Under the Oak Tree - Riftan's POV - Multiverse

Chapter 43: Tournament

Maximilian had not slept.

All through the night, Kuehl's kiss clung to her lips like an iron brand. No matter how much she scrubbed at her mouth with trembling hands, she could not erase the memory of his heat, the suffocating weight of his words.

I can't wait to make you my wife.

Even now, seated on the high platform beside Agnes, she felt her stomach twist at the echo of it. She had not wanted it—she had told him no—and yet she had let him touch her, let him press his mouth against hers until she'd almost convinced herself that surrendering was easier. That fighting was pointless.

What have I done?

Her father's eyes had been sharp on her since morning, colder than the frost in the air. He had seen her falter, had seen her shame, she was sure of it. And if he hadn't, he soon would. The memory of the Duke's study door slamming shut after Riftan's humiliation seared her mind, and with it, the knowledge that she was being watched closer than ever before.

Riftan...

The name burned in her throat. She searched for him among the armored knights below, though she already knew he wasn't there. He was far away—too far to see what she had done, too far to save her from what was coming.

The final duel reached its climax. It was the final bout, and Kuehl, clad in gleaming white armor, moved with a grace that belied his bulk. His opponent—a seasoned knight of Balto—fell to his knees after a brutal exchange, the crowd erupting in thunderous applause as Kuehl pressed the point of his sword to the man's chest. Maxi hardly registered the blows. Her hands were white-knuckled in her lap, her mind caught in a storm.

And then the crowd erupted.

"Victory!" the herald cried, his voice carrying across the lists.

Trumpets blared. The Holy Knight of Dristan had claimed the tournament.

Kuehl stood victorious in gleaming white, his sword lifted high to the roar of the people. Tradition dictated that the highest-ranking lady present—Princess Agnes herself—should rise to bestow the champion's kiss. Maxi's chest tightened as Agnes smoothed her gown and prepared to stand.

But then—his eyes found hers.

No. Not here. Not now.

Her breath stilled in her throat as Kuehl approached the platform, helm under his arm, his golden hair glinting beneath the winter sun. He bowed low—not to Agnes, but to her.

"I ask," his voice rang clear and resolute, "that my victory be sealed with a kiss from Lady Maximilian Croix."

A stunned silence swept through the lists.

Maxi's heart thundered in her ears. No... please no... She wanted to shrink into the stone bench, to vanish beneath the earth. Her skin burned under the weight of hundreds of gazes, her shame from the night before coiling tighter around her throat.

Agnes stilled beside her, eyes narrowing in sharp surprise. The Duke of Croix's lips curved in the faintest, most chilling smile.

Maximilian's lips trembled as she fought to breathe. She could not look at Kuehl—because if she did, she feared she would see the same fire in his eyes that had smothered her only hours before.

And worse... she feared the crowd would see her hesitate.

Maximilian's breath caught in her chest as Kuehl extended a hand toward her, the expectation blazing in his steady gaze. Her body froze. Every part of her wanted to recoil, to scream no—but the murmur of the crowd swelled around her like a tide, pressing, demanding.

Slowly, stiffly, she rose.

The cheers grew louder as Kuehl stepped closer, bowing his head as if this moment were some noble honor rather than a spectacle. Maxi's knees trembled beneath her gown. Agnes's hand brushed against hers, a silent question—do you want me to stop this?—but Maxi could not even lift her eyes.

She already knew the answer... She was trapped.

Kuehl's hand closed around hers, warm, heavy, unyielding. Before she could gather her breath, his lips crushed against hers, swift but firm, the force of it stealing her air. The kiss was calculated, and a little sweet. No like last night fire. She stiffened, her fingers twitching against his grip, but she could not pull away—not here. Not in front of everyone. The roar of the crowd swallowed her silence, a deafening applause that made her skin crawl.

When he finally drew back, his emerald eyes burned with possession, a triumphant smile curving his lips. He raised his sword again to the spectators, basking in their approval, while Maxi sank back onto the bench, her pulse racing, her lips stinging as though branded. Shame scalded her cheeks. The world blurred at the edges as she stared at the ground, wishing it would swallow her whole.

And then, from her right, her father's voice cut through the noise.

"Well," the Duke of Croix murmured, his tone smooth, dripping with scorn. "At last, my useless daughter has managed to do something right."

Maximilian flinched, her heart collapsing in on itself. The cheers, the banners, the shining sunlight—it all pressed down like a cruel weight, suffocating her until she could no longer breathe.

Inside, only one truth echoed, bitter and unrelenting.

Riftan was gone. And she was utterly, hopelessly alone.

Writers Note:

This chapter is short, but I will post the next one shortly. I have a handful of chapters already written, so I will try to post them faster. We will end this tory together! 

Thank you for reading!