WWE: Bayley and the Crown Princess (Part 2) (Patreon)

In her dressing room, Bayley awoke slowly. She stretched, bounced on her toes to get the circulation back, and shook herself out. She must have really needed a nap, because she had been deeply asleep and now felt refreshed. The jet lag must have snuck up on her!

Remembering she had a match soon, she got excited; she always did, but now more than usual. This wasn’t just another match, this was epic both in terms of her own career and in wrestling history. A match with royalty was unheard of and beyond that her victory would change who held the reins in the women’s division. In one night, she would make the world news and save women’s wrestling for good.

As long as she won.

She stretched, warmed up, then did some drills to get herself loose. When it was time for her match, she was ready. An attendant came to her, led her to where she’d be entering the ring, and as she walked down a dark tunnel towards a cheering crowd and colorful lights, her heart was skipping with anticipation.

But something in the back of her mind nagged her. It had been present in her dressing room, a faint tingle of fear, a dread she couldn’t put her finger on. Even as she walked to her cue point, where she would wait until her entrance, the feeling grew. She’d never felt that before a match.

When her bouncy entrance music played, she shook off those thoughts and skipped out into the lights.

The arena was massive and a large ramp had been built that led past the seats, straight down to the ring. Her usual inflatables, the same kind one would see outside a car dealership, waved merrily, although to her surprise they were decorated in red, white, and blue. The LED screen behind her shone her name in big letters with the American flag as the backdrop. It was different, she’d never had a patriotic theme before, but she shrugged and went with it.

Wearing a big grin of genuine happiness, Bayley danced her way to the ring, waving to the crowd. She had the figure to put on a sultry strut if she wanted, but her style was exuberance and cheer, waving gaily, and bouncing. Playing to the audience, she looked as many people in the face as she could, smiling, trying to spread her excitement.

The Saudi crowd didn’t reciprocate. There were cheers and applause, but there were also boos and glares.

Unbeknownst to her, at a ringside table two announcers were calling the match to their all-Saudi audience.

“And so enters the American champion, grinning mockingly, taunting the audience,” the first announcer said, “We can already see the tone she is trying to set for this match. I’ve heard she plans to brutalize the princess tonight, to show what she truly thinks of the Kingdom and its people.”

“As arrogant and loud as any American,” the second agreed, “She expects an easy victory tonight, to defeat our princess with brute strength. That’s the way of their wrestling.”

Bayley didn’t let the crowd get to her, continuing to wave and skip her way down to the ring. She had dealt with unfriendly crowds a number of times and was certain she could win them over. And if she didn’t, it didn’t matter as long as she won the match.

Yet still, that unsettling fear continued to grow.

Reaching the ring apron, she grabbed the top rope and vaulted over it. She landed on the canvas with her arms spread wide, beaming at the crowd, like an Olympic gymnast.

“Showing off now,” the first commentator said, “Showing no respect for this crowd or our nation.”

“What do you expect?” the second added, “She proudly represents a country with no respect for any culture or tradition other than their own empire. I hope the royal princess can at the very least teach her some humility this night.”

“I don’t know if that will be,” the first replied, “The odds are strongly in favor of the bombastic American. Our princess will have to truly have Allah’s favor to be victorious. It is inshallah.”

“Inshallah,” the second agreed.

Bayley circled the ring in her usual fashion, holding up her hands as if to high five the audience, doing her best to maintain her cheery grin. But despite her efforts, her smile grew wooden, her waving half-hearted. She made her way to her corner, bouncing on her toes to stay warm, but found herself waiting for her entrance music to end, wishing it would be sooner rather than later.

It was a strange situation. She’d wrestled here before and hadn’t had such a cool reception. It was also customary for the champion to be the last to do their entrance, but not this time. Both of these factors were probably due to her wrestling the princess; maybe that’s why she felt off.

Her theme music finally stopped and the bright lights went out. Almost instantly, the arena was dark and silent.

Bayley chewed on her bottom lip. She’d never heard a wrestling audience be so quiet before. Even after one entrance ended and the next was setup, the crowd usually continued whistling and cheering, waving their signs. Now it was like the ringing silence before an orchestra began its opening overture. It made her decidedly nervous.

No, it wasn’t the sudden silence that bothered her. That worried feeling was continuing to grow, becoming palpable, and she couldn’t ignore it anymore. It was an impending sense of doom, of complete ruin.

If she won this match, it would change everything. If she won, none of the rest of this would matter. She would do something no wrestler had ever done before; this would be the highlight of her career, maybe even her life. If she won.

But what if she lost?

The prelude to the princess’s arrival was a royal trumpet, blaring a single note across the arena. It was a real trumpet, not a recording, coming from the opposite ramp from where Bayley had entered. The call went out, almost like it preceded a cavalry charge, the sole sound in the entire building.

Just as it seemed like the trumpet could linger no more, an entire orchestra joined in. Other trumpets sang out triumphantly, drums thundered, while lighter flutes and strings created an epic chorus. It wasn’t a jaunty tune mixed in a music studio like Bayley’s, the princess’s theme was a composition, powerful and emotive.

The crowd, restless and silent before, now erupted. They stood and cheered, pumping their fists, applauding, crying out wordlessly or yelling things in Arabic, sounding excited to the point of anger.

Bayley’s eyebrows raised towards her hairline. She’d dealt with subdued audiences before and due to their lukewarm reaction to her entrance, she’d expected this would just be a quiet group. Now, in a split second, they’d gone from austere and judging, to almost foaming at the mouth.

Then the princess stepped out from a red curtain, her chin held high. It was too far away for Bayley to make out her face, but there was no doubt who it was. She was dressed in a golden robe, lined with so many sequins that when they caught the light it looked like she was covered in tiny flash bulbs. The robe was open, revealing the shining, golden bustier and leggings she wore beneath, and as she marched down the ramp, the tail of the robe ragged behind her for several feet, lined with tassels. Servant girls and bodyguards followed her on either side, but she was so resplendent, swaying her hips with such command, they might as well not even have been there. All eyes were on her.

The crowd went even more wild. Many bowed or knelt, others cried her name or held up signs.

“Now that is an entrance!” the first commentator called over the cheers, “Tasteful, elegant, and powerful!”

“Such a refreshing change after the American!” the second agreed, “And you can hear it in the voice of the people! The American champion may have her brute strength and animal skill, but the princess has an entire nation behind her! Anything can happen tonight!”

The sight made Bayley gape, her heart dropping through her stomach. All the fear that had been nagging her suddenly solidified and stood before her, making her knees weak. She knew why she was afraid.

This wasn’t just another wrestler she was taking on; this was a true princess. Everything about her was tacky, cheap, and juvenile compared to this woman. She was nothing compared to someone chosen like her. How could she possibly have thought she could even stand in the same ring as Princess Basmah? There was no way she could win this!

Bayley stared, her mouth hanging open, but when she heard her own thoughts, she blinked and shook her head.

What?! What the hell was that?! Where had that come from?!

Curling her lip in disgust at the track of her own mind, the young champion shook her head again, flicking her ponytail around.

So what if Basmah was a princess?! That didn’t mean a thing in the wrestling ring! Bayley had beaten true monsters of the women’s division and she was afraid of someone’s title?! Had she suddenly gone nuts?!

Bayley smacked the side of her head, as if to knock those thoughts out her ear, then began bouncing on her toes again.

Basmah might have money, a royal title, an army and whatever else, but they wouldn’t be with her in the ring. This was her country, but she was stepping into Bayley’s world. In the end, she was nothing but a spoiled brat of the highest order and she was about to learn why money couldn’t buy you a world championship.

Calling on her old confidence, she forced away the crazy doubts. She put a mischievous grin on her face, reminding herself she was eager for this match to begin, that it was going to be the greatest night of her life. It was going to be fun and she was going to kick butt! The only things that were going to happen tonight was she was going to win 175 million dollars and teach a world class bully some manners. That’s all. Other than that, just another day at the office.

That’s what she told herself. But as the princess advanced towards the ring, that little twinge of fear remained, festering in the back of her mind.

Basmah strutted down to the ring, basking in the cheers of the crowd with haughty aloofness. She never looked anyone in the eye, accepting the adulation as her due, grinning with tart self-satisfaction. Unlike Bayley, who performed to please her audience, Basmah knew the audience was there to please her. It was all for her and she made that clear with each proud, sashaying step.

Before the princess reached the ring apron, half a dozen servants in her procession hurried ahead of her. Two of them jumped up onto the ring while the rest carried a small set of golden steps, setting them against the side. It was all set up so that her highness had only to march up the steps to enter the ring, which she did without even breaking stride. Once she was on the apron, the other two servants pushed gripped the ropes, pushing the top one up and the middle down, so she could enter the ring without bowing her head.

“Instead of a boastful flourish, the princess enters the ring with dignity and grace,” the first commentator gushed, “This is not something you would see in an American wrestling ring.”

“Indeed, I’m sensing anger from the American champion!” the second added, “Look at her! Who does this princess think she is, she says! Does she not realize I am the champion and she is upstaging me?!”

Bayley put her hands on her hips, looking the Saudi princess up and down, raising her eyebrows. Now that she saw her royal opponent up close, she could tell Basmah was in pretty good shape but also that there was nothing fake about her golden outfit. The cups of her bustier were rounded plates of real gold, as were the two rows of metal segments that ran down the stomach like ab muscles. The leggings, riding low on sensual hips, glittered with gold dust, lined with silver writing in Arabic.

Bayley squinted at the sequins on the princess’s robe. Were those actual diamonds?!

Basmah gave her opponent a wry smirk, as if knowing exactly what the girl was thinking, then turned to face her audience. Raising her hand, she graced them with a single royal wave, rewarding them for their loyalty.

The crowd only cheered louder.

“The beautiful princess of a proud little nation,” the first commentator remarked, “Against the champion of a gaudy, fat empire! Is there anything more dramatic?”

“I think not,” the second said, “Tonight shall surely be a match for the ages, the results heard around the world!”

As Basmah turned back to face Bayley, her triumphant theme finally ended the way it began, with the single note of a trumpet. After that, all that was left was the roaring of the crowd.

The princess held out her arms and two of her servants came forward to draw the robe off her shoulders. While they did, she lowered her chin, grinning at her opponent through lidded eyes.

“Are you prepared, Bayley?” she asked.

Bayley nodded back, still bouncing on her toes. She wore an easy, good-natured smile, but she lowered her eyelids as well, returning the predatory look.

“I’m ready to rock, your highness,” she replied, “How about you?”

The servants finished removing the robe and quickly retreated, folding the expensive garment as they threaded their way through the ropes and out of the ring.

“I am always prepared,” the princess replied, resting her hands on her hips, “And it is well that you are ready. I want you at your strongest when I crush you.”

She laughed lightly at this, the sound a well-practiced, tinkling little bell, her teeth as white as pearls. The bustier cupped a healthy, olive bosom and left surprisingly toned shoulders bare, coming just short reaching her waist, leaving a small stretch of hips and tummy exposed. Her dark hair was held back in an elaborate bun, as glossy as the oil that made her family as rich as gods, even her skin shining as if freshly polished.

As beautiful as money could buy. Once again, Bayley had to fight to keep from rolling her eyes.

“It could go down that way,” the champion paused to grin smugly, “but… probably not, your highness.”

While the pair faced each other across the ring, the cheering of the arena faded to a low murmur. People still whistled, occasionally letting out ululating cries, but the general roar grew fainter. The match was about to begin.

Basmah’s grin broadened. Her eyes dragged up and down Bayley’s athletic body once more, unabashedly covetous and eager.

“You shall see,” her grin grew thin and cruel, “If there is something I want, it is predestined that I shall have it. It is always mine; it simply awaits my pleasure in taking it.”

That was a step too far for Bayley. She was aware of the power the other woman had, but she could only humor her so much. It was time to teach this creepy royal brat some manners.

She shrugged, “Then I hope you want an ass kicking, princess. Because that’s all you’re getting tonight.”

The bell rang, three sharp clangs that sounded across the arena.

“And the match has begun!” the first announcer cried.

As soon as the bell sounded, Basmah charged at the champion with a ululating battle cry.

Not wanting to be barreled over, Bayley counter charged.

The pair collided in the center of the ring, a tangle of grasping arms. And the crowd cheered.

“They come together!” the first announcer said, “Like two charging bulls!”

“There’s always so much you can tell about how a match begins!” the second added, “These few moments could set the tone for the rest of this bout!”

Bayley bent her knees, trying to keep a low center of gravity as she clasped behind her opponent’s neck in a horse collar. Basmah did the same, both pulling, twisting, and pushing at odd intervals, trying to unbalance the other and take advantage of the weakness. It looked as if they were merely shoving into each other in a test of strength, but it was actually a chess match. A chess match that the champion was more than comfortable with.

Bayley smirked to herself as she played along, staying out of her opponent’s traps but not really going for anything herself. The princess was pretty strong and clearly had some training, but she was fidgety, telegraphing everything she tried to do to the point of farce. Even now, she saw Basmah grabbing her arm and knew that the princess would try to tug it down, off balance her, then use that moment to dart around behind her and capture her from the back.

Just as the champ predicted, it happened like clockwork. The arm pull, a stagger, Basmah darting around behind her…

… and strangely, Bayley didn’t stop her.

Blinking wide eyed, the champion was too startled to fight back when she realized the princess had her, arms looped around her waist, squeezing tight. She was still trying to figure out exactly what had happened, when she was yanked off her feet, legs kicking about wildly, then suplexed into the canvas with a terrific clap.

The crowd roared, leaping to its feet.

“The princess scores a beautiful suplex!” the first commentator cried, “Did you see?”

“I saw the look on the American’s face!” the second agreed, “Shocked! Look at her, she still can’t believe it!”

The throw put them both on the mat, but while the princess scrambled up to pose excitedly to the crowd, Bayley stayed on her back, stunned.

It wasn’t entirely the hard blow to her head that left the champion wide eyed and bewildered. She had seen it coming, knew what Basmah was going to do several seconds before it happened. It should have been laughably easy for her to avoid or reverse the move, but instead it had just… happened anyway. It was like she’d blanked out for a moment.

Turning her back on her prostrate opponent, the smug royal put her hands on her hips and lifted her chin high, basking in her well-deserved cheers. She looked out over the crowd, not at anyone in particular, just her fans as a whole. She let them roar and applaud, then nodded once, satisfied, before turning back to Bayley.

“You see?” she smirked, “It is already written. I shall have the American champion Bayley, fairly beaten and fairly won.”

She strutted to the dazed champion, who was only now starting to get up.

“You shall take your proper place,” she lifted her knee, “Beneath my boot!”

At that, she stomped down into Bayley’s exposed tummy.

“And a hearty stomp from the princess!” one of the commentators cried, “Showing no respect for the American!”

“She must always show an invader who is the master!” the other called as well, “Oh, and another stomp! And another!”

“OOLF!” Bayley gasped as the boot drove into her trim abs, “UFF!”

Over and over again the princess’ heel came down, sinking deep into the champion’s well-grooved stomach. Each blow made Bayley’s head bounce up, her legs kicking out as her body tensed to protect itself. She tried to get up, only to get stomped down again with another grunt of pain.

So stunned was she by the early slam, that it took her several more stomps before she had enough of her wits to counter. As princess’ golden boot came down once more, Bayley caught it in both hands, twisted the ankle, then shoved back.

Basmah stumbled away then caught her balance with a grin, while her brightly dressed opponent scrambled to her feet.

“The American reverses!” one of the announcers called.

“She’s back up!” the other said, “Much warier now! Ha! So much for her arrogance!”

Bayley’s expression was tight as she squared off with the princess once more, resisting a grimace of pain. She kept her knees bent with her shoulders forward, in a low wrestling stance, but also because she was slightly doubled over from the stomping. Her arm unconsciously started to lower, about to hug across her aching tummy, but she stopped herself.

The way Basmah smirked made it clear she recognized the discomfort regardless. She swaggered closer, swaying her hips, before sinking down into a ready position herself. She looked amused, eager, supremely confident.

The feelings of dread started to nag at Bayley once more, but she shoved them away.

So what if the princess got an early fall? She’d already decided she’d let Basmah land a couple of moves so she wasn’t humiliated. Of course, she wouldn’t have chosen one of those moves to be a spectacular suplex, but that was in the past now. It was time to get serious.

Bayley stared hard. She didn’t naturally have a very intimidating expression, her best glare usually looking more pouty than furious, and she offered it now. Brow scrunched, lips tight, she focused her dark eyes on her opponent with piercing intensity.

The princess merely looked like she was about to laugh.

“Aw, does it hurt, Bayley?” she cooed, “Come closer. Let me—”

The champion burst forward, catching her opponent mid taunt. She leveled herself with Basmah’s neck, ready to plow through her in a clothesline, and the princess raised her arms to defend herself.

It was perfect. Just as it seemed like she would collide with her opponent’s guard, Bayley shot low, driving herself into Basmah’s unready midsection. She tackled deep, wrapping her arms around the princess’ waist and plowing forward. The feint had done exactly what it needed to do and now she had the arrogant royal off balance, ready to be picked up and slammed or simply tackled to the ground.

But she did neither of those things. The tackle drove the princess back, causing her to stumble, but rather than capitalizing she slowed down enough for Basmah to get her feet back underneath her again. Once she did, she planted her feet and pushed back, stopping Bayley in her tracks.

“And a takedown attempt is stopped by the princess!” a commentator cried, “Amazing!”

“She stopped it easily!” the other sounded just as enthusiastic, “This is not good news for her opponent!”

Even as she continued to fight for the hold, a part of Bayley was at a complete loss for what had just happened. Rather than returning her opponent’s early fall with a slam of her own, she was now at a level with Basmah’s waist, bent over like she was trying to show her prominent butt to the audience. She continued to push with her legs, trying to drive her opponent back, but now they were on somewhat even footing, and it was brute strength against brute strength. All she managed to do was display her wide-set haunches and the shapes beneath the shiny, stretched spandex.

Basmah cackled at the failed attempt at the take down, her voice shrill with delight. She pushed back into her doubled over opponent, her legs spread in a Y, forming a wedge that kept Bayley from overturning her. Grinning, she then placed a hand on the champion’s shoulder to balance herself, lifted her other arm high, and slammed it down into her opponent’s lower back.

The forearm to the spine sent a shock through Bayley’s body. She grunted but held on, committed to the takedown.

Naturally, this only encouraged the princess to do it again. Keeping one hand on her opponent’s taut shoulder blade, she brought her arm up and slammed it down again.

The blow loosened Bayley’s grip, but she quickly tightened it again, desperate to hold on.

But bent over as she was, she had no way to defend herself against the downward hammers. They landed again and again with loud smacks.

“The princess is punishing the American champion for that failed takedown!” an announcer cried, “Will you listen to the sound of those blows!”

“I can barely hear them over the cheers of the crowd!” the other yelled back.

Indeed, on each heavy impact to the young wrestler’s back, the crowd cried out in adulation.

A blow slammed into the curve of Bayley’s bare back, momentarily buckling her knees.

“OHHHH!” the audience cried in unison.

Another blow jarred Bayley’s grip loose and she grabbed on a bit lower, hugging Basmah’s hips.

“OHHHHH!” the audience cried again.

Each one forced the innocent champion lower and the lower she sank the more power the princess was able to put into them. Gradually, like a fence post, Bayley was beaten down, her grip slipping down her opponent’s legs, her stance crumpling beneath her.

“OHHH! OHHHHHH! OHHHHHHHH!” the audience continued to cry.

Finally, a last sledgehammer wallop knocked Bayley’s grip free and she fell to her knees with a cry. Even through her agony, she grasped at Basmah’s leggings, but without her hands being clasped behind the princess’ back, she had no control. Kneeling, cringing in pain, her thoughts raced, confused and panicked.

What the hell was happening?! She was better than this! She was MUCH better than this! Why was she letting this happen?! So much was on the line and she was being handled like an amateur! Even worse, it was like she was losing on purpose!

With Bayley crumpled, kneeling at her feet, Basmah lifted her chin and smiled at the crowd, making it clear to all of them how easy this was for her. In no rush, she kept her hand on the supposed champion’s firm shoulder, keeping her where she wanted her until she was done posing.

“Just as I imagined,” she laughed to herself, “Effortless and exhilarating. In my blood.”

Bayley reached back to massage at her own throbbing back, unable to rise. Kneeling, with her head down as it was, caused her hindquarters to hike up into the air, presenting a cheery, yellow heart-shape.

When the princess turned back to her opponent, she had a prime view. She could even make out the faint line of Bayley’s underwear.

Laughing again, Basmah leaned down and hugged her arms around the stricken champion’s stomach. Interlocking her hands, she squeezed, then yanked her opponent up to her feet with a sudden heave.

“Unh…!” Bayley grunted with surprise, hefted up before she was ready.

Unbalanced, upright but bent over so far her shoulders were lower than her waist, she stumbled, awkwardly trying to find her footing.

Basmah didn’t give her the chance.

“The princess has her in a hold!” an announcer cried, “A firm hold! But what shall she do with it?”

Holding her opponent in the embarrassing position, Basmah squeezed her grip a bit tighter, bending her knees to get her legs beneath her. Setting herself, she sank low with her hips, like a weightlifter preparing for their set.

It was a clear tell. Trying to stop what came next, Bayley grabbed the princess’ leg, holding tight to keep herself from being lifted. But when her opponent heaved, her hands slipped free and she found herself yanked into the air.

“Oh my!” the other announcer cried.

Helpless, Bayley was lifted up and flipped over, legs over her head. Eyes wide with both fear and shock, she flailed with all four limbs, but without her feet on the ground she was only a passenger on whatever ride the princess was taking her on.

The princess grunted as she hefted her opponent all the way up, momentarily nearly resting the back of Bayley’s legs on her shoulders. She held the champion there for a single second, coiling, preparing to swing her back down.

“It’s a power bomb!” the first announcer announced.

On cue, with a cry of exertion and exultation, the princess dropped her weight and slammed her burden into the ground with all her might.

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” the crowd roared at the impact.

With Bayley’s legs draped over Basmah’s shoulders, she absorbed the full impact with the back of her head and shoulders. Her head bounced off the canvas, her muscular arms flopping wildly before falling in awkward positions. Momentarily separated from her senses, her legs were drooped and spread, still resting on the princess’ shoulders.

Basmah didn’t wait for the champion to recover. She looped her arms around the yellow clad thighs and shoved herself forward, lifting them into the air like she was trying to fold Bayley in half.

“She’s going for the pin!” the first announcer yelled.

“But will she get it?” the second yelled back, “So early in the match?”

With Bayley’s legs awkwardly in the air, boots pointed towards the ceiling and shoulders to the mat, the ref dropped to the ground and began counting.

“One!” he cried, slapping the mat, “Two!”

Although the champion had been knocked for a loop, she knew the tell-tale sounds of the count and the slaps to the mat. There was one, two, and when the ref’s hand raised for the third, Bayley bucked with all the strength she had, kicking up her legs and arching her back.

“No!” one of the announcers cried.

Bayley kicked so hard, she not only free herself but flipped herself over. She flopped onto her stomach, panting, momentarily spent.

“She kicks out on three!” the other announcer called, “A close call!”

The crowd let out a groan of disappointment.

Princess Basmah, however, wasn’t the least bit discouraged by her failed pin. Smiling, she rose to her feet with dignified torpidity, brushing her nails through her hair to make sure it was still perfect. Turning her head from one side to the other, she popped her neck, then crossed one arm across her chest to stretch.

“I was slightly concerned, miss world champion,” she crossed her other arm over her chest to stretch it as well, “If I’d known you were in such dire straits, I wouldn’t have gone for the pin. I’m enjoying this far too much to end it so quickly.”

Her head spinning, desperate to rise, Bayley pushed up partway before her arms buckled and she flopped back down to the canvas. Her hips shifted, protuberant bottom rising as she tried to get her legs beneath her but had no more luck than using her arms.

The princess strutted around her, swaying her hips with taunting, church-bell exaggeration. She waved again to the crowd, drawing another chorus of cheers.

“I will give you a few moments to recover, yes?” she said even as she smiled to her fans, “Then we will continue.”

Dazed, Bayley lifted her head from the canvas, blinking like she was trying to clear the spots from her eyes.

The bright lights were dizzying, the constant roaring of the crowd and ringing in her ears making it difficult to think, but through all of that she understood enough of what was going on to feel fear.

The consequences of losing this match made terror clench her heart like a vice. This wasn’t just a matter of losing her title; this was her life. If she’d thought there was the slightest chance she could have lost this match, she never would have signed the agreement. She’d thought she would be in complete control the entire time, letting the princess score a few falls and put on a show, but instead she was being beaten worse than she ever had. And she still didn’t entirely understand why.

Panting, the ring still whirling and swaying beneath her, she lay her head down, resting her cheek on the canvas. It made the spinning lessen slightly and she kept it there, hoping it would stop.

It was inevitable. She was going to lose to the princess and then belong to her, bought and paid for. Her career would end as Basmah’s birthday present, as it should. She might as well roll onto her back, offer the pin, let her highness handle her as she liked. The princess deserved whatever she wanted and it would be more than Bayley deserved to give it to her.

NO!

Shoving those thoughts away, she planted her palms on the canvas and pushed herself up. Dazed as she was, it felt like she was trying to bench press a slab of concrete, but though her arms trembled she pushed herself up high enough to drag her knees in, getting to all fours.

She wasn’t a quitter; she was a champion! She would never just lie down and let someone beat her, especially not with everything on the line! No matter what, she would find a way to win this! She had to!

Seeing her starting to rise, Basmah smiled.

“Ah, getting up? Good,” she advanced, “Let’s continue.”

Before she was ready, the princess came forward and took Bayley under the arms, dragging her up to her feet. Still slightly out of it, the champion staggered and swayed, but maintained her balance with her opponent’s help.

The match didn’t go any better from there.