Married To Darkness
Chapter 303: The Jousting Tournament—A Fierce Battle

Chapter 303: 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."

Warren shot him a glare before turning to the maid. "Take her to Lady Salviana," he ordered. His voice was gentle but firm. "She’ll calm her."

The maid nodded quickly and carried the wailing child away, her tiny sobs fading into the distance.

Warren inhaled sharply, steadying himself. This was a tournament.

A duty. He couldn’t let emotions interfere.

But the image of his daughter’s teary eyes lingered.

A moment later, the trumpets blared again.

The announcer’s voice thundered over the field:

"Let the warriors take their places! The jousting tournament is about to begin!"

Jaron exhaled dramatically. "Finally." He adjusted his helmet, flashing a cocky smirk. "Ready to lose, dear brother?"

Warren, rolling his shoulders, mounted his horse with practiced ease. His grip tightened around the lance.

"I don’t plan on losing."

With that, the two princes rode toward the jousting field, the crowd roaring in excitement.

And as Warren steeled himself for battle, he pushed away the image of his crying daughter—knowing he would win this, for her.

It was time.

The moment the trumpets blared, the jousting tournament erupted into a spectacle of dust, steel, and sheer force.

Knights thundered down the field on their powerful steeds, their lances aimed like deadly arrows.

The crowd cheered and gasped as the jousters clashed, the brutal force of each strike sending men flying off their horses.

Armor dented. Splinters flew. The ground trembled with the weight of fallen warriors.

Some knights barely had time to recover before being dragged off the field by squires.

Others lay motionless, groaning from the impact of their falls.

The tournament was no mere game—it was a battle of endurance and strength, a test of true warriors.

One by one, the competitors fell.

Some knights crashed into the dirt with brutal force, their horses rearing wildly.

The more skilled ones managed to stay mounted but struggled under the weight of their injuries.

The crowd was on edge, watching as each lance shattered against shields and armor, sending echoes of impact across the tournament grounds.

Then, at last, it came down to two riders.

The Final Duel—Prince Jaron Velthorne vs. Prince Warren Velthorne.

The field was in chaos—dust and sweat mixed with the scent of churned-up earth. But amidst the wreckage, two warriors remained on horseback.

The announcer’s voice rang out:

"And now, the final match of the jousting tournament! Prince Jaron versus Prince Warren! The battle of the brothers!"

The crowd erupted into cheers. Some were calling out for Jaron, charmed by his confidence. Others roared for Warren, their faith placed in his quiet but formidable strength.

The two brothers stared each other down across the field.

Jaron smirked. "I knew it would come down to us." He adjusted his grip on his lance, rolling his shoulders. "Try not to cry when I knock you off your horse."

Warren said nothing. He simply lowered his visor and adjusted his hold.

A moment of tense silence settled over the field.

Then—

The trumpets blared.

And both princes surged forward.

Their horses charged at full speed, their armored bodies colliding with the wind.

The sound of hooves pounded like war drums, a relentless rhythm of impending collision.

Jaron aimed first—his lance poised, sharp and confident.

Warren waited.

He timed it perfectly.

At the last second, Warren tilted his body just right, shifting his weight, avoiding Jaron’s strike—

Then he struck.

His lance slammed into Jaron’s chest plate with brutal force.

The impact was devastating.

Jaron’s body jolted back. His fingers grasped at nothing. And then—he fell.

The crowd erupted in gasps and cheers as Jaron’s body hit the ground, the breath knocked clean out of him.

Dust rose around his fallen form. His helmet rolled a few inches away.

For a brief moment, silence.

Then—

"The winner! Prince Warren!"

The crowd exploded. Cheers, applause, and shouts of admiration filled the air.

Warren sat tall on his horse, his chest rising and falling steadily.

His victory was not just a triumph of skill—it was a testament to patience, discipline, and control.

Jaron groaned from the ground, then laughed breathlessly. "Damn," he muttered, rubbing his ribs. "I’ll feel that in the morning."

Warren rode forward and extended a hand. Jaron hesitated, then took it, letting his brother pull him up.

"Didn’t think you had it in you," Jaron admitted, brushing dirt from his armor.

Warren smirked faintly. "You never pay attention."

The crowd continued cheering as the brothers exited the field.

But among them, one small pair of eyes had stopped crying and now watched with pride.

Little Rose clapped her tiny hands, her earlier distress forgotten.

Her father had won.

"You must be excited little Rose," Salviana purred playing with Roses fingers, Rose giggled while Lucius grumbled. "I believe se he barely understands what’s happening,"

"Maybe but she knows her father is happy," Jean replied him instead making him raise a brow in agreement.

"And where is Benedict going?" Alaric frowned, the little Prince was leaving the crowd and though they were knights he didn’t believe it was safe.

Salviana glanced at her husband surprised, "You are watching him?" She asked.

With his gaze still hkued across the field he watched the redhaired kid going, "I watch everyone, fiery wife," he said

She smiled, "Ok, go...go"

They needed to look out for each other as dangers could be lurking.

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