The Lark of Albion: Chapter Three
Summary: The reader has never paid too much attention to the tournaments in Camelot before. However, when Sir Leon steps into the arena, she finds herself unable to look away.
Author's Note: This work is a sequel to Escaping the Palace and A New Friend. I hope you enjoy! -Lera 10/1/25
*A/N Revised as of 4/28/26*
The air was heavy and hot, pressing relentlessly into the young princess’ flushed skin. The surrounding crowd roared in the stands where the princess sat with her father, Morgana, and their shared maidservant, Guinivere. As the royal family, they sat in a shaded pavilion rather than being subjugated directly to the beating sun, but it did not spare the princess from the sweltering heat and screaming subjects. She fanned herself furiously, hoping for a reprieve from either one. The young woman had never felt much excitement surrounding tourney season. Truthfully, she felt it an overwhelming and violent affair, never one to relate to the bloodthirst displayed by the rest of Camelot. The first tournament of the season was always held at the height of summer, when the princess was far more interested in finding a shady part of her garden to relax in, or planning her dress for the Midsommer festival. Morgana seemed to fare a little better, she noticed as she glanced at the girl seated next to her. Her hair, dark and glossy, fell gracefully against the emerald satin of her dress, somehow missing the worst of the humidity. However, she too fanned herself desperately as she scanned the arena.
“I thought that Arthur would be starting off.” Morgana noted absentmindedly. “He usually does.”
“Hmm?” Asked the princess “Well then who is?”
“See for yourself.” Morgana smirked at the girl pointedly, tilting her chin towards the staging tent below. She followed her gaze, and hitched her breath abruptly. Tall and golden, Sir Leon stood steady, carefully placing a helmet over his soft curls.
“He certainly cuts a striking figure, doesn’t he?” Noted Gwen.
“I suppose so.” She shrugged, attempting to appear unaffected by Gwen’s statement.
“Oh please!” A laugh bubbled out of Morgana. “We’ve both seen the way you look at him, sister.”
“Lower your voice!” The princess hushed her, cheeks flushed not only from the heat.
“Don’t worry, I don’t think he can hear you from up here, Princess.” Gwen smiled, placing a comforting hand over the girl’s.
Letting herself relax a moment, the princess dared another glance at the man below. Gwen was right, he was quite statuesque. While some of the knights would pander to the crowd, attempting to gain favor with the audience, Sir Leon held himself more seriously. As if he were heading into battle rather than a tournament. While it had been a little over a month since her last encounter with the knight, she often found herself recounting the way he had so valiantly come to her rescue at the pub. To her shame, she also thought often of how his cheek had felt beneath her lips, how his skin flushed beneath her touch, the blue of his eyes nearly obscured by his blown pupils. Suddenly his eyes darted up to meet her own from across the arena. The princess almost looked away, embarrassed to have been caught looking, but she couldn’t seem to tear herself from his gaze. Instead, she offered a small smile. A silent good luck.
Their connection was broken when the first fight was suddenly announced with a bellow of horns and cheers from the crowd. Sir Leon would be fighting Sir Frederick of Quimper. Not nearly as tall as Sir Leon, his armour seemed to almost hang off of his wiry frame. Paired with a nervous shifting back and forth, and a snivelling voice, that ordered his manservant about, she had no doubt that Leon would make quick work of this first match.
The heat only grew as the afternoon stretched on, but the princess had barely touched the fruit and wine laid out to keep the royal family cool. Sir Leon had easily bested not only Sir Frederick of Quimper, but his next three competitors as well. Even the better matched men folded quickly to Sir Leon’s superior skill. Despite it all, she found her breath catching every time he stepped into the arena. While the rules stated that killing an opponent was strictly prohibited, accidents weren’t unheard of. The thought of Sir Leon being injured, or worse, made the princess’ stomach turn.
“For the next round!” The herald bellowed out as a page shuffled the knights’ plaques on the display. “Sir Leon of Camelot versus Sir Brom of Carhaix!” While the audience roared, the young woman suddenly felt as though she’d swallowed a stone. Sir Bron was a hulking beast of a man. Already he’d broken one knight’s arm, and if Gaius’ uncommon panic was to be taken seriously, likely shattered the ribs of another. Sir Leon was strong and quick, but Bron was at least a hand taller with shoulders twice the width of Leon’s. If he managed to pin Leon down, she didn’t want to think of the damage he could do.
The clang of metal against metal tore her from her worries. Bron had made the first strike. His swing was powerful, not enough to send Leon off his feet, but certainly strong enough for the princess to see him nearly lose his footing. Her breath caught in her throat, but Sir Leon took advantage of the misstep, pivoting swiftly to deliver a blow to Sir Bron’s knee with the hilt of his sword. The other knight roared in pain, and slammed his shoulder into the blonde man’s chest, knocking him to the ground. While he was stunned by the impact, Sir Bron swung his sword over his head with a powerful arc, bringing it straight towards Sir Leon’s head. At the last second, when she thought her heart would burst from fear, he rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding an impact that could be heard from across the arena and left a divot in the ground, several inches deep. With no hesitation, Leon struck back with just as much force, swords crashing together at a rate that made the princess’s ears ring with trepidation.
The fight continued on for what felt like hours in the same fashion. Although Sir Bron was significantly larger and stronger, Sir Leon was far more swift and quick minded than his opponent, carefully evading every attack. But the princess had been unable to relax as long as Sir Bron was in the arena. In a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, the contender struck Sir Leon’s wrist with the hilt of his sword, forcing the knight's own weapon out of his hand and spinning away from the both of them. A rapid punch to the chest forced him to the ground. As the knight struggled to breathe, the wind having been knocked out of him by the sheer force of the hit, sir Bron towered over him with a devilish grin as he readied his sword. Ice cold fear crept up the princess’ throat upon seeing the knight gasp for air, utterly defenseless on the ground.
‘Surely he doesn’t mean to strike him?” The image of Sir Leon being carried, limp and lifeless to Gaius’ medical tent flashed through the young woman’s mind. But his defenselessness allowed Sir Bron to relish the moment, looking up to the crowd and absorbing the bliss of his imminent victory. This moment of ignorance gave Sir Leon a small window of opportunity. In a flash, he swung a leg under Sir Bron’s feet, sending him plummeting to the ground. Before his back had even hit the dirt, Sir Leon had snatched the longsword out of his floundering hands. In a moment, he had him pinned, Sir Bron’s own sword pointed directly at his throat.
The crowd roared as Sir Leon was proclaimed the winner, and although the princess’ anxiety had been banished to the back of her mind, her heart was racing faster than ever, a wide smile plastered on her face as she cheered along with the rest. For a brief moment, Sir Leon’s eyes rose once again to meet her own. Her pulse pounded in her ears as the heat of his gaze caressed her skin. Again she was reminded of that night. How soft his lips had looked. How much she had wanted to-
“Next we have Sir Leon versus the Crown Prince Arthur, of Camelot!” The herald’s voice boomed, startling her from her foolish fantasies.
“Now this should be interesting.” Grinned Morgana. “I’ve yet to see Arthur ever beat Sir Leon during trainings.”
“We should give him some credit.” Gwen chimed in. “The Prince is a gifted warrior, surely he can hold his own against Sir Leon.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t be fair of me to bet against my own brother.” The princess smiled at the two girls. “But in this case…” She giggled as Morgana lightly slapped her hand.
“You are too hard on him, sister!” The dark haired girl laughed brightly.
“Morgana’s right, Princess.” Gwen chastised her, the edges of her mouth betraying a small smile, her syrupy eyes shining golden in the sunlight. “You should give him some credit, he’s been sparring with the knights for weeks!”
“Yes, yes.” She tutted back with a poorly hidden smile. “Of course I’ll be proud of him, I’m just not looking forward to all the boasting and dramatic retellings at the festival tonight if he does win!”
The girls were interrupted by the blaring of horns as the final match began. She could already see the tension wound tight in her brother’s shoulders. Although she was uncertain in his capability of beating Sir Leon in contest, she knew their father had likely put pressure on him regarding the importance of upholding his legacy as champion.
The two men circled with a painstakingly steady pace, it seemed neither wanted to be the first to strike the other. Arthur was the first to break, jabbing his sword toward Sir Leon’s chest. He easily parried the strike, twisting the Prince’s sword aside and slashing at his shield with equal force. Suddenly the tension snapped, and the two noblemen shed their chivalrous natures, the heat of combat revealing the competitiveness that lay beneath. Swords clashed and shields clobbered, flinging dust around the arena and into the stands. Those close to the front coughed and sputtered, their faces smeared with dirt and sweat. The princess couldn’t help but notice that the two were surprisingly well matched, the pressure to win propelling Arthur to be stronger and quicker than usual.
For only a moment, her brother’s eyes rose up to their father, no doubt looking for pride or reassurance where there was none. Only a cold indifference that dared him to be less than was expected. That was all it took for Sir Leon to have him. In an instant, Arthur was on his back as the knight slammed him with his shield. The princess found herself on her feet, chest tight, knuckles white against the stone railing. But Sir Leon didn’t raise his sword, not yet. ‘What is he doing?’ Her mind thundered. Arthur wasn’t losing another chance. Without wasting a second, he swung a leg under Sir Leon’s, knocked him unceremoniously to the ground, gripped the hilt of his sword and pointed it right at Sir Leon’s neck.
The crowd thundered as Prince Arthur, The Lion of Albion, the princess always found herself rolling her eyes at that title, was once again pronounced the tournament's champion. Only now did Uther’s eyes soften with pride for his son.
“See Princess!” A smile broke like daylight across Gwen’s beautiful face. “Arthur is much more skilled than you might think!”
“I must say, I am surprised.” Mused Morgana. “But I have to give it to you, Gwen, you had faith in him all along!”
“I suppose I may have misjudged him.” The princess smiled back at the two. But she couldn’t help but feel that something wasn’t quite right about her brother’s victory. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll try to congratulate him before he gets too insufferable about the whole thing.” Before either of the two girls could tell her otherwise, she capered down the steps towards the competitors' tents.
She soon saw her brother as he boasted to Merlin, who raised an eyebrow at her with inquisition. But she quickly passed him by, her excuse to Morgana and Gwen evaporating in the summer sun. Instead she found herself at a tent with the knights’ insignia painted on the front. Before she could talk any sense into herself, she rushed inside pulling the curtains closed behind her. Luckily, Sir Leon had only managed to remove his helmet, his blonde curls sticking to his skin in the heat.
“Princess!” Sir Leon’s eyes widened in shock. “What are you doing here?” Suddenly she felt the weight of impropriety upon her. What was she doing here? What gave her the right to be in Sir Leon’s tent?
“I’m so sorry, Sir Leon.” She stammered out. “I shouldn’t have bothered you. I’ll go now.” She started to turn, but before she was able, the knight was at her side. His hand ghosting over her shoulder.
“Wait.” His sky blue eyes met hers. “You just surprised me is all. You don’t need to leave.” His gaze dropped to the hand that still rested on the princess’s arm, and pulled back carefully, as if to avoid startling her. “But I must ask, why did you come? Is something the matter?” She was stopped short at his question. ‘I came because you let my brother win! Because it should have been you who was crowned champion!’ Her mind clambered relentlessly.
“I came because I needed to ask you something.” He nodded, gently urging her to continue. “Did you let Arthur defeat you in the arena?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she could see that this wasn’t what he’d been expecting. His perfect lips dropped open as he struggled to find a response.
“I saw you hesitate.” She interrupted. “When he was on the ground, you could have had him right there but you stopped. Why?” Her eyes pleaded with his for an answer. He almost denied it again, his mouth parting before closing with defeat. His eyes met hers unequivocally.
“I couldn’t bear for him to be shamed in front of the whole kingdom.” Sir Leon sighed. “Everyone expects him to be the champion, I could never take that from him.”
“Why not?” She asked without hesitation, unknowingly stepping closer.
“You’re certainly asking a lot of questions today, Princess.” Sir Leon huffed as a hint of a smile broke through his seemingly neverending stoicism. Suddenly she felt raw and open to his interpretations. Her cheeks flushed rosy with embarrassment and heat.
“I just-” She hesitated. “I knew you’d done it on purpose. But I don’t understand, do you not want to be the champion?” She gazed up at him inquisitively. His eyes broke away and he took a pause before answering.
“I’ve never cared much for tournaments.” He admitted. “I only compete because it’s expected of all the knights, but it matters not to me whether I win or lose.” He took a breath, choosing his next words carefully. “It’s different for your brother. He has the weight of the entire kingdom on his shoulders. I feel a responsibility to ease that weight.” His gaze captured hers once again. “Which is why I know you won’t tell him of this.” He said solemnly.
“Of course not.” She said breathlessly. “I just-” ‘Should I say it?’ She asked herself. “I just wanted to understand you better, Sir Leon.” A smile crept across his golden features.
“So far you’re the only one who noticed anything amiss, Princess, surely that means you understand me better than most.” Now it was her turn to feel interrogated. But before she could respond- “You should get back to your family, I’m sure they’ll be missing you soon.” Although he was telling her to leave, his eyes were glued to hers. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a tiny muscle twitch in his neck. Suddenly she was pulled back to that moment in the corridor, where it had almost seemed as if-
“Of course.” She reluctantly dragged herself back to reality. “And I am sorry for bothering you.” She blushed, embarrassed again for intruding on him in such a way.
“You could never bother me, Princess.” He said with an honesty that nearly stopped her heart. Forcing it to beat again, she gave a small smile before turning to the tent flaps. But before she could even reach out her hand, Sir Leon was at her side again. His tall figure, a solid heat beside her.
“I should check first.” Now he was the one blushing. “We don’t want anyone seeing you leave here alone.”
“Of course.” She berated herself for her foolishness as she tried not to imagine the stories people might tell if they saw. “Good thinking.” She nodded, as he glanced outside.
“There’s no one around, they must all be preparing for the festival.” Said Sir Leon.
“Will I see you later?” She asked him. “At the festival, I mean.” She corrected herself quickly.
“Of course you will.” He smiled at her softly. “Whenever you might need me.” His eyes landed briefly on her lips before quickly darting back to meet her gaze. And before the Princess could talk herself into anything more improper than what she’d already done, she darted out into the sunlight, and back to the prosaic predictability of the castle walls.
