Rama, where the High Khan of Napoa sat, quiet and brooding all morning. Except now he was no longer quiet. He had his mug in one hand and the other in a fist, pounding his table so hard it rattled the platters and jugs upon it. Thud, thud, thud.

And then his laughter tore above it like a thunderclap. Like his older son, he was a large man with a voice to match. His beard shook when he laughed, and when he spoke, his Common Kapuluan was rumbling like all the consonants came from deep in his palate. 'A compelling match such as this have I not seen outside the battlefield for many decades, Surikh prince.'

Kiet lowered his head, though again Isla saw the uncertainty in his movement. She, too, was not convinced. The High Princess Jihan was scowling from her cushions beside him, and there was certainly no admiration in her eyes as she stared down at Kiet.

'I can count upon one hand the names of those who have been able to best Temchin, and two of them are his own brothers. I congratulate you.'

The Rama eased back in his cushion, Kiet bowed lower to his waist. But High Prince Temchin had no words of praise himself as he stalked off the stage, the cut in his face sealed into a deep purple welt.

Excitement returned to the crowd in trickles. There were scattered applause and triumphant calls before finally Kiet descended the stage and the next contestants were drawn.

Raj Andaru of House Dyaspar was called forth to meet Raj Harja of House Aghul. They had dodged and exchanged only a couple of swipes before Isla turned to the rajini to excuse herself. 'I need a moment.'

Her grandmother sniffed. Huu hooted low as though to concur her disdain.

Isla backed away between the tables and retreated into the curtain wall, squeezing down the tunnel past a pair of servants come to refill everyone's drinks, before taking the stone stairs that would bring her up to the wall-walk.

She found Kiet leaning over the parapet, watching the match below.

'That could have gone badly in so many ways.'

'I disagree.' He did not look away from the duel. 'Andaru displaced that bind well before coming in for the counter and had him checked with his offhand beside. There was no place for Harja's saber to go but wide.'

'I'm talking about your last little flick to the prince's head.'

Kiet turned at that, smiling. 'And there I thought your concern had been for me.'

'You could have taken out his eye. His brain!'

'I admit I grew ... over-excited there toward the end ... but I had our distance gauged, knew the reach of our blades, the pressure and speed behind every cut and thrust. It would have been fine, Isla. You must trust me.'

Isla sniffed. 'This impenetrable arrogance will be the death of you, Kiet.'

'Yet it is what draws you to me.'

She ignored that, pulled instead on the lapels of the cloak he had thrown over his armour until he stood facing her. Her eyes trailed over his chest and down his waist where Prince Temchin's blade had pierced. The wounds were sealed, the blood on his leather already dried. At least he was not so proud as to refuse the therapeut's treatment following his duel.

Kiet raised a brow. 'You wish finally to continue where we left off?'

'What?' Isla's face heated in an instant, and the words tumbled out of her like a fever-dream. 'No, that time—I didn't—it's not what—I, I—'

'You're blushing.' He chuckled. He guided her away from the parapet until the last of the crowd disappeared completely from view. Only the stomping of their boots remained, their calls rising into the midday sky, bright blue and unbroken by even a wisp of cloud.

All at once the heat got to her. Kiet did not stop until Isla's back met the opposing wall, hard and cool through the soft fabric of her ossa. Neither did she stop him, even while his hand slipped down the front flap of the long tunic dress, reaching through the side slit for the skirt underneath ...

'I've at least two hours before I must return to stage.' His voice woke her from her trance. 'Though I'll need far less to satisfy you.'

Isla gasped, caught him by the wrist, but he was already pushing against her, she could feel the cold metal of his belt against her stomach; the crosspiece of his sword pushing hard against her thigh ... 'Kiet, not here—'

'No one will see us, my love, up here in the alure.'

'But the hanjou—'

He groaned in her ear. 'Please, let us not speak of her.'

His whispers tingled down her spine and a small moan broke through Isla's lips before she could help it.

'I've yet to even begin,' he goaded, now close to her neck.

'No.' She shivered into him. He smelled of leather and steel and his hand around her waist burned deep through her silk. 'We shouldn't.'

'For how much longer will you deny me?'

'Kiet. Stop. Your sword. It's driving into me.'

He stopped with a resigned sigh, leaning heavily upon the crenels on either side of her. 'That's ... not my sword.' He glanced back at the parapet wall paces behind him, and the kalis still sheathed leaning upon it.

Isla froze, mortified, only daring a peek at Kiet's back once he turned and strode off to join his sword.

How was she to know? She had never been with a man before. Certainly up on a wall under the naked sky was not the way she imagined her first experience would go; nor would it have been with one promised to another woman.

Nor with my own uncle! All these royalborns might not bat an eye, but Kiet needed to remember that she was not raised as a royalborn nor with all their depravities.

The image of Hanjou Fukuse in Kiet's arms came suddenly, unbidden, and Isla's embarrassment gave way to anger.

How close it had been. Kiet and his unwavering persistence. He knew too well how to tease a girl.

'Your father is deep in his cups,' she said at last, smoothing down the wrinkles in her ossa. 'Give him a good show and it might just be enough for me to slip through.'

'You and this obsession!' Kiet slammed a fist over the merlon. He did not turn to look at her, but the frustration was clear in his voice. 'This will be the death of you, Isla!'

'If I die, at least it will be for a cause.' She started down the wall, resisting the urge to touch him as she passed. 'Nothing else matters until it is done. Nothing.'

❖

↝ END CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE↜

❖

☆ this chapter is dedicated to QueenDrea7 ☆

Video: ASMR Ambience Lounge
Image: Original artists unknown

Sorry, Kiet, but I guess you can't win them all (ᵕ_ᵕ̩)