I stepped back and tilted my head to the left, lightly parrying her blade as it sped past where my cheek had just been. It drew back instantly and lunged forward in another lightning-fast thrust. But finally, I had become adjusted.

Now. Stepping to the side and avoiding the incoming blow, I brought my sword down in a powerful downstroke, catching the tip of her sword before it could retract and slamming it into the ground. I stepped into her space, blades screeching off each other as mine slid up to the hilt of hers, and then lifted my sword a fraction and swung at her chest. Right before I made contact, however, she limboed, her back arching, my blade only making the barest of connections with the underside of her breasts. Tch.

She propelled herself away, feet kicking up a swirl of dust and her blade escaping my trap. I continued to close in, clenching the hilt with both hands, and brought my weapon up and back down in a full-power blow. Even as I swung, both hands gripping my hilt, she intercepted the blade by holding her own sword above her, bracing her feet and resting the back of the blade on her other gloved hand. My sword smashed down into its very center, the clang filling the stadium around us. The metal grated against each other, but I gritted my teeth when I saw that I was unable to push through.

“W-what an outstanding series of blows,” the commentator called out, excitement filling his voice as the crowd’s cheers grew higher. “Finally, Miriam has broken Lyria’s rapid flurry of thrusts, but Lyria’s proving herself more than adept at blocking even Miriam’s strength, which has dominated the competition so far! Does the dark horse really have the ability to turn the tides once more and best the undefeated icy princess Miriam?!”

Shut up, I thought crossly. Of course I’ll win. Strengthening my grip and putting all of my back into the push, I forced her stance apart, then let go with my left hand and lashed out. The backhand blow slammed into her nose, pulverizing it with a spray of blood; the defensive force fields only protected against lethal blows, after all.

Lyria stumbled back, letting go of her sword. I’ve always won, I’ll win again. I followed up immediately with a kick straight into her abdomen which sent her tumbling over the ground. I kicked her weapon away and advanced, ignoring the commentator. She was face-down, coughing into the dirt. I held my sword up, preparing for the final downward swing.

She turned her face up, green eyes staring wildly at me from beneath strands of her black hair. I remembered that same face, looking so set as she pointed at me and challenged me, saying she would best me in the finals. What were you even thinking? How annoying.

Putting all of my body and weight into the blow, I brought the sword down -

and blinked.

She caught it. Out of nowhere, her gaze had fixed itself and she had slapped the blade between her two palms, managing to still it a hair’s breadth before it would have been counted as a decisive blow.

Before I could pull back, her legs lashed out, knees smacking my hand, and I found my fingers instinctively loosening around it. Then her long limbs whipped around my head, capturing it with her calves even as I attempted to retreat, straightening and stumbling away. Using that grip and her hands on the ground, she levered herself up and over my head, her thighs sliding into place and squeezing my head.

This - Trying not to buckle under the new weight on my body, I found that the sword was gone. I balled my fist and swung it at her, but her upper body had vanished, then suddenly those thighs tensed, and it felt like my head would crack as I was spun, my feet lifting off the ground, and -

My head hurt.

The world was spinning, black spots dancing in my eyes, the cold tint of metal on the skin of my neck. I tried to focus my gaze, and as the world became clearer I saw Lyria kneeling on me, my own sword pressed against my throat. In the distance, through the fog, I could hear the commentator announcing, “Outstanding! Lyria disarms and flips Miriam to achieve victory! I repeat, Lyria is the winner of the finals!!!”

I … lost?

I looked at her in shock. She stared back at me, heaving in breath, face red from exertion. Then, she snapped her eyes away and quickly got off me. Amid the roars of the crowd, I heard her say, half-looking at me, “T-talk later!” She stood up and sprinted away even as healer mages began to bustle into the field.

I got up, still slowly blinking as I tried to take in what had just happened. Parts of me, stunned, tried to comprehend how I had lost, that I had lost, how I had lost. Another small part wondered why that face looked red not from exertion, but from a blush.

 

***

 

I stalked through the riverside walk, feet smacking on the rock-tiled paths. The day was clear, birds were chirping in the summer air, the river flowing at its steady pace. On the side, a fancily dressed couple stared at me in horror, one of them whispering, “That’s her! Hurry, let’s leave!” I didn’t bother watching them scurry away, just watched pebbles bounce off my scuffing boots.

How … how did I lose? I had trained, built myself up to be the strongest swordswoman around, outclassing even nation-level fighters in combat. I had put my all into it. Had I become confident, maybe even arrogant? Certainly. But I had earned that confidence, that pride in being one of the strongest. To lose like this …

I felt calm, eerily, quietly calm. Even though a week had passed since my loss, I had barely eaten, and I had not spoken, even when I heard that mother was traveling back. Anything to not break the quiet surface which was covering the mess of emotions within me. Rage, shame, confusion all bubbled away in my heart.

I touched my empty waist. It was a good thing I had left behind my sword. I would not have known what I would do with it. All I had was the note, delivered by courier, asking for me to come.

And there she was. I frowned when I saw Lyria. For some reason, she was wearing a bright yellow dress, one which was “slinky”, as the magazines would call it, and which tried to draw attention to her curves. The color didn’t suit her at all, and her curves were not her strongest points; she’d be better off showing off her ridiculously powerful legs, which were entirely hidden by that dress. Plus, it was unsuited for combat. It was as if Lyria had looked in some journal about recent fashion trends and picked one she liked without enough thought.

Though that was quite like her. Whenever we had seen each other, on the occasions where we had had to interact as members of noble families, she had seemed tongue-tied, nervous, and useless. To be frank, my opinion of her before the tournament had been low. Now I just felt … confused. How had she developed that power? When? Why? And why humiliate me, then ask me here while wearing some idiotic dress like that?

We stared at each other for several moments. She blushed, eyes averting, returning, averting once more.

Eventually I couldn’t take it. “What?” I asked frostily.

She looked away, face still red, then looked back. “W-well … I …”

“What do you want? Why did you bring me here? Say something.” I stopped and took a deep breath, trying to stay calm.

Lyria inhaled, rested her hands in front of her, then looked at me. “I … I … I like you, Miriam! Romantically! Please go out with me!” She bowed at the end of her speech.

I stared at her.

Stared.

…

What?

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?!?!

I may have stepped back in shock, stared at her in dumbfoundment, tried to figure out what happened to all the swirling emotions within me which had just vanished. I was just … whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?!

I pointed a finger at myself. “Me?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Me?!?!”

“Yes!” She nodded more.

I raised a hand, stalling more as my mind raced. I knew, objectively speaking, that I was not an easy person to be around. “Socially aggressive battle freak” was my public reputation, and frankly one I neither minded nor found inaccurate. Only crazy people or idiots would fall for someone who spent all of their time training and beating people up.

Wait. Was she crazy?

I looked at her. “W-why?”

Lyria swallowed. “I - I like how you’re strong, a-and proud, and how you look proud when winning, a-and when you pause your training in the evening to relax by the river and you look so happy, and your face a-and,” she blushed as I continued to stare at her. “Y-your muscles … particularly your back …” She started squirming as she admitted that final statement.

… She might actually be crazy. “You’re crazy,” I stated firmly, then paused and sighed before continuing, collecting my thoughts. “That move you used to beat me was stupid, plain and simple. If I hadn’t been caught off-guard and instead reacted properly, you would almost certainly have lost that tussle.” It was true. The set-up and the execution of it had left a lot of openings, which I should have exploited. “If you actually like me, why beat me, and with such idiocy?”

“Well …” she paused, and took a deep breath. “I - I wanted you to notice me. I thought that beating you would do that, since otherwise you don’t pay attention to people.” She exhaled, then looked at me, her face serious for a moment. “As for that move … I thought that, by beating you like that, you couldn’t look away, for any reason.” She flushed for a moment, then looked away. “Also … I was a bit proud of my thighs, so I wanted to show them off … Was I wrong?”

… I spent a week stewing over this? As she began mumbling apologies, I felt my brain stop even attempting to understand this. I stepped back, holding up one hand and massaging my skull with the other. “One - one moment.”

I ran through it in my head. How did that logic even work? Did she really think humiliating me would give me a positive impression of her? Was she stupid, or did she have something blocking her rational state of mind? Well, she did claim to like me for silly reasons. Well, certainly none of those vacuous suitors interested only in my family name had so sincerely mentioned any of those things. Especially not my muscles; weren’t those supposed to deter people from women?!?!

Maybe she was lying. As I had the thought, I realized a way to test her. I reached into my pocket and pulled out some of the tanning lotion I had on me, bought whimsically as a way to spite my ever-so-pale mother, and threw it at her. “Catch!”

She grabbed it - good reflexes - then stared as I yanked off my shirt and threw it into the grass. “Wh-wh-what -”

“I’m in the mood for a tan. Rub that over me, including my back.” Taking off my bra and with a hand over my chest, I laid down on my front in the grass beside the river, exposing my back - an ugly thing full of scar tissue and muscles.

“Here?! B-but we’re outside -”

“Don’t care, do it.” I took in a deep breath, then exhaled.  Now, what will she do? I turned my head slightly to look at her -

And blinked when I saw her face. Confused and … excited? Wait, she actually likes this?

“Th-then … here I go.” Lyria knelt beside me and began applying the lotion onto my back. I stiffened for a moment, then felt myself relaxing. Wow, she’s good at this … not too much pressure, covering all the areas, even if she’s spending a lot of time on the upper musculature … Having someone else do this is actually kind of nice.

“Your own muscles aren’t too bad,” I commented suddenly.

Her hands wavered. “M-m-mine?” she stuttered. “W-well, I tried to get them to be as good as yours, but I don’t think I succeeded …”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you did very well,” I said. “Those thighs of yours … you were right, I did feel them. They were very strong.”

“R-r-really?” From the corner of my eye, I saw that her face was all red. Teasing her like this was kinda nice … huh, she was about done with the back. Let’s switch things up.

I flipped over, startling her. I still covered my chest with one hand, and maneuvered myself with the other, plopping my head into her lap. “Now do my front.”

“Okay!!!!” she said in a squeaky tone.

How cute. The thought absently crossed my mind as I watched her flustered, embarrassed, but totally engrossed face as she began applying it to my front. Looking at that makes me feel not angry … more like, content. Maybe I should humor her for a while. I closed my eyes and sighed. But damn I like these thighs. Like a nice sturdy pillow.

 

***

 

I rummaged through the jewelry box and pulled out an earring. Maybe this one … I pulled my auburn hair and rested it against my ear. No, it doesn’t suit me.

I put it back in the box, slapped my hands on the dresser, and sighed. I looked into the mirror. I don’t need to doll myself up so much, stop worrying, Lyria likes you when you’re natural.

Still, another part of my brain chirped, if you dress yourself up just for her, she’ll feel special and make that happy face and be super cute!

Well, yes but …

But? the chirrupy side asked again.

But she likes our muscles …

Then how about we wear the backless dress!

I stared at myself in the mirror. Then, I reached over to the bed, grabbed a pillow, and buried my face in it. Why was I obsessing over her reactions this much?! Why was she so cute?! Why was I acting like this?! It had only been two weeks since we’d started seeing each other!!

You know why, my brain said smugly.

I threw the pillow back onto the bed. Shut up!!

A knock at the door interrupted me. “My lady,” the butler’s voice said, “your mother has arrived and is awaiting you in the salon.”

I glowered. “I’ll be there later!” I waited until his footsteps faded away, staring into the mirror again. Great. Now she’s here. She’s going to force me into a marriage, isn’t she …

I ran through the options. Marriage was … unacceptable. She only preferred people I loathed. However, the bet we’d made had been that I would take a partner when I was no longer good enough at fighting. And I’d lost a fight. She’d pounce on that and try to trap me. I was so done with those petty mind games.

How do I get out of this one?

A thought crossed my mind. There was one person I was fine with marrying. And we were both eighteen, adults, no-one could stop us. But mother would never approve.

I looked down, then back up into the mirror as the plan formed. Then took another breath to gather my courage. Right, backless dress it is. Switching into that dress, buckling my sword on, and stuffing several casual outfits into a bag, I stormed out and headed for the salon.

Mother was sitting with her back to me when I slammed the door open. “Still as rude as -”

“I’m thinking of marrying,” I interrupted her.

She paused for several moments, hands still in the air. “What a surprise,” she murmured. “I have several men -”

“I’m also leaving. Bye.” I slammed the door behind me before she could react, hoisting the bag over my shoulder. For once, I actually appreciated my intimidatory aura, which kept the servants from approaching me as I strode out.

As I exited, I saw Lyria waiting for me outside, nervously running her hands over her clothes. I noted with some appreciation that it was one of the outfits I had picked. Her eyes brightened when she saw me. “Miriam -” I twirled then, showing off the backless dress, and when I spun back to view her, her jaw had fallen and she was staring goggle-eyed at me. “Wh-wh-what is that?!”

“A treat for you,” I said smoothly, “since I’m about to ask you for a big favor.”

She gulped. “Treat? Favor?”

I stepped beside her. “I’m thinking of running away for a while. Could you come with me?”

She blinked. “Running away?”

“Well, it’s eloping with you really.”

“Eloping?!”

“With the intent of marrying.”

“Marry-?!?!”

I leaned in and kissed her, and for a moment that lasted a lifetime all I could think about was how sweet she tasted, about how cute she must look, and about her.

Eventually, our lips parted, my cheeks flushed - not embarrassment, it wasn’t, no waaaaaaay - and I barely managed to pull off a smug smirk to cover my emotions as Lyria’s eyes spun in her head. “Lyria, I like you. Can you come with me?”

She nodded faintly. “Y-yes …”

I grabbed her hand and smiled. “Good. Then let’s be off!”

The giggly, giddy smile Lyria made as we walked away was somehow the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.