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The dirt tastes like iron and failure, William thinks, his cheek pressed against the grit of the arena floor. Above him, Count Adhemar stands like a monument to arrogance. With a sneering flick of his wrist, Adhemar’s lance has sent William’s helmet spinning across the dirt, leaving him exposed and gasping. The impact has left William’s head ringing, his blood pressure spiking in a frantic, rhythmic thrum against his eardrums.
William rolls onto his back, spitting a glob of blood into the dust. “I’ll have your head for this,” he wheezes, the vow tasting of copper.
Adhemar doesn't even look down at him with pity; only a cold, clinical disdain. He leans in, his voice a silk ribbon of cruelty. “You have been weighed, you have been measured, and you have been found wanting.”
The words should sting, but instead, they ignite a searing heat in William’s gut. He watches Adhemar stride away, the tight leather of the Count's breeches hugging a form that is far too distracting for a man who just humiliated him.
Hours later, the banquet hall of Gelderland is a roar of candlelight and roasting meats. William feels out of place in his finery until Kate slides beside him, her hand firm on his shoulder. “Feet, Will. It’s all in the feet,” she whispers, guiding him through the rhythmic complexities of the dance, turning his clumsy steps into something fluid.
Across the room, Jocelyn watches with a soft smile, but William’s eyes are locked on Adhemar. The Count is sipping wine, his expression one of bored superiority, until he catches William’s gaze. Adhemar sneers, stepping forward to deliver another verbal blow, intending to humiliate the squire in front of the court.
But William doesn’t flinch. He moves. He catches the beat of the lutes and drums, spinning into a blur of sensational motion. He dances with a raw, kinetic energy that stuns the room into silence, his body a coiled spring of ambition. As the music reaches a crescendo, William doesn't reach for Jocelyn. Instead, he lunges forward, grabbing Adhemar by the waist and hauling him violently into the dance. Adhemar gasps, his chest colliding with William’s. The sudden proximity is electric; William can feel the heat radiating through Adhemar's silk tunic, a warmth that seems to penetrate every body cavity with a sudden, piercing intensity.
William spins him, leaning in close enough to smell the expensive musk and sweat on the Count's neck. “Found wanting, Adhemar?” William whispers, his voice a low growl. “I think you’re just beginning to realize who’s actually winning.”