"Prince Valarr Targaryen, son of Prince Baelor Breakspear!" The herald shouted.
"And Ser Duncan the Tall!"
The herald raised his hand. Held it. Then let it fall.
Thunder lunged forward. The lance in my hand balanced perfectly.
Valarr's lance never wavered, aimed straight at the center of my shield.
I aimed for his.
The distance closed. Ten yards. Five. Three.
Impact.
The sound was like the world breaking apart. My lance struck his shield and exploded into splinters. At the same instant his lance hit mine and shattered just as completely. The force of it drove through the shield, through my arm, into my shoulder and chest.
I rocked backward, but my legs held. The saddle held.
We thundered past each other and the crowd lost its mind.
I wheeled Thunder around and rode back to my end. My shoulder ached where the blow had landed.
Egg was already there. "Both lances broke clean!"
"Aye," I said, taking the lance from the servant boy I hired as I talked to Egg.
Across the field, Valarr took a new lance from his squire. Even at this distance I could see him smiling.
The herald raised his hand again.
Second pass.
Thunder charged. I leaned low over his neck, watching Valarr's lance tip. At the last moment I shifted my shield.
His lance caught the rim and glanced off, the angle all wrong.
But Valarr was faster than any man I'd jousted before. He corrected the angle of his lance; it scraped across my helmet with a screech.
My vision started blurring.
But I held on. And my lance struck his pauldron—solid but not quite square. The wood held.
We passed. The crowd gasped and cheered in equal measure.
When I reached my end, my head was ringing like a bell. I shook it, trying to clear the fog.
"Ser Duncan?" Egg's voice sounded far away. "Are you hurt?"
"No. Just rattled."
"That was too close."
"It was." I took the third lance. Across the field, Valarr sat his horse easy as you please, already armed. "He's good."
"Can you beat him?"
I definitely can. After all, I have perfect jousting skill, so when my opponent makes the slightest mistake, he will lose.
"I'm going to find out," I said to Egg.
The herald announced the third pass.
I leaned into the charge, lance steady, aimed dead center at Valarr's chest.
The prince rode towards me with speed.
We met like thunder meeting lightning.
My lance caught him square. Dead center. Right over the heart.
The wood shattered. Pieces flew everywhere. Valarr jerked backward so hard I thought his spine would snap. His lance fell from his hand. His reins slipped.
He was falling…
No.
At the last possible moment, he caught himself. His hand found the pommel. His legs clamped tight. He hauled himself upright.
His horse stumbled but stayed up.
The crowd erupted—half cheering, half gasping.
I rode back, breathing hard.
"One more. One more good hit and you've got him," Egg shouted.
I nodded, too winded to speak. My squire handed up the last lance.
Across the field, Valarr shook his head like a dog shaking off water. His squires clustered around him but he waved them away. He took his lance and turned his horse to face me once more.
The herald raised his hand for the next pass.
Held it.
Dropped it.
Thunder exploded forward. Valarr's destrier came like a white comet. We closed the distance faster than any pass before—two horses, two men, two lances all hurtling toward the same point in space.
I saw his lance coming. Straight. True. Perfect.
Aimed right at my heart.
There was no dodging it. No turning it aside.
So I took the blow and gave one back.
His lance struck my breastplate dead center. The impact was like being kicked by a mule. All the air left my lungs. The lance exploded. Splinters flew. Pain shot through my chest.
But I held on.
And my lance struck true.
It caught Valarr on the side of his helm. The metal rang like a bell being struck by a hammer. His head snapped sideways. His body twisted. His lance clattered away.
And then he was falling.
He hit the ground hard. Armor clanged. Dust rose in a great cloud.
Thunder carried me past and I hauled him to a stop, chest heaving, trying to suck air into lungs that didn't want to work.
The crowd was screaming. Roaring. I couldn't tell if it was cheers or shock or both.
I slid down from Thunder's back and walked toward where Valarr lay. My legs felt unsteady. My chest ached like someone had driven a spike through it.
Valarr was already sitting up by the time I reached him. His squires had his helm off. His face was red and slick with sweat, and there was a cut over his eyebrow that was bleeding freely.
But he was smiling.
I offered my hand.
He took it without hesitation and let me haul him to his feet.
"Well struck," he said. His voice was hoarse.
"You too. Thought you'd broken my ribs on that last one," I said.
The herald was shouting something about the champion. The crowd was on its feet. Somewhere in the stands, Egg was jumping and cheering like a boy his age should.
Ten thousand gold dragons.
The prize was mine.
I looked at Valarr, who was limping toward his pavilion with his squires half-carrying him. "Prince Valarr."
He turned.
"Thank you. For the bout."
He grinned. "Next time, Ser Duncan, I'll be the one helping you up." As he moved towards the pavilion.
"The champion must name his Queen of Love and Beauty!" The herald was shouting.
I stood there in my dented armor, still catching my breath, and felt every eye in Ashford turn toward me.
This was the part I hadn't thought through.
The Queen of Love and Beauty. The woman I crowned would be seen as favored by me. If I chose a married lady, her husband might take offense. If I chose an unmarried one, her father might think I was courting her.
I'd seen men start feuds over less, like a certain prince with a harp.
My eyes scanned the stands. Ladies in fine silks watched me expectantly. Some smiled. Some blushed. A few looked hopeful in the wrong way.
I finally found my escape.
Lord Ashford sat in his box with his family. His wife, who was wearing too much red. His sons. And beside them, a little girl no more than four years old with brown curls and a dress the color of spring flowers.
His daughter.
Perfect.
I walked toward the stands. A squire handed me the crown of flowers—roses and lilies woven together with ribbons.
The crowd quieted as I approached Lord Ashford's box.
"My lord," I said, bowing as well as I could in armor. "If it pleases you, I would name your daughter my Queen of Love and Beauty."
Lord Ashford's eyebrows rose. "The honor is ours, Ser Duncan."
He lifted the little girl and held her so I could reach.
She stared at me with huge brown eyes, curious and a little frightened by the big man in metal standing so close.
"Hello," I said softly. "What's your name?"
"Alysanne," she whispered.
"That's a pretty name." I held up the flower crown. "May I?"
She nodded, solemn as a judge.
I placed the crown gently on her head. It was too big—it slipped down over her ears—but she grabbed it with both hands and held it in place.
In a few moments, Alysanne started playing with the flowers, pulling at the petals, twisting the ribbons around her fingers. "Look, Papa! I'm a queen!"
"Yes you are, little one," Lord Ashford said.
I bowed again and turned away, heading back toward my pavilion where Egg waited with Thunder.
"That was clever," Egg said quietly as I approached.
I started unbuckling my breastplate, wincing as I moved. My ribs ached where Valarr's lance had hit. I took out a healing potion from my pocket—from my inventory in reality—and drank it.
Ten thousand gold dragons.
Enough to buy the bloodstone. Enough to buy the blood magic mastery.
My hand stilled on the buckle.
Tanselle.
I could see her face in my mind, the way she'd smile—
"FIRE!"
A shout cut through my thoughts.
I turned.
Across the field, near the merchant tents, orange flames leaped into the air. Half of the tents were already on fire—silk and wood going up like tinder in the dry heat.