I Stopped Simping and the Heroines Lost Their Minds

Arthur got out of bed and immediately regretted doing it so quickly. His legs were sore for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with tournament training, while the bruises along his ribs still carried the dull ache Darius had left behind.

He stood perfectly still for a second.

Emily was already awake beside him. She had apparently been awake long enough to notice the exact moment his expression changed.

Her mouth twitched.

”Don’t,” Arthur said.

Emily’s amusement only grew.

”You planned this,” Arthur accused her, staring at the wall. ”It’s sabotage. You figured out a way for a Thorne to eliminate me from the tournament without even having to fight me.”

Emily propped herself up on one elbow. ”I seem to recall you doing plenty of the work yourself.”

When she got up and started dressing, Arthur noticed the dark mark he had left on the side of her neck.

Emily caught him looking. She walked over to the mirror, paused, and turned her head just enough to get a clear view of the bruised skin.

Arthur immediately looked completely innocent.

”Arthur,” Emily said.

”That one actually wasn’t my fault.”

Emily just stared at him through the mirror.

Arthur considered the statement. ”Fine. Entirely my fault.”

She adjusted her collar, trying to pull the fabric high enough to cover the mark. ”If Kael notices this, I am going to throw you out a window.”

When she finished and reached for the door handle, Arthur caught her waist, pulled her back, and kissed her. It wasn’t the frantic, desperate kissing of last night. It was short, easy, and entirely comfortable.

”For the record,” Arthur told her, ”still worth losing.”

Emily looked at him. ”You’re not losing.”

She opened the door, and they walked out to face her family.

Breakfast was deceptively normal.

Gareth sat at the head of the long table, drinking coffee. Seraphina was reading through a stack of morning correspondence. Kael and Adrian were already eating.

Arthur and Emily sat down.

Kael glanced up, his eyes pausing on Arthur. ”You look terrible.”

Arthur pulled a plate toward himself. ”Good morning to you too.”

”Big day today,” Kael noted cheerfully. ”Sleep badly?”

Emily’s foot immediately connected with Kael’s shin underneath the table.

Kael winced, his coffee splashing over the rim of his cup.

Seraphina didn’t even look up from her paperwork. ”I believe we discussed kicking at the table.”

Emily went completely still. Arthur focused intensely on buttering his toast.

Adrian broke the silence, bringing the conversation smoothly into the tournament brackets. Arthur answered his questions about the schedule normally, and for a few minutes, it seemed they had successfully survived the meal.

Then Emily reached across the table for a pitcher of water. She turned her head, and her collar shifted.

Kael saw the mark.

He paused, a piece of bread halfway to his mouth. His expression instantly changed.

Emily noticed his face before he even said a word. She slowly turned her head toward him, her brown eyes narrowing into a sharp threat.

Kael was visibly fighting for his life trying not to smile. Arthur realized exactly what he had seen. Adrian noticed Kael trying not to laugh and glanced between them, quickly putting the pieces together.

Kael eventually cleared his throat, aiming for a tone of mild curiosity. ”Mosquitoes bad in the guest wing?”

Emily kicked him again.

This time, Seraphina actually looked over.

”That one was worth it,” Kael wheezed, rubbing his leg.

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek, staring at his plate, trying desperately not to laugh. Gareth simply looked up from his coffee and gave Arthur one look. Arthur immediately became fascinated by his eggs.

Seraphina set her papers down. ”Emily, scarves are in the second cabinet near the entrance.”

The tips of Emily’s ears turned visibly red. Kael nearly choked on his water.

Adrian seamlessly brought the conversation back to tournament business before blood was spilled in the dining room.

”Marek Holt,” Adrian said, looking at Arthur. ”Stoneguard Hall. Sword and shield. Very patient. Holt won’t chase you, and he almost never gives you a clean opening.”

Kael snorted. ”He’ll let you circle him all afternoon if you want. The second you get annoyed and force it, he’ll hit you.”

Arthur understood the problem immediately. Marek was the exact opposite of Darius Venn. Darius had pressured him constantly, suffocating his space. Marek wasn’t going to chase him at all.

He was simply going to build a wall and wait for Arthur to make a mistake.

The Thorne family car carried them smoothly through the city toward the tournament district. The tournament district was still packed, but the crowds around the competitor entrances had noticeably thinned.

Emily sat beside Arthur in the back seat.

Arthur shifted his sore leg, trying to find a more comfortable angle.

Emily noticed. Her mouth twitched.

”Not one word,” Arthur warned.

Emily didn’t say anything. She simply rested her hand on his thigh.

Arthur looked at her.

Emily smiled innocently and squeezed the muscle exactly where he was most sore.

Arthur caught her wrist, pulling her hand away as the dull ache flared. She kept smiling, leaning her shoulder comfortably against his for the rest of the ride.

Inside the central arena, the updated bracket boards confirmed the tightening field. Adrian had advanced cleanly. Kael had a match scheduled for later that afternoon. Emily was still active on her side of the board.

Arthur was reading through the eliminated names when Corwin Vale walked past.

Corwin paused, glancing at the board, then looked at Arthur.

”Holt,” Corwin said.

Arthur looked at him.

”Annoying,” Corwin added.

”That’s your tactical assessment?” Arthur asked.

”You’ll understand,” Corwin replied, and kept walking.

Arthur walked toward the waiting area and spotted Marek Holt finishing his warm-up near one of the outer rings.

Marek wasn’t huge or physically intimidating in the obvious way Kael or Gareth were. He was compact, heavily built, and entirely boring to watch. His shield barely moved more than necessary to intercept each practice strike. When his sparring partner attacked, Marek didn’t block wildly or overcommit his weight. He shifted just enough to let the strike slide off the edge of his shield.

When his partner retreated, Marek didn’t chase.

Arthur watched him closely. His enhanced Perception picked out the tiny, efficient changes in Marek’s weight, the minimal shoulder movement, and the tight sword positioning. But seeing the movements and getting a dagger through a broad shield were two entirely different problems.

Emily met him near the entrance to the competitor’s corridor.

She didn’t offer him a grand coaching speech. ”Don’t get impatient.”

”Everyone keeps saying that,” Arthur noted.

”Because you’re impatient.”

Arthur looked offended.

Emily reached up, adjusted the collar of his tournament jacket, and gave him a quick kiss.

”Win,” she told him quietly.

”Arthur Vance. Marek Holt. Ring Four.”

Arthur stepped onto the mat with his blunted competition dagger. Marek Holt stood across from him, his blunted competition sword resting lightly behind the rim of his broad shield.

The audience had already learned that Arthur was the strange archer fighting without his bow. A sizable crowd had gathered around the ring, curious to see whether the archer’s win over Darius had been a fluke.

The referee blew the whistle.

Arthur started with what had worked against his previous opponents. He stayed light on his feet, moved laterally, changed angles rapidly, and tested the perimeter of Marek’s reach, waiting for the defensive reaction.

Marek simply turned with him. Nothing else.

Arthur feinted a quick lunge toward Marek’s right side.

The shield shifted exactly enough to close the angle. No opening appeared.

Arthur immediately changed direction, darting toward the exposed sword arm. Marek calmly pivoted, bringing the sword guard up and stepping into a grounded stance.

Arthur attempted a fast, tight entry, trying to slip inside the weapon’s reach.

The broad shield slammed squarely into Arthur’s chest and drove him right back out.

Arthur reset his footing.

Marek lowered his shield slightly and waited. He didn’t pursue.

Arthur circled again. Marek tracked him patiently.

The circling dragged on long enough for murmurs to start spreading through the crowd. Arthur risked one glance toward the stands and found Kael grinning like an asshole. Emily sat beside him, watching much more seriously.

Arthur made another attempt. This time, Arthur used Silent Knife and slipped inside more cleanly, getting dangerously close to the inner guard.

Marek immediately closed the opening. The shield slammed into Arthur’s shoulder, knocking him off line, and the blunted sword clipped him across the ribs on the way out.

Pain flared through the bruises Darius had left there.

The whistle cut through the ring. The referee stepped between them and sent both fighters back to reset. Marek had the first clean touch.

Arthur backed away, rubbing his ribs.

Marek returned to his compact stance. He still didn’t chase.

Arthur looked at him across the mat.

”You can keep doing that,” Marek said calmly.

There was no arrogance in his voice, no taunting. Just a simple, irritating fact.

Arthur exhaled a long breath. Now he understood what Adrian and Corwin had meant. Marek wasn’t going to give him the fight he wanted.

Until now, every opponent had dictated the distance in one way or another. Rian kept him out with the spear. Darius refused to let him escape. Marek was doing something much more irritating. He was giving Arthur all the space he wanted and absolutely nothing to attack.

Arthur started circling again.

This time, he wasn’t searching for some tiny gap Marek had accidentally left behind. There wasn’t one.

So Arthur gave him something to react to.

He stepped toward Marek’s sword side, showed the beginning of another entry, and stopped before committing.

The shield shifted.

Arthur backed away.

He came in from the other side.

Marek turned with him again.

Arthur didn’t attack. He watched what moved first.

The next feint went lower. Marek’s sword dropped slightly while the shield stayed close to his chest.

Interesting.

Arthur retreated before Marek could punish the probe.

Across from him, Marek settled behind his shield again.

Arthur’s mouth slowly curled upward. He had spent the opening exchanges waiting for Marek to leave him a mistake.

If Marek wasn’t going to give him an opening, Arthur would simply have to make him create one.