The silence in the courtyard was absolute, a living thing that seemed to press against my skin and fill my ears with the echo of my own heartbeat. I stood in the centre of the ring, the packed earth cold beneath my boots, and waited.
Captain Torvin stepped forward from the crowd. His scarred face was carved from stone, his pale eyes fixed on me with an intensity that would have made me flinch if I had any flinch left in me. He raised one hand, and the silence deepened, if such a thing were possible.
"By ancient tradition," he called out, his gravel voice carrying to every corner of the courtyard, "the Lady Rosalind Evangeline Thorne, betrothed of Duke Kaelen Aldric Frost, shall prove her worth in combat. She will face an opponent chosen by lot from among the warriors of the Mountain Watch."
A murmur rippled through the crowd—anticipation, excitement, and the hunger for spectacle. Torvin waited for it to subside, then continued.
