Married To Darkness
Chapter 301: The Almost Win

Chapter 301: The Almost Win

Not everyone clung to tradition, and some were eager to see how the princess would fare against seasoned male riders.

The race marshal stepped forward, holding a bright red flag high.

The horses pawed at the ground, riders tightening their grips, eyes locked ahead.

"On my mark!" The tension thickened.

"Three..." The horses stirred.

"Two..." Abigail leaned forward slightly, fingers gripping her reins.

"One..."

The flag dropped, and with a mighty roar from the crowd—the race began.

Hooves thundered against the earth as the horses surged forward, kicking up dust in their wake.

The competitors leaned low, urging their steeds onward, while the spectators leapt to their feet, shouting encouragement and placing last-minute bets.

And in the midst of it all, Princess Abigail rode like a storm—unyielding, unafraid.

The race had begun.

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The thunder of hooves shook the earth beneath them, the pounding rhythm echoing like war drums as the racers sped down the track.

The announcer’s voice rose over the roar of the crowd, breathless with excitement.

"And they’re off! The racers charge forward—Lord Fenton leads, followed by Sir Oswald, and—by the gods!—there she is! Princess Abigail holds strong!"

The crowd erupted in cheers, some shouting for their favored contestants, others marveling at Abigail’s boldness.

The banners of noble families fluttered in the wind as spectators leaned forward in their seats, eager for the unfolding spectacle.

The riders pressed forward with ferocious determination, their steeds kicking up dust that clouded the air.

Some of the younger noblewomen gasped, shielding their faces with delicate handkerchiefs, while the working-class spectators shouted in exhilaration, completely lost in the thrill of the race.

From her seat in the royal box, Salviana found herself gripping the edge of her gown, her heart racing alongside the riders.

"She’s holding her ground," she murmured, eyes locked on Abigail, who was hunched low over her stallion, her braid whipping behind her.

Alaric, standing beside her, smirked. "You doubted her?"

"Not at all," Salviana said with a small, pleased smile.

The racers rounded the first bend, and as expected, the real competition began.

The race was brutal—not the polite, noble affair one might expect. The turns were sharp, the pace relentless, and the riders fought fiercely for position.

One racer, a knight in golden armor, miscalculated a turn and lost control.

His horse stumbled, rearing up with a distressed whinny, and in the next second—he was down.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd as he tumbled off his mount, hitting the ground hard.

The unfortunate knight groaned in pain, but before the other riders could trample him, he rolled aside just in time.

The race did not stop. There was no mercy.

"A brutal fall! Sir Oswald is down! The medics are moving in!" the announcer cried, gesturing to the guards who rushed onto the track to assist the fallen knight.

Meanwhile, Abigail had fallen behind.

The aggressive surge of the other competitors had forced her into a difficult position, boxed in by riders eager to push her out of the race.

"She’s slipping!" a nobleman muttered from the stands.

"Ah, such a pity. A woman shouldn’t have entered to begin with."

Salviana clenched her fists. "Come on, Abigail," she whispered.

And then—it happened.

Abigail kicked her heels hard into her stallion’s sides, and he surged forward with renewed power.

With the finesse of an experienced rider, she swerved to the outside of the track, avoiding the congestion of racers blocking her path.

"Princess Abigail is making her move!" the announcer shouted, his excitement reaching a fever pitch.

The crowd roared as she overtook rider after rider, her stallion’s hooves pounding like a drum of war.

Alaric let out a small, impressed laugh. "She’s reckless."

Salviana grinned, gripping his arm. "She’s brilliant."

With fierce determination, Abigail pushed ahead, inching closer to the lead racer—a young nobleman named Carlie Ejhip.

Carlie was an exceptional rider, his form nearly perfect, his focus unwavering.

The son of an influential lord, he had spent years training for events like this, and it showed in the way he maintained his speed even through the difficult terrain.

But Abigail was gaining on him.

"Final stretch!" the announcer bellowed. "Princess Abigail is right behind Lord Ejhip! It’s going to be a close finish!"

The two riders surged forward, their horses neck and neck, nostrils flaring, muscles flexing with the effort.

For a moment, it seemed as if Abigail might take the lead—but Carlie pushed forward at the last second, his horse stretching across the finish line just ahead of hers.

A deafening roar erupted from the crowd. Some cheered wildly, others groaned in disappointment, and many clapped in admiration for both racers.

"A spectacular finish!" the announcer declared. "The winner of the Royal Derby—Lord Carlie Ejhip! And a breathtaking second place—Princess Abigail of Velthorne!"

Salviana let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Despite the loss, she was beaming.

Abigail pulled back on the reins, slowing her stallion, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath.

Though she had come second, there was no disappointment on her face.

Instead, her green eyes locked onto Carlie’s with a competitive fire.

Carlie, dismounting with a satisfied grin, walked over to her. "You ride like a tempest, Princess," he said, offering a hand to help her down.

Abigail regarded him for a moment, then smirked and swung down from her horse without his help.

"Next time," she said simply, brushing dirt off her sleeve. "I’ll win."

Carlie chuckled. "I look forward to it."

Salviana’s Joy & The Next Game Approaching

Watching from above, Salviana turned to Alaric with a triumphant smile. "She almost had him."

"She’ll have another chance," Alaric said, arms crossed. "And knowing Abigail, she’ll be twice as determined now."

The announcer’s voice rang out again.

"An incredible start to the games! And now, honored guests, we prepare for our next great event! Stay seated, for the excitement has only just begun!"

As the servants rushed to clear the race track, the nobles buzzed with discussion, some debating Abigail’s skill, others praising Carlie’s victory.

The day was far from over—there were more games to be played, more battles of skill and strategy to unfold.

And deep down, Salviana couldn’t help but feel thrilled.

This was shaping up to be a birthday celebration unlike any other.

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