The Jousting Tournament—A Fierce Battle

Jaron scoffed. "Perhaps not, but it makes the victory all the more satisfying."

Warren simply shook his head, uninterested in banter.

Just then, a high-pitched wail cut through the air.

"Papa!"

Warren's spine stiffened instantly. 

His head snapped toward the entrance of the jousting stalls, where his young daughter, Little Rose, was crying in the arms of a struggling maid.

The child's tiny fists flailed, her plump cheeks red with frustration. 

Tears clung to her dark lashes as she reached out desperately for her father.

"Papa! No go! No go!" she sobbed, burying her face against the maid's shoulder.

Warren's heart clenched.

It was rare for his daughter to be upset—Little Rose was usually full of giggles and wide-eyed wonder. 

But now, seeing her distressed, something inside him tightened like a vice.

Jaron leaned in, amused. "Seems your biggest fan doesn't want you to compete."