The red comet was still far off in the sky. Even at night you had to look hard to spot it. During the day it was invisible.
So no one noticed its arrival. The next day the tourney continued on schedule.
Morning and midday were more jousts. The afternoon brought archery contests and the group melee.
Leo had already won his first-round match, so today he rode three more times and knocked three opponents clean out of their saddles.
Each of those three had also won their opening bouts, so they were no pushovers. Still, none of them felt as strong as Balman Byrch. Against Leo they never stood a chance.
His name was spreading fast. Everyone was talking about the handsome foreign knight from a faraway eastern empire.
Plenty of common women—and more than a few noble ladies—were already daydreaming about Ser Neo.
Lady Tanda Stokeworth watched Leo dominate yet another opponent and could only sigh with regret. The better he performed, the less likely he was to ever become her son-in-law.
In the stands, Brienne sat beside her father, dressed in a proper lady's gown. Her towering height, short straw-colored hair, and plain features made her stick out like a sore thumb among the elegant noblewomen around her.
She felt miserable in the dress, like she was being tortured. Every time she caught people pointing and laughing at her, it cut deeper.
Then she saw Leo ride out. When their eyes met and he gave her a warm smile and nod, her heart skipped. For a moment he seemed to glow—like an angel.
Memories of yesterday's fight flooded back… especially the part where he'd pinned her to the ground and sat on her chest.
Brienne's face burned bright red.
When Leo won again and rode a victory lap to thunderous cheers from the women in the crowd, reality crashed back in.
She remembered what her father had planned for her: marriage to Ser Humphrey Wagstaff of the Wagonstaves—an old man in his sixties.
This would be her third betrothal. The first two had fallen through. Her father, Lord Selwyn Tarth, was running out of options and was now desperate enough to marry his only daughter off to a man old enough to be her grandfather.
Before meeting Leo, Brienne had secretly harbored a quiet crush on Renly Baratheon. During one of his tours he had visited Tarth and treated her with genuine courtesy, never once mocking her appearance. It was the first time a man had made her feel that way.
But she knew it was hopeless and buried those feelings deep.
Now, after meeting Leo and feeling real respect from him instead of ridicule, the thought of being forced to marry a sixty-year-old man became unbearable.
She couldn't sit there any longer.
Ignoring her father's confused and angry stare, she made an excuse and fled the stands.
She slipped away from the crowds and hid behind an old supply wagon in a quiet corner. She crouched down, alone, fighting back tears.
All the old pain came rushing back—being mocked for her looks, being treated like a freak, never fitting in.
Why did other girls her age get to be beautiful and admired while she looked more like a man—and an ugly one at that? Why did she have to marry someone old enough to be her grandfather?
"Seven gods… why me?" she whispered, voice breaking.
Footsteps approached. Two drunk men stumbled around the wagon and spotted her.
The drunks jumped, startled by the sudden appearance of a woman in a dress.
"Seven hells! Am I seeing things? A man in a dress?"
"No… I see it too!"
Their crude words hit Brienne like knives. Her eyes filled with tears and her chest heaved with rage.
"Disgusting! She's even crying like a woman!"
"I'm gonna throw up. Must be some highborn 'special taste.' I heard King Robert's brother Renly likes that sort of thing—people say he visits brothels looking for boys…"
"Shut your mouth!" Brienne roared, her fury finally boiling over.
"Wait… it's a woman? Not a man?"
"Seven hells, she's uglier than most men! I really am gonna puke!"
"Hahaha! You're right. Wonder if any man's ever had the stomach to fuck her. What kind of mood would he have to be in? Hahaha!"
The drunks grew bolder and nastier with every word, too drunk to realize the danger they were in.
Brienne was on the edge of snapping.
That's when a clear, angry voice cut through the air.
"You two—apologize to her. Now."
Brienne turned. Leo was striding toward them, his face hard.
He had seen her leave the stands in a hurry and followed, hoping to talk and get closer to her. He respected Brienne—she was one of the few truly honorable knights in this entire story.
But when he arrived, he heard the drunks' filthy insults.
"Apologize…? For what? Who the hell are you?" one drunk slurred.
Then his eyes narrowed. "Oh… I get it. You're her little fuckboy, aren't you?"
That was all it took.
Leo stepped forward and cracked the man across the face with a heavy backhand. Teeth flew. The drunk dropped like a sack of bricks.
The second man barely had time to react before Leo's boot slammed into his gut. He screamed and flew backward, crashing hard onto the ground.
The slap and kick sobered them up fast.
When they looked up and finally recognized the famous foreign knight who had been dominating the jousts, terror replaced their drunken bravado.
"S-sorry! We're sorry, m'lord! We had too much to drink! Please forgive us!"
"Get out of here. If I see either of you again, you're dead."
The two men scrambled to their feet and ran for their lives.