The prince let him have the helm, hazel eyes raking Isaac’s face. “So live. It’s not like you haven’t fought big guys before; you fight me all the time.” He put his hands back on Isaac’s shoulders and shook him again. “Hale knight. My men don’t lose.” Then he turned Isaac around and pushed him toward the field.
“I’ve fought big men my whole life, Derek, and survived. If I picture this opponent with my father’s face, you might end up restraining me,” he added on then with a ghost of a smile, before he staggered off into the field, quickly righting himself as he wielded his sword out in front of him. “Let’s do this,” he breathed out to himself, expression darkening as he faced the man before him, drowning out the murmurs of the crowd surrounding him.
Summer leaned forward, clutching Cora’s hand so tightly her knuckles were white. Cora didn’t seem to mind. She could hear her own heartbeat pounding, drowning out the voice of the herald, stating the terms and nature of the challenge. The prince lifted a hand to signal, and she caught the set, furious expression of Lord Argent, in the box overhanging the field a quarter of the way around the circle.
And then the two knights are facing each other, and saluting, and the clash of swords drowned out the sound of her heart. Isaac was faster than Sir Ennis, ducking and weaving, and he used a one-and-a-half-hand sword. Sir Ennis had a double-handed broadsword, which could do proportionally more damage — but only if he could actually hit Isaac with it.