"The Cost Of Lies"

(The Day of the Sword Tournament)

The morning sun crowned the skies above Velmoria, bathing the royal grounds in a pale golden glow. Excitement buzzed in the air—nobles in embroidered cloaks, commoners filling the stands, and royal guards marching in formation. It was the day of the long-awaited Sword Tournament.

Inside the palace, Hans approached with a composed urgency and gave a short bow.

"Your Majesty, it's almost time. All the participants have arrived."

Eyan stood before the tall window, the breeze lightly shifting the ends of his regal cloak. Dressed in his formal attire, adorned in royal blues and silvers, his crown rested firmly atop his silver hair. Yet his expression was unreadable.

He turned slightly, his voice low.

"Has Eva arrived?"

Hans nodded.

"Yes, Your Majesty. Her Highness is in the participants' tent."

A pause. Eyan's gaze lingered out the window.

"I should see her before it begins. I haven't spoken to her… since the duel."

"Of course, Your Majesty. This way."

The two made their way across the bustling grounds. Excitement swirled around them as nobles and knights filled the courtyard. But Eyan's focus was ahead—toward the tent.

He pushed open the flap and stepped inside.

"Lady Eva," his voice called softly.

She turned.

Eva stood in her combat attire—light armor over a fitted tunic, her hair braided back tightly, eyes sharp with resolve. But when she saw him, something flickered in her expression.

She bowed with practiced grace.

"Your Majesty, Eyan Lucien Therald."

Eyan looked at her carefully. Her eyes were rimmed with red, her face slightly pale, and her lips... chapped from restless nights.

His brows furrowed.

"Lady Eva… you don't look well. Your eyes… they're swollen."

Eva forced a smile and spoke with a light laugh that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Oh, Your Majesty, I couldn't sleep all night… that's all."

Hans chimed in gently from behind.

"Perhaps, Lady Eva, you were nervous because of the tournament?"

Eyan stepped closer, lowering his voice just a little.

"You don't have to push yourself too hard, Lady Eva. You joined to test your strength—not to win. It's not worth exhausting yourself."

But Eva held his gaze, her smile soft yet unreadable.

"No, Your Majesty. I want to win."

She added, her voice steadier now, "And I want to win the prize."

Eyan raised a brow, intrigued.

"The prize? Is there something you want from me?"

She smiled brighter this time—gentle, mysterious, almost bittersweet.

"Yes, Your Majesty. I want something from you… and only you can give it to me."

Eyan's breath caught for a moment. Something in her voice, something in her gaze—it struck him deep in the chest.

"Lady Eva…" he began, but the words faltered on his lips.

A loud trumpet blared from the arena.

"All participants to the grounds! The Sword Tournament begins now!" came the official's voice from outside.

Hans stepped forward.

"Your Majesty, you should go. It's time."

Eyan gave a single nod, though his eyes still lingered on Eva.

She gave him one last bow, her expression unreadable.

He turned to leave… but before he exited the tent, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder.

She was still there. Still smiling. Still standing tall.

But something in her presence whispered of grief… of things she wouldn't say.

And then he was gone.

The tournament ground roared to life as the crowd packed into the stands, the air thick with excitement, heat, and anticipation. The royal box gleamed with golden trim, and nobles sat beneath ornate parasols, sipping chilled wine as they waited for blood and glory.

The first match began.

Eva stood in the arena, blade in hand, heart racing beneath her armor. She could feel eyes on her—his eyes.

Across from her stood a seasoned soldier, tall and scarred, his expression unreadable. But Eva wasn't here to be underestimated.

The horn blew.

Steel clashed against steel. The first strike rattled her arm, but her stance held. She parried, sidestepped, and ducked beneath a sweeping blow. Her focus was sharp—too sharp. Every motion, every breath, burned with something more than the desire to win.

It was rage. It was heartbreak. It was the need to know.

With a fierce cry, she disarmed her opponent and brought the tip of her sword to his throat.

"Match won! Lady Eva Elvaris advances to the second round!" the announcer declared.

Cheers erupted.

But Eva didn't smile.

---

Second Round

The second opponent was faster. A noble's son known for his speed and elegance. He greeted her with a smirk and a mocking bow.

Eva didn't respond.

The battle was a dance—fluid footwork, strikes that rang like music, a blur of silver on silver. But Eva's anger was steady now. Controlled. Cold.

She feinted left, spun, and knocked him flat with a clean sweep of his legs. The sword pointed at his chest before he could rise.

"Lady Eva advances to the final round!"

Gasps. Applause. Whispers spreading through the stands.

Final Round — The Sword Tournament

The crowd roared in excitement, but Eyan sat still.

His gaze never left the center of the arena, where Eva stood with her sword raised, facing her final opponent—Sir Aldric Vale. The sun cast a golden sheen over her, making her look more like a vision than a warrior. But Eyan saw beyond that.

He saw the fire in her stance. The storm behind her eyes.

Hans leaned closer to him, cheerful.

"Your Majesty, I think Her Highness is going to win. She's good—I didn't expect she was this skilled."

But Eyan didn't respond.

Not even a blink.

Hans furrowed his brows.

"Your Majesty?"

Eyan finally spoke, voice low and strained.

"…Something is wrong."

Hans looked back at the arena.

"What do you mean? She's doing well—"

Eyan cut him off, his voice harder this time.

"It's Eva."

Hans turned, uncertain.

"Her Highness?"

Eyan nodded slowly, eyes narrowed.

"She's angry. I can feel it. Her movements—her blade—it's not just for sport. Something happened. She's not just fighting for the prize."

---

In the Arena

Eva's blade danced through the air—sharp, fast, unforgiving.

Sir Aldric tried to counter, but Eva was relentless. She moved like someone who had nothing left to lose. Like someone who was tired of pretending.

The clash of steel echoed through the air. Then—one final twist, a step forward, and her blade was against his chest.

Silence.

Then the crowd erupted.

"Lady Eva Elvaris is the Champion of the Tournament!"

Cheers rang like thunder. Confetti fell from the stands. But Eva didn't smile. She merely lowered her sword, breathing hard, and turned toward the royal platform.

---

After the Match

Eyan stepped down from the royal box slowly, each step feeling heavier than the last. He stopped before her—still in her combat stance, still wearing that unreadable expression.

He tried to smile, but his voice betrayed him.

"Lady Eva Elvaris…"

"You fought with incredible strength. Congratulations."

He hesitated—then his voice softened, the weight in it clear.

"Now… tell me. What is it that you wish for?"

Eva bowed deeply, but when she rose, her eyes met his—and something sharp passed between them.

"Not now, Your Majesty," she said, with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"I will come to you in your office later… and then I will tell you what I want."

Eyan didn't move for a second. Then he gave the faintest nod.

His voice, quieter this time—almost vulnerable:

"As you wish… Lady Eva."

---

The trumpets sounded. The banners were raised.

The tournament ended in wild cheers and applause.

But Eyan's heart was far from the celebration.

He looked at Eva one last time before turning away—

and in his silence, a thousand questions burned.

---

The Royal Palace — Eyan's Office, Evening

The evening sun filtered through the high arched windows, casting golden lines across the dark stone walls of Eyan's office. Papers lay untouched on his desk, ink drying mid-signature. The clock ticked too loudly. His footsteps echoed as he paced—back and forth—again and again.

Hans stood by the shelves, arms behind his back, quietly observing his king with concern.

"Your Majesty," Hans said gently, "perhaps you should sit—"

Eyan didn't respond. His jaw was clenched. His hands restlessly tugged at the cuffs of his sleeves.

Then—

Knock... Knock.

A familiar voice, soft yet unyielding, came from the other side of the door.

"Your Majesty, it's me—Eva Elvaris."

Eyan stopped dead in his tracks. That name—spoken in that calm tone—struck something inside him. He walked back to his chair, brushing invisible dust from his sleeves, then slowly sat, trying to control the rapid thud of his heart.

Hans opened the door.

"Lady Eva, please come in."

Eva entered, her posture firm, chin slightly raised. She was no longer in combat gear, but in a deep blue dress—simple, yet dignified. Her eyes met Eyan's, unwavering.

Eyan stood from his seat.

"Lady Eva," he greeted, voice soft but strained, "are you here… for the wish?"

Eva nodded once.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Her voice was calm. Too calm.

Then she turned her gaze toward Hans.

"Mr. Hans, could I have a moment alone with His Majesty?"

Hans glanced at Eyan, who gave a short nod.

"Wait outside," Eyan said.

As the door shut behind Hans, a quiet fell over the room again.

Eyan stood behind his desk, eyes locked on hers.

"Now…" he said, voice low, cautious, "what is it that you want, Lady Eva?"

Eva stepped forward until they were almost eye-level across the desk. Her gaze locked onto his—searching, pained, and resolute.

And then, she spoke. Her voice calm… but her words thundered.

"Your Majesty—"

"I Want A Divorce."

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