Kara wins.

Sir Wayne doesn't make it easy for her, but ultimately, the Beathan warrior princess is victorious. After long, tense minutes of grappling with him, she's able to get underneath him and press the advantage just so, ejecting the Itherian contestant from the ring with a fearsome cry. That makes three.

For his part, Sir Wayne had fought admirably, scoring once against Kara and coming close several more times. It seemed, however, that the Itherian was unable to match her drive and ferocity.

The Beathans roar in delight at their princess' victory, Donald loudest and leading. It would seem that despite his earlier teasing,

"Gods' blood!" Sir Malcolm curses, even as he applauds. "One of our finest beaten by a feral girl..."

Humiliating though it may be for your kingdom, you must admit you weren't able to take your eyes off Kara the entire time. Her fitness, her fierceness, you find the redhead more than a little intriguing.

As you see the impartial adjudicators about to present Kara with her prize, you decide to interject.

Trudging across the snow-pocked ground, you approach the judges, and ask to be the one to present the Beathan victor with her prize. Though the rules of the Contests are taken seriously, they see nothing wrong with allowing you this.

You feel the eyes of everyone seated boring into you as your approach the competitors.

You make for Sir Wayne first, your hand extended. Like the majority of your vassals, he's considerate enough to shake your hand with his left rather than the traditional right, neatly circumventing the issue of your infirmity.

"Well fought, Malcolm." You tell the noble. "You certainly gave a good showing for Itheria."

"Thank you, your Majesty." Malcolm bows.

"A good showing, but not good enough, eh?" Kara grins. Perhaps she's more like her brother than she lets on, you muse.

"You were exceptional yourself, Princess." You continue. "Beatha's a fearsome kingdom indeed if even the womenfolk can fight so."

"I'm exceptional, as you said." Kara admits. "Though, from what I hear, my brother's taken you to see exactly what our women can do."

You smile coyly, before handing Kara her victor's coinpurse. Se holds it aloft, drinking in the adulation of her people.

-

In a typically Beathan show of magnanimity, Kara's first action after winning is to open her prize and buy every man she'd defeated an ale at the nearest tavern. You follow along, under the pretence of revelry, though really, you're just there to be closer to her.

You drink with her and the losing competitors for a while, as they congratulate the princess on her win, and discuss strategies and manoeuvrers. All of which might mean as much to you as advice on how to fly or swim to the bottom of the ocean.

You're in a rather unusual situation with Kara. Most women you've desired in your lifetime have been of far lower station. As a princess, Kara is much closer to you in stature than even say, Lady Alanna back home. You'll not simply find your way into her bed through **** or kingly bluster, you imagine.

"So Kara, what do you intend to use your winnings for?" You ask innocuously.

"Half I'll give to smallfolk who work my lands, the other half, I'm passing to the Order of the White Torch." The redhead tells you.

"Very generous of you." You nod. "I've heard a little of the Order in my time up here. Are you a supporter of theirs?"

"Aye, Your Majesty. As we all well should be." Kara insists. "While I've no quarrel with most magicals, those that worship or commune with demonkind are a threat to all good people. As well as an affront to nature." She finishes, taking a final sip from her flagon once she's done.

"I couldn't agree more." You lie. "I should like to meet members of this Order sometime."

"Oh? Then you're in luck." Kara raises an eyebrow, then gestures towards the tavern door.

A Beathan woman, perhaps a couple of years older than you and Kara, has just entered. She's rather more on the petite side of things than the warrior princess sat with you, wearing a modest brown robe, embroidered with a stylised torch, a white flame ablaze, on the chest.

"Kara!" The young woman trills, her eyes alighting on the princess. "I'm so sorry to have missed your victory, we were delayed!"

Rising from her bench, Kara pads over to the other woman, pulling her into a tight embrace.

"Rhona, it's damn good to see you, cousin!" she smiles. "I trust all's been well?"

"Alas cousin, our party met with some danger in the highlands. We decided to investigate rumours of a succubus preying on hunters. Several of our menfolk were wounded slaying the vile beast."

"A succubus? My Gods!" You slur, face contorted in mock outrage.

"Your Majesty, this is Rhona, my cousin." Kara says. "A healer with the Order of the White Torch."

"Speak of the... well, it's a coincidence, we were just discussing your Order." You remark.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty." Rhona curtseys. "Had I known I was in the presence of a king, I would've-"

"Think nothing of it." You tell her.

"Will you join us for an ale?" Kara asks.

"I'd love to, cousin, but I have things to attend to. I merely ventured inside to secure lodgings for our group." Rhona says, brushing a strand of her chin-length black hair out of her eyes.

"I'll leave you to your tasks, then." Kara says. "But please, find me later, I'd hear more of this demon, and her ways."

Rhona agrees, then sets about her duties. You can't help but watch her as she leaves. Her dress is modest, but it's unable to hide her thick, fuckable arse.

"My maw's half-sister's girl." Kara informs you, jarring you from your lecherous reverie. "There's blood between her and Donald and I, but only a trickle, and none of it royal."

You remain with Kara for several more hours, drinking ale and discussing various facets of your lives and kingdoms. Her tolerance is nearly as great as Donald's and by the time the losing athletes have left you and the princess alone, both of you are swaying slightly in your seats.