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Karo has a vision for herself, one that she's been striving towards for years.
She wins the King of Clay’s tourney, the French Open, dueling her way through only the toughest opponents. She has tight battles and close duels, but she emerges victorious every time. And when it’s all over and she has that trophy in her hands, she kneels in front of the Princess who, ideally, she just beat in the final duel. And the Princess says she wants a knight like Karo in her service, and suddenly there’s no more traveling to distant tourneys across the kingdoms, she can just remain here, content and full of purpose.
Of course, it’s gonna take a lot of hard work, skill, and luck to achieve that. But Karo has a good feeling about this year.
Her good friend and frequent sparring partner, Marketa, doesn't seem to agree.
Marketa was in the final duel of the French Open a few years ago, losing to the famed Ash Barty – and losing badly. Since then, she hasn't done all that well at this tourney, but she can carry that result with her forever. Karo, on the other hand, has only ever won a duel or two here and is usually eliminated quickly. Her grand vision is highly unlikely, and when Karo gets too far from reality, Marketa is always there to bring her back down to earth.
"Every year, it's 'your year,'" she's saying, hunched over her sword as she sharpens it. "And then you lose, or you get injured. Usually both, actually."
"I can feel it this time," Karo insists. "I've been winning some good duels lately."
"Good enough to beat them?"
She isn't even talking about anyone in particular, she just sweeps her hand across the training yard to make her point. Knights from all over the world are here, sparring with each other to prepare for the tourney. Some are new and idealistic, but it's mostly the same crowd as it's been for the last few years, full of hope only to inevitably fall to one of the Clay royals. The women's side used to be a little more open, back when Karo was first starting out, but that has all changed with the rise of the Princess. And as Karo looks around the training yard, she knows that she's having the same thought as every other knight. No one down here matters – the Princess is the one to beat.
Karo doesn't see the Princess training, but she does see one of the Princes. Casper Ruud, the second Prince of Clay, who just barely lost last years tourney to the King. Karo remembers watching it – how awful it was to see Casper struggle so much to even get one foot in the duel after such a great run leading up to it. She's secretly rooting for him to win the men's tourney this year. And, of all the Princes, he's the most accessible and the most likely to slip up and give information about the Princess.
His sparring partner is a knight Karo knows well, Jiri Lehecka, so she uses that as an excuse to walk over to them, dragging a reluctant Marketa with her.
They arrive just in time to see Casper disarm Jiri, his sword falling into the red-orange clay under their feet that the tourney is known for.
"Good morning, ladies," Casper says, bowing even though they really should be bowing to him. Jiri, meanwhile, grumbles as he picks up his sword.
He and Marketa quickly come to a silent agreement to get as far away from this conversation as possible, and they make up some half-baked excuse about polishing armor before disappearing into the crowd of knights and nobles who fancy themselves as knights for the week.
"Prince Casper," Karo replies, dipping into a bow as much as her armor will allow. It's black and orange, almost matching the color of the clay.
"Oh, none of that," he says, and she stands up immediately. Of all the royalty out there, Casper is known to be the most down to earth.
"Are you excited for the tourney?" she asks.
He smiles softly in a way that's fond and bitter at the same time. "Aren't I always?"
“I heard the King won’t be playing.”
Casper raises his eyebrows at her. “I didn’t think you’d be trying to get information about the men’s side, Karolina.”
“Well, if you’re willing to tell me about the women’s-“
“Don’t bother,” he interrupts. “Iga doesn’t tell me anything about her preparations, or anyone for that matter. You’d have to get close to her team, and I can promise you now that you won’t.”
Karo frowns. She should have been expecting that, really, but she can’t help but be disappointed. And now she just feels rude, knowing that Casper knows exactly why she started this conversation.
“If you want to talk about the men’s side, I’m here to listen,” she offers. “How about the other Princes?”
“Dominic won’t make it past the second round,” Casper sighs. “He’s… he’s been struggling lately. For a while now, actually. And Carlos, well, he’s Carlos. The golden boy. He'll probably win it."
Strangely, he doesn't sound all that bitter about it. Just resigned.
"I think you can win," Karo says.
Casper looks down and kicks the clay beneath his feet, sending dust flying into the air. It clouds everything, but it's the only thing Karo can see clearly. Duels here on clay make more sense to her than anywhere else.
"I saw the draw," Casper says. "You'd have to make the final to play Iga."
"That's right."
He holds his hand out for her to shake, the way Karo would to her opponent after a duel. After a moment, she takes it and they shake hands. A silent agreement to beat the odds, no matter what it takes.
"Good luck, Karolina."
"You too."
Her first duel is two tense rounds, but Karo has the momentum the entire time and she swiftly takes out Maria Sakkari, a knight who has done well at this tourney previously. It's a huge boost in her confidence, to beat someone so highly rated. People had been taking about her as a favorite to go far, and here Karo is beating her.
The Princess breezes through her first duel of course, two quick rounds. Karo is sparring while it’s going on, so she doesn’t get the chance to watch it.
Her second duel is a bit of a mess, but she pulls through. She wins the first round, gets crushed in the second, then wins the third. The Princess, on the other hand, is just as dominant in her second duel.
Karo could have watched that one, but she just can’t bring herself to. In her eyes, the duels of the Princess are sacred. No one deserves to see them except for the opponent, who will inevitably be destroyed, a small obstacle amounting to nothing in the Princess’ path.
Marketa loses in the second round, but she sticks around as a sparring partner for Karo.
"You need someone who won't fuel your fantasy," she explains tiredly. She doesn't seem all that bothered by losing so early, but Karo knows better. Marketa isn't the type to let it show when a duel loss bothers her, but when she wins she shows so much joy that the same level of emotion must be there when she loses too. But Karo has learned not to press the issue, and she's just grateful to have Marketa there.
Karo is feeling great, more sure of herself than she has been in a while. Everything is just clicking, her blade like an extension of her arm, something that's a natural part of her.
She's helping Marketa up after disarming her when she hears some chatter from across the training courtyard.
"Someone has to dethrone her." Karo knows that voice – it's Aryna Sabalenka, a knight of the highest order who has recently won a major tourney for the first time. She's always been hell-bent on beating the Princess. She turns around, forgetting about helping Marketa up, and sees Aryna sparring with Daria Kasatkina, who just beat Marketa in the second round.
"You're acting like she's won it fourteen times like the King," Daria replies, her tone bored. She's being absolutely pummeled with Aryna's sheer power but doesn't seem to bothered by it, blocking her blows with defensive skill that very few knights possess. "She's won twice."
"But she's the first of the new generation to win one," Aryna counters. She strikes hard, and Daria's defense isn't enough. Her sword falls out of her hands, and the point of Aryna's blade comes up just inches away from her neck. "The Princes have nothing. If I can beat Iga, I can prove that I'm the best duelist in the world, not her. And maybe then I'll have a royal title of my own."
Daria rolls her eyes as she picks up her sword, not looking fazed in the slightest by losing to Aryna. In fact, this seems commonplace for her. "One win at Djokovic's tourney and you want to be royalty, is that it? The Princess of Clay?"
Novak Djokovic, the King of Hardcourt. He rules the Australian Open, which Aryna just won, the way Rafael Nadal rules the French Open. But unlike the King of Clay, he hasn't named any heirs. He sees it as a sign of decline, and he's still going around winning tourneys – in fact, he's probably one of the favorites for this very edition of the French Open. So even Aryna, as an obvious choice for Princess of Hardcourt, has no title. As a result, she and many other candidates for hardcourt titles have been trying to garner favor at other major tourneys. But from what Karo knows, they want to be an addition to the current heirs. Aryna's plan sounds more like replacement.
Suddenly, Marketa kicks her in the shin. "Are you going to help me up?"
"Oh, right." Karo turns around and pulls her off the ground. "Sorry."
She's too distracted to spar anymore. She knows it's just speculation, but she has to tell someone just in case it isn't.
She wins her next two duels, landing herself in the final eight duelists. The Princess does as well, along with Aryna.
Still anxious about what she overheard, Karo goes to watch Casper's duel in the final eight, against young knight Holger Rune. There was quite the drama between the two of them last year, but this duel seems much more civilized. Though Holger presents something of a challenge, Casper's elegant swordsmanship proves to be too much for him. In four rounds, Casper is into the final four.
Karo waits for him by the exit afterwards, just barely avoiding literally running into a steamingly angry Holger.
He smiles when he sees her, looking far less dejected and far more hopeful than the last time they spoke. Karo desperately hopes he'll win it this time.
"Hello, Karolina," he says. "I heard you're in the final eight! Congratulations."
"I should be congratulating you," she replies. He flushes. "But I'm afraid I have to tell you about something else. I'm concerned about the Princess. I've heard Aryna Sabalenka talking-"
"About how she wants Iga's title," Casper finishes. Karo nods. "She doesn't. What she wants is to be Princess of Hardcourt, but no one can figure out Djokovic's game, on the dueling grounds or off of it."
"She said she wants to dethrone Iga."
"And why is it you care so much about Iga?" he asks. It's Karo's turn to flush now, the heat creeping up her neck and into her cheeks that have surely gone as red as a ripe tomato. "Don't you want to 'dethrone' her too? You want to win, I assume.”
"I-"
"You're a great duelist, Karolina," Casper says. "But you're not the only one skilled with a blade. And everyone's ambition in dueling is different. And, I apologize for saying this, but you must think very little of Iga if you believe losing one duel will affect her reputation, her skill, her title."
Karo tries to come up with something to say, but she's entirely speechless, just blinking slowly as if that will recalibrate her mind.
"I'm sorry," he adds suddenly, as if his own words are catching up to him slower than he says them. "I shouldn't have-"
"No," she interrupts. "You're right. But that doesn't change the fact that I won't let Aryna play Iga. If we both win our next duels, we'll play each other. And that's my spot in the final."
She beats Anastasia Pavlyuchenkova, a former finalist like Marketa, and sets herself up in the final four against Aryna.
Karo doesn't know why it bothers her so much, Aryna's strong desire to beat Iga. Maybe because it mirrors her own, a dark shadow of herself. The way Karo sees it, she wants to win and Aryna wants Iga to lose. And that makes all the difference.
As they're waiting to be called out onto the grounds, the clay ready for them, Karo finds that she's nervous. She hasn't really taken a moment to stop and think that she's so close to achieving the dream she's been grasping at for so long. She can win the French Open.
And then the crier shouts "Karolina Muchova!" and she walks out with her head held high.
Aryna follows her, and soon they're standing across from each other, the clay swirling in the air making putting everything into focus.
The first round is gritty, Aryna the toughest opponent Karo has ever faced. She's forced to be faster than she ever has before, ducking out of the way of powerful blows and catching Aryna off guard. The only way to beat her is to disrupt her rhythm, and with that strategy Karo is able to come out on top. As they regroup for the second round, she can feel the frustration radiating off of Aryna. She's the second best duelist in the world, maybe the best, and here she is falling short to a knight with nearly nothing to her name.
The second round is much like the first, but Aryna takes it, fueled by losing the first. They're dead even now.
Karo finds new heights in the third round, her blade practically dancing as she takes on the force that is Aryna. By all means, she shouldn't have any chance to win this, but Karolina Muchova refuses to lose.
At the very end of the greatest duel that Karo has ever been apart of, she disarms Aryna with the most beautiful clanging of swords she's ever heard, and the crowd cheers her name.
She's actually done it. She's into the final duel.
It doesn't feel real, even as she's shaking Aryna's hand and holding her arms up to the sky and thanking the crowd. This is the stuff of dreams, of visions that always seemed too far away to grasp.
Time between her duel against Aryna and her duel against the Princess of Clay doesn't exist. For Karo, it's like she's being sucked from one moment to the next, standing on the clay in victory and in the blink of an eye standing in anticipation.
The Princess' armor is all white with just a stripe of pink, somehow pristine even with the clay everywhere. The visor of her helmet is lowered, but Karo can see her striking blue eyes, hardened in determination.
The first round is awful and wonderful at the same time. Karo is enraptured by the Princess' skill, so much so that she can barely hold on. She thought Aryna was the toughest opponent she could face, but the Princess proves her wrong. She's graceful and powerful and technical all at the same time, pure perfection in every strike. Karo can't keep up.
She thinks of the scene that plays so often in her head, holding the trophy while the Princess vows that Karo will be her knight and hers alone. She can't give that up. Maybe it's impossible, but she has to try.
Against all the odds that are stacked against her, Karo finds the form that she had against Aryna and wins the second round, disrupting the Princess' rhythm to get the better of her. And Karo could be imagining it, but she could swear she sees something shift in the Princess' eyes. She looks impressed.
But in the end, it's the same story as always. The Princess of Clay finds a way, and her opponent only finds disappointment.
It hurts more than Karo thought it would. It hurts like hell.
Casper loses the final the next day to Djokovic, and he finds Karo afterwards. She sat down in the clay of the training courtyard after the trophy ceremony and hasn't moved since, perhaps hoping that it will just swallow her up like quicksand.
When she sees him, she just pats the clay next to her, and he sits down wordlessly.
"Was it bad?" she asks.
"Didn't even win a round," he sighs. "I really thought this was it."
Karo nods. "So did I."
They sit there for a moment, silently staring at the sea of clay that will never fully embrace them no matter how hard they try.
Then, something interrupts the vision. A figure in all white armor, holding a trophy.
The Princess of Clay.
Karo scrambles to get up, and Casper follows much more slowly. As the Princess comes into view, Karo realizes that her helmet is off. Her hair is cut short, ending just above her shoulders, and she has a nervous look on her face. But her eyes are the same, blue and piercing.
"Uh, hello," the Princess says, waving awkwardly. She looks down at the trophy in her hands as if realizing for the first time that it's there and goes bright red. "Casper, Karolina."
"Congratulations, Iga," Casper says warmly. Karo is still speechless.
"I'm sorry you lost," she offers. "I did just see Holger Rune asking everyone where you were, though."
Casper sighs, but Karo can see the ghost of a smile on his face. He nods to her, and then he walks back in the direction of the stadium, looking a little less downcast than he did before.
And that leaves Karo alone with the Princess.
"You were great yesterday," the Princess says. She shuffles to hide the trophy behind herself. "You deserved to win it, really."
"Oh, no," Karo says, waving her hand. "You did. You always do."
They both chuckle, maybe for a little too long.
"I wanted to ask you something," the Princess continues. "I... well, I don't really know how to say this. When you have a royal title, you need knights. Or, at least one. But I thought I could ignore that, that I could do it all alone and I didn't need anyone else. But then I saw you yesterday and-"
"Yes," Karo interrupts, forgetting manners and common courtesy and other stupid things like that. "I am yours to command, Princess."
And the Princess smiles, something so genuine and beautiful that it makes Karo's heart sing.
"Call me Iga."