There was a sly smugness in the queen’s eyes as she looked suddenly downward toward her opponent’s stomach. Beowulf followed her gaze, looking down to where the queen’s free hand held a dagger, the tip gently pressed against Beowulf’s tunic just below her sternum. Beowulf felt her mouth open slightly in surprise as she looked down at the blade. She hadn’t even seen Hygd draw it before she fell, let alone felt the tip of it when she dropped on top of her.

Beowulf stared at the blade for a moment as surprise turned to amusement. She could feel the warmth in her chest tingling all the way down to her fingertips as she burst into laughter. Hygd joined her, the tension of the match seeping out of them as they laughed, before Beowulf stood and offered a hand to the queen. Once she was pulled to her feet, Hygd placed a hand on Beowulf’s shoulder to steady herself, her laughter subsiding slightly as the two of them looked at each other.

The air seemed to grow strained between them, and Beowulf felt the need to speak, to say something, but not a single word her mind provided seemed suitable. One of the queen’s hands still rested on her shoulder, the other clasped her forearm, her touch light. Their eyes had locked, and the captivating sea blue of Hygd’s irises was the only thing that kept Beowulf’s gaze from straying to the queen’s lips, where a small smile still lingered. The warrior stood frozen as the moment dragged out, until Hygd finally gave a nervous laugh and turned her gaze earthward.

Beowulf could only stand like a statue, her mind still scrabbling for words as she tried to ignore what she felt, like a lightning bolt had just struck her. Hygd disentangled herself, and even in the dim firelight Beowulf could see an unmistakable flush coloring her cheeks as she walked to retrieve her sword. By the time she brushed the soft sand from the blade, Beowulf finally managed to speak, her smile evident in her voice.

“My queen, I regret I must inform you that your talents are thoroughly wasted on weaving.”