The prince never spent more than two minutes on an opponent during the entire hour save for the previously mentioned fight with the knight. He finished more than one of the bouts in only a single exchange. He was perfect, his form lulling Ophelia into a sort of trance. She had noticed it in her matches with him a few days prior, but watching from a distance and without having to defend against him really drove home just how agile and graceful he was. In the lighter leather armor, Prince Dante appeared almost as a dancer. He pivoted, spun, and shifted directions as fluidly as wind itself. His footwork was impeccable, and every time he struck out it was quicker than the eye could reliably follow. He swept opponents and spectators alike off their feet.

“So, Captain, have you reached an answer?”

Ophelia shook her head and turned to the queen with unfocused eyes, still lost in her consideration of Prince Dante’s fighting style. Had it really been an hour already?

“I’m sorry,” she replied, careful to keep her tone informal enough to avoid displeasing the queen. “I was so taken in by his performance that I wasn’t able to consider the question adequately.”

That seemed to please the queen, whose cheeks flushed slightly as she adopted a meaningful expression. “Careful now,” she chided playfully. “Talk like that might make a woman think you were after her son.” The queen winked, sending Ophelia into a mental tailspin.

“I- I didn’t-” she stammered before catching her breath. “I didn’t intend to suggest anything of the sort, Your Majesty. I only meant it as praise between warriors, nothing more.

“Tsk.” The queen clicked her tongue, sending a jolt of foreboding through Ophelia. “There you go again getting all formal. That’s it! You’re only allowed to call me by name for the rest of the day!”

Shit! Ophelia thought, her eyes searching in vain for anyone who could get her out of this situation. She was met with only pitying looks from the nearby servants and ministers. It seemed as though this wasn’t a new development for them.

She sighed. “As you wish, Your-” she caught herself just in time. “Artemisia.” Ophelia deflated, resigned to her fate.

Artemisia giggled behind her hand. “Very good! Alright. Since you’re trying our best–and since you seem so enraptured by my little boy–I’ll give you a hint.” Her tone dropped from teasing to conspiratorial. “Take a good look at the challengers. Their names, their skill, things like that. Let me know when you’ve figured it out.”

Ophelia nodded seriously and turned away, grateful for any excuse to end the embarrassment. She racked her memory for the details of the challengers that had already appeared even as the next one was being announced.

“Challenging His Majesty Dante Andrade, we now welcome to the field Master Bairon Offley, heir to the Offley County.”

Even as the prince soundly defeated the heir, Ophelia realized something. She waited and watched several more challengers before reaching a conclusion.

“There’ve only been two knights so far,” she muttered under her breath. She thought back to the queen’s question–why they had allowed the princess to offer her hand to the victors–before finally piecing it together. 

“Y- Artemisia,” she said timidly.

The queen regarded her with an  upraised eyebrow. “Yes, Ophelia? Have you an answer?”

Ophelia nodded slowly. “The princess announced the possibility of claiming her hand to the nobility before it was made public to encourage nobles to challenge Prince Dante. By packing the challenger line with young noblemen you can eliminate the tougher challengers, or at least dilute them so the prince need not exert himself fully over the entire day.”

Artemisia clapped giddily, a wide grin splitting her delicate features and displaying beautifully white teeth. “Very good! You have the gist of it. Would you like me to finish that thought?”

Ophelia gave a questioning glance and inclined her head.

“You’re really quite clever, but you missed a few details. First, by announcing the possibility of a betrothal to the nobility beforehand, we ensured that any nobility who heard of the reward would order their more accomplished knights to not challenge our dear Dante. If you recall, only the successful challengers are afforded the opportunity to win Dinah’s hand. If a noble allowed their knight to compete and that knight somehow won, the knight would very quickly outrank said noble.

“Second, we never announced the additional reward to the public. If we made it widely known, some knights might take it upon themselves to try and advance themselves socially. Doing so would then add more adept challengers into the mix, which could wear down my son’s prodigious stamina. We can’t have that, can we?

“Lastly, as you so astutely noticed, by packing the challengers with greedy nobles we have ensured that my son needn’t exert himself too much. Some knights may well decide to challenge him purely for the honor and privilege of crossing blades with the dragon, but priority is traditionally given to challengers of noble blood. As long as the idiots flock to the so-called opportunity to win Dinah’s hand, truly skilled challengers will be pushed out of the competition or spread out to the point that Dante can take care of them without a worry.”

Ophelia turned to stare at the queen, slack-jawed and confused beyond words. She wasn’t confused with the logic or reasoning of the plan, but rather by something far more concerning. Why is she telling me all of this?

Before she could voice her concern, the queen continued.

“We only explained all this to Dante after the announcement this morning, you see,” she laughed, sipping a glass of wine that had been freshly delivered to her. “He didn’t much appreciate our meddling, but we didn’t want to disturb his training or get in the way of his much-needed rest before today. He insisted that our concern was unnecessary, but Dinah brought him around.

“I imagine your most pressing question, however, is why exactly I am divulging this information to an outsider such as yourself.” 

Queen Artemisia’s facade eroded in the space of a breath. Instead of the joyful and teasing woman she had been, the queen now fully embodied her status. Her eyes were searching, peeling Ophelia apart as if to find some hidden truth within the very marrow of her bones. This, Ophelia realized, was the true face of the monarch. 

“I am telling you,” the queen intoned quietly, “because I want to impress upon you that we are no fools. Our house has held this throne for centuries not through kindness and charity but with cunning and intelligence in our governance. We do not make decisions lightly, nor without clear and unambiguous purpose.” The last words came out firm, more an oath than a statement. 

“Your Majesty,” Ophelia began before realizing her mistake, but the queen did not correct her. Slowly, she continued. “What purpose does informing me of all this serve?”

As easy as that, the chilly demeanor of the queen became kindly once more.

“Very astute, dear! We would like you to transfer to our court for a time. We have already filed the request with the chancellor, but we just couldn’t resist the opportunity to impress upon you our sincerity.” Artemisia smiled at her slyly. “My son seems to admire you, or rather your prowess as a warrior. We would like you to, among other things, help him hone his skill in both physical and magical combat.”

Ophelia gasped. She’s asking the absurd! I can’t break international law! Mages of the Collective were strictly prohibited from sharing their teachings with anyone unaffiliated with their organization. This was to protect the delicate balance of power within the alliance. 

“I must apologize, Your Majesty,” she said carefully, conscious of her tone. “I’m afraid I cannot do that.”

The queen just smiled as if beholding a baby bird with a broken wing, soon to be thrown from the nest to either fly or fall.

“Oh, but you will. As I said, we are no fools. We understand the threat represented by that priestess. We also understand the power we wield, and how we can bend institutions to our will. You will teach my boy, not because I asked but because I ordered.”

Ophelia’s posture snapped straight, the queen’s words–delivered with the kindest of expressions–digging into her gut and freezing her in place.

“Oh! And I do believe I told you to call me Artemisia.”