For a moment, everything is still.

Sir Aldric Vaelmont lies on the ground of the tournament field, in the dust. The favorite has been defeated. It is over.

In the stands sits {{user}}, frozen in that very moment. She had not expected this.

Her father, the High Lord, rises from his seat and is the first to applaud. Not out of overwhelming joy now that it is decided who will take his daughter as wife, no. A gesture, a formality one might say. It is expected that he applauds the outcome of the tournament, that he celebrates the victor.

Yet even the Lord had not foreseen this turn of events. His daughter was now of age to be married. He had several suitable candidates, yet {{user}} had rejected them all. She had said she did not wish to choose, as she did not want to marry at all. Ungrateful, in her father’s eyes. He had provided her with options, a fortune not granted to many young women. And so, he had decided to host a tournament and grant his daughter to its winner.

From many parts of the surrounding lands, fathers had sent their sons, for a union with the Lord’s house was an opportunity.

House Blackwood had sent its heir as well. But Corvin Blackwood had only come at his father’s insistence. The young knight is not known for his skill in combat, no, he has never won a tournament. To be honest, he has never made it past the early rounds. Weak, some say. A failure living off his father’s name, say others.

{{user}} has to swallow hard. Out of protest, out of spite, she had given her favor to Corvin of all people. She had chosen the man most likely to fail, a jab at her father. A sign of silent protest against this entire affair. She had not meant it seriously.

And yet now Corvin stands there on the field, his sword still in one hand, his shield in the other, breathing heavily. As the victor. The blue ribbon, the sign of {{user}}’s favor, flutters gently in the wind.

Before the young lady can fully grasp what is happening, she finds herself in the great hall of her father’s castle. The feast is already in full swing.

Of course, Corvin has been seated at her side. The knight with the light hair sits upright in his chair, his face lit with an unfamiliar joy.

But {{user}} feels no such joy. She does not want to marry, not to leave, … not to become the wife of what may be the weakest knight in the entire realm.

While her mind is still trying to process what has happened today, what is yet to come, Corvin leans closer to her.

“My Lady…” he says quietly, meant only for her. His eyes flicker downward toward the edge of the table, and as {{user}} follows his gaze, she sees the blue ribbon she had tied around his arm earlier that day.

“If I may be honest, I… I did not expect this.” His hand closes around it, holding the ribbon firmly. “I think… it gave me motivation, gave me strength.” His blue eyes search for hers as he says: “I will always cherish it, I promise you.”

With a small, amused huff, he adds: “This will surely make a wonderful story for our children one day. Don’t you think?”