[center][img=http://i62.tinypic.com/dbhx7k.jpg]
Guinevere twirled the ends of her long blonde hair around her palm absentmindedly. Her father eyed her grumpily from his reserved seat resting high above the dusty, trodden jousting floor. After much yelling and protest, Guinevere had been bullied into attending the Easter tournament. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy jousting, it was the lusty knights that annoyed the young princess. Her father had her dressed in a cornflower blue evening dress with a leather corset wrapped tightly around her small waist. It definitely did its job of showing off her shapely figure, but Gwen just rolled her eyes at the onslaught of caterwauls. A small breeze blew through the air, and the colorful banners whined in protest as they held tightly to their wooden poles. The flowers braided into her thick mane stayed secure, and she yawned slightly as the first two knights took their stances. Guinevere sighed and straightened her shoulders obediently, as if reading her flustered father's mind, while the steeds' hooves galloped forward at full speed. The lances met awkwardly at a diagonal angle, but still crashed loudly throughout the enclosed arena. The crowd cheered or booed depending on their prior bets with the meandering vultures lurking behind at the fence lines.

Gwen was unimpressed by the victor as he strode into his tent smugly. [i]He can't even hold his lance straight.[/i] She kept her thoughts to herself, but the furrow in her brow made it obvious she was scrutinizing something or someone. A handmaiden cautiously approached the girl and offered a small glass of wine accompanied by a soft piece of bread. Guinevere motioned her away, but smiled appreciatively as she stood to her feet. She climbed the few rows to her father's chair and bowed slightly before addressing him. He kept his gaze locked firmly on the arena floor, although the only thing of interest was the stable boys rushing to retrieve the broken lance shards. He was clearly still upset at her attitude. Both father and daughter were quite the stubborn royals.

"Father, I wish to watch from the lower levels."

This statement caught King Leodegrance's attention and he turned his stern face towards his only daughter. His hair was blonde like hers but was streaked with long white strands to show his age. His face was tan and wrinkled from years of laughter and worry. His golden eyes looked curiously into his daughter's, and his lips narrowed into a frown.

"Guinevere, you are to stay here where the people can admire you."

With that short statement, he turned his head back towards the jousting tournament. The muscles in Gwen's face tensed with fury and her fists balled at her sides. Her father's guards stepped forward, ready to reprimand the girl, but she held up her hand to halt their advances. She took a deep breath and blew it through her nose before speaking once more.

"Admiration is not what I desire. I agreed to come here, but I will not agree to your foolish demands. If you send someone for me, I will only shame you further."

She hissed the words through clenched teeth as she turned on her heels and stomped away furiously. The King brought his hands to his face and shook his head wearily. A guard placed his hand gently on the King's shoulder and voiced what the others were thinking aloud.

"She doesn't mean it, sire."

King Leodegrance wiped his palms down his cheeks and smiled faintly.

"She means every word. She is most assuredly her mother's child."

---

Gwen slid her hand along the railing that separated her from the action taking place on the jousting floor. She tried her best to ignore the whispers and shock from the peasants as she passed by. They bowed, but she shook her head disapprovingly. Gwen had never quite embraced her life as a princess and still felt uncomfortable with the thought of being valued above everyone else. She hurried along the lower levels until she made her way into an open area that lingered with the smells of delicious foods and drinks. Gwen gathered her dress in one hand and slipped off her pointy shoes. She wriggled her bare feet in the dust and smiled sweetly before trudging along towards the welcoming smell of a feast.[/center]