His Trophy

PAIGE

Paige couldn't take it anymore. She had to speak, even though she knew she must not, she had to. Her bounds finally snapped and she stepped forward, to make sure her words would not vanish unheard.

"But what if they come for the castle?" she asked, her voice slightly hoarse. She could feel her face redden as all eyes flitted to her, like hawks zoning in on a petite little mouse caught between them.

"Paige!" her mother hissed, grabbing her wrist forcefully, nails digging in. Paige attempted to shake her off, but for a woman who spent her time doing absolutely nothing but criticise those about her, Queen Anastasia was quite a strong woman.

"Paige, you will remain silent!" her father said, dismissing her attempt at a half-decent suggestion. "They will not get past our men."

"Sire!" came a voice, echoing through the hallway, as if on cue. "Sire, please!" The servant collapsed at the foot of the throne, as King Isadore was forced to rise once more.

"What is it, servant?" he demanded. The servant panted heavily, his words emerging as mere murmurs. King Isadore shook the poor man by his shoulders, eyes ravenously glinting in search for information. "Talk to me!"

"Th-the army, sire!" the servant coughed up, choking on his words. "Th-they refuse t-to fight, sire!" King Isadore's arms went limp, the servant collapsing by his feet.

"What?" he bellowed, his voice shaking the very structure of the throne room.

"We have lost too many men, your Majesty. They claim this war is futile and refuse to give up their lives unnecessarily in such a war." Fear filled the servant as he watched the King's eyes transform, and he added, "This is only what I've been told, sire!" The servant immediately fled the throne room and Paige watched him longingly as he disappeared quickly through the hallway. Clever man.

"What manner of treason is this?" Isadore demanded, his question ringing unanswered around them. No one in the throne room dared utter another word. Queen Anastasia let out a strangled sob, as she clung onto her niece, Fiona, just sixteen years of age, yet already more fulfilling of her role in this kingdom than Paige ever would be.

"What are we to do, brother?" asked Malcolm, shaking his head in disbelief. "What will be their next move now?"

"Halt!" came the voice from the hallway, penetrating through the thickening silence like ice through a blanket of warmth. It was a voice that commandeered, demanded respect and authority, deep and low, like a rumble of thunder and yet firm, strong and it sent a shiver through Paige. She had never heard a voice like that in the Askemian castle, and she knew instantly that her suspicion had come true. If King Isadore had spent half the time he did grooming his pride, on listening to his one and only daughter, the kingdom of Askemia would perhaps not have gone to such a fate as it had resorted to that day, however Paige's suggestions had often been dismissed due solely to the fact that she was a woman.

"You!" her father bellowed with such malice and hatred that Paige couldn't help but wonder what exactly had provoked such futile antagonism between the two kingdoms. The man who entered the throne room at that very moment was far from what Paige had expected in her mind's eye. Rather than the huge muscular bold man, rather like her father, the Prince of Acraeneia was far younger, though his body was supported by strong muscles that rippled with a day's worth of fighting underneath his armour. His hair, carelessly curled and tousled, the colour of polished bronze, and his fair, tanned skin, made him seem more like a woman's daydream rather than the leader of an entire nation. He was closely followed by an older man, whose head was slightly bowed. A band of soldiers followed, all with their swords sheathed, proudly prepared for any battle. If her father had half a brain, he would have surrendered then and there, however King Isadore's mind had been clouded by pride for far too long.

"How dare you enter the King's castle?" Isadore demanded, stepping up from his throne. At his words, Paige saw the chests of the few Dukes and nobles crowding the throne room rise, confidence suddenly emerging, bearing the foolish belief that their King's words alone could stand down any enemy.

"There is no fight outside," the Prince replied, his voice deep yet rich, like that of a poet's. "That is why my army and I have decided to bring it in here."

"You call that an army?" the King scoffed, waving his hand dismissively at the crowd of armed warriors, awaiting the Prince's command. "Then you are wasting your time."

"There are more of my men outside, but I decided that it would not be just to bring them into a royal throne room. Although if you'd prefer to face us all..." the Prince's voice held an amused tone, marvelling at how adamant the King was proving to be. Pride was considered higher above all in this kingdom; if one were to lose his pride it would be as if he had lost his right to live.

"Foolish boy!" Isadore mocked, although in reality he had become the fool in this situation. "You think an army of the Acraeneiae can put me down?"

"The fight has been won fair and square, Isadore. There is nowhere left for you to flee," said the older man beside the Prince. It would do the King a great good if he were to listen, however Isadore had no intention of doing so.

"Flee?" the King laughed, and a few other joined in, as the man who had spoken shrunk back, only to be stopped by the Prince's comforting arm, as he gave him a reassuring nod. Now that was a gesture that Paige had never seen her father take on. "And what right do you, a lowly warrior have to talk to me?"

"You will not speak to my uncle in such a manner!" the Prince bellowed, for the first time raising his voice to a volume that Paige had not imagined to hear from him. Shock fell upon the occupants of the throne room, but the older man seemed more surprised than anybody. "My mother treated you like a brother," the Prince explained, softly, "I believe that makes you my uncle." Tears welled up in the eyes of the General, affection and pride for his nephew glinting powerfully in his brimming eyes.

"Enough!" the King bellowed. "You want a fair fight?" Isadore made his way down and stood a few foot away from the Prince. His confident stroll was overruled by the fact that even though the King was a tall man, the Prince was taller, his posture and demeanour much more intimidating than that of the King's.

"I shall give you one. I, King Isadore of Askemia, challenge you," the King paused as if merely saying the name of his opponent was shaming enough, "Prince Callan of Acraeneia to a duel." The Askemian occupants suddenly gained hope, their faces brightening with cocky confidence, that Paige did not share. Her father was the finest sword-fighter in all the Land. The Prince stood little chance if he accepted such an unjust challenge.

A smirk appeared on the Prince's face, who unsheathed his sword and lifted his chin up high. "I accept, but what will I win if victory is mine?"

"Anything," the King replied, his voice taking on a challenging tone. "This kingdom, my life..." His eyes turned around, searching for a prize that would tempt his opponent to accept his challenge. And at that moment, Paige felt a strong hand grip her wrist and pull her into the light. "My most prized possession," the King said.

Paige stared in horror at her father's face, that was too clouded with arrogance to remember the love he once had for his only daughter.

"My daughter, the Princess of Askemia."