The King's Games

11. Lausatök

I knew it. I think I'd known it all along. That if I made it far enough in the competition, eventually I'd be squaring off against him.

Östen Sundt stood before me. He had an unnerving glint in his eyes, reminding me of when the light would catch a sharp blade just right. I'd approached him, walking to the center of the ring when Dekan Lindström called my name. Östen had been smirking, and when I reached him, he licked his lips.

With the controversy over the last game, when Östen had broken Isak's leg, today's match had drawn a larger crowd, and more alarmingly, we even had a special guest.

Konstantin Black, decked out in an ebony uniform, sat beside the judges. He would be the final say on any divisive rulings today, Dekan Lindström had explained. It made sense, since the winner would be squiring him.

All through the first match, between Edvin and Jakob, my gaze kept going back to Konstantin. Watching him watch them. I was fascinated by his every movement, and the handsome contours of his face.

But the second I stepped into the ring, I pushed him from my thoughts. I couldn't think about Konstantin Black, and I wouldn't. Not if I wanted to win this fight.

It was cold today, colder than it had been all week, and Tilda sat huddled in the stands with a thick sweatshirt on. But I felt hot somehow, like there was a heat radiating from inside me, burning my skin.

All my muscles felt alive, twitching just beneath the surface. My heart thudded slow but certain. For once, my stomach felt calm and even. I was ready to show Östen and everyone else what I was made of.

I was ready for this.

"The judges and I consulted long and hard last night," Dekan Lindström began. "We've concluded that despite Östen Sundt's aggressive behavior in the last round, he has committed no punishable offense."

Lindström glanced over at me then, a subtle apology in his eyes, but he needn't give one. I trusted him to be fair and impartial, and in truth, I wouldn't have disqualified Östen either.

"As such, Östen will be competing in this round against Bryn Aven," Lindström continued, and the spectators in the bleachers applauded. Not for me, of course, but for Östen's reinstatement.

Östen turned to his crowd, pumping his fists in the air and really playing it up. I groaned and rolled my eyes.

"Now," Lindström said, commanding everyone's attention again. "Before we begin the match, I want to go over the ground rules for the Lausatök, and it's imperative that you both follow them to the T." He said it to both of us, but his gaze lingered on Östen.

"Yes, sir, absolutely," Östen replied, and stood up tall and straight, like a soldier.

"No biting, no hair pulling, no hitting below the belt," Lindström began listing all the things we could not do. "If you're opponent taps, the fight is done - instantly. Do no try to break each other's bone. If one person yields, stop. If someone is knocked unconscious, the fight is over. If you even touch your opponent after they're knocked out, you will be disqualified."

Lindström continued speaking, going down all the rules for the Lausatök, but my eyes were fixed on Östen, and his were on me.

In his dark brown eyes, I could only see the contempt, the disdain, the belief that I was lesser than him. He thought he could beat me, and I knew that he probably could. He could do it because he was older, stronger, and had been practicing longer.

But that's not why Östen believed he could beat me. It was because when he looked at me, he just saw a stupid kid. A weak girl. A useless half-breed.