Chapter 43:
Lucina
I watch as Haroun is surrounded by congratulations and deafening cheers, basking in the glory of his hard-earned victory.
The crowd's admiration is palpable. Haroun stands tall, his expression one of quiet pride and satisfaction.
The atmosphere shifts.
The Emperor steps forward, a barely concealed look of displeasure on his face. Tradition dictates that the winner of the competition be knighted. Though it is an honor, it is clear the Emperor is not pleased with this particular outcome.
His movements are stiff. His face is a mask of reluctant duty as he performs the ceremonial knighting.
I hide a smirk behind my fan. The delicate motion conceals my amusement at the Emperor's discomfort.
The juxtaposition is delicious. Haroun's well-deserved triumph against the Emperor's begrudging acknowledgment. The Emperor, no doubt seething internally, must now honor the very person whose victory he would have preferred to avoid.
Haroun kneels.
The Emperor places the sword on his shoulder with evident reluctance, pronouncing the words that formalize his new status.
Haroun rises.
Officially a knight.
The crowd erupts into even louder applause. The tension between the Emperor's disdain and the public's adoration is almost tangible.
The moment is all the more satisfying.
The ceremony concludes.
The Emperor retreats, his face a storm of barely suppressed irritation. I maintain my composed exterior, but inside, I revel in the subtle victory.
Haroun engages in formalities with a few senior knights. Exchanging greetings and polite conversation. His demeanor remains composed—a stark contrast to the excitement that filled the arena moments ago.
Meanwhile, Kai is a few feet away, collecting our winnings from the bet we placed on Haroun.
It appears our faith in him was not common. Most bets favored his opponent, Vance Gawain.
Vance Gawain. Firstborn son of the esteemed Gawain Marquis family. His reputation as a talented swordsman preceded him. At thirty, he was widely regarded as a genius—the presumed favorite.
How unfortunate.
I watch as Kai finalizes the transaction. A satisfied look crosses his face as he secures our prize.
The fact that so few bet on Haroun speaks volumes. The weight of Vance's name. The expectations tied to it.
I snicker internally, imagining the Emperor's frustration. He had pinned his hopes on Vance. Haroun's victory undoubtedly threw a wrench in those plans.
Vance himself stands off to the side. A brooding presence amidst the celebratory atmosphere. His eyes follow Haroun with resentment and grudging respect.
The bad blood between them is palpable. Rooted perhaps in the contrast of their backgrounds. The threat Haroun poses to Vance's long-standing dominance.
Not that I care.
I'm pulled from my reverie.
Haroun is striding across the arena. His determined gaze fixes on me.
With every step, he exudes confidence. His presence commands the attention of everyone around him. As he approaches, I see people attempting to stop him—likely to offer congratulations. He deftly sidesteps them, his focus unwavering.
My eyes are drawn to his left hand.
A faint splash of red.
As he draws closer, I realize: it's a rose.
Intrigued, I lift my fan to hide my growing curiosity and the flutter in my chest.
Haroun gracefully dodges more admirers. His path is clear. Direct.
He reaches the edge of the seating area.
He doesn't hesitate.
With a powerful leap, he clears the bleachers. Lands effortlessly in the VIP section.
Gasps of surprise ripple through the crowd. Haroun pays them no mind.
His eyes lock onto mine. Their intensity sends a thrill down my spine.
The world around us fades as he approaches. Each step deliberate. Filled with purpose.
Finally, he stands before me.
A triumphant smile plays on his lips.
I look at Haroun, my curiosity piqued by his bold gesture.
His hand trembles slightly as he extends the rose toward me. A hint of nervousness in his eyes.
A knight presenting a rose to a lady.
A recognized gesture of courtship. And here he is, standing before me, making this audacious move.
Look at this guy.
How bold.
For a moment, I consider teasing him. Drawing out the suspense.
But the sincerity in his gaze dissuades me.
With a soft smile, I accept the rose. The delicate petals brush against my fingers.
Gasps ripple through the crowd. The shock is palpable.
Despite Haroun's impressive victory, he remains a commoner.
And I am a princess.
Haroun's shoulders relax slightly as I take the rose. His nervousness gives way to a triumphant smile.
"You must forgive me, Princess. I'm currently not thinking straight. Still riding the high of my victory."
His voice is breathless. His eyes are bright with exhilaration.
Before I can respond—
He pulls me to my feet.
In an instant, his lips are on mine.
The shock holds me still for a heartbeat. The world around us fades into nothing.
He's kissing me.
In front of everyone.
This insane, glorious, victorious man.
I respond to the rush of emotions. The cheers and gasps of the spectators fade into the background.
Emboldened by my response, Haroun wraps his arms around my waist. He pulls me closer for a deeper, more passionate kiss.
The intensity of his embrace speaks volumes. His victory-fueled boldness overcomes any reservation.
The sensation of his lips on mine. The firmness of his hold.
The moment is electric.