Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
I watched the brawl with so much tension writhing through my body that I almost crushed Drake's gift in my hand.
The flower was the rarest in The Twelve Kingdoms. We'd once had the cactus in the gardens but even that had failed to flower for several years despite the gardeners' best efforts, then the thing had up and died. Where the hell had he gotten it?
Drake was fast becoming the most mysterious person I'd ever encountered.
Not that I'd met that many people in my life. Not up close anyway. And when he got up close, it was like the air crackled with energy. He gave off the sort of aura that said he owned everything and everyone in the vicinity. I didn't know how much I liked that. There were plenty of people in this world willing to own me, and he was definitely one of them. But still...there was something intriguing about him, something rebellious too. And after so many years of feeling trapped, and like every one of my breaths needed permission to be taken, Count Drake Nazari was feeding into that ache for freedom within me. When he’d drawn close and almost stolen a kiss, I’d thought of the scandal, of the horror Magdor would have felt over the defiant act.
It had been so damn tempting to see her eyes twist with shock, to hear the nobles gasp as the perfect illusion of their innocent princess shattered before their eyes.
But then I’d remembered that Drake was a suitor here to win me, just like the rest of them.
And I wasn’t going to feed into his arrogance by offering myself up to him like every other countess and lady in this place clearly wanted to.
None of them were hiding their blushes or the way they fanned themselves every time he landed a blow against Kalaviv.
It was clear he’d won their favour with his pretty smiles and theatrics, not to mention the removal of his fighting tunic which had left at least half of them with their damn tongues hanging loose of their mouths, but I would not be so easily persuaded.
Though I couldn’t help but look at the way his powerful body moved, the slick of sweat and speckles of blood decorating his deeply bronzed, tattooed flesh capturing more of my attention than I should have allowed.
Drake threw a bone-cracking punch to Kalaviv's jaw, and the crowd sucked in air while my heart rate picked up.
I'd never felt so alive. The scent of blood and sweat hung heavily in the air, and I wished I could walk out there myself and feel the thrill of the fight first hand.
I watched Drake like a hawk, living vicariously through him and wondering what it must have been like to be able to pick your own destiny like he was able to.
It was clear both men held an Affinity for fighting, but where Kalaviv favoured maintaining a powerful stance at all times, Drake shifted tactics like the wind.
He was fast, almost impossibly so, his footwork as unpredictable as his attacks and unlike any formal style I had ever seen the guards of our kingdom use.
Was that a style which was common in the distant kingdom of Carubai he called home?
There was one good thing I had found in this pageant, at least. I liked that it was feral, I liked the way the audience held their breath, and all eyes were locked on the fierce match instead of me for once.
I relished the heat flooding my veins, the dryness of my mouth, the fear and excitement tangling into one illuminated being inside my chest.
This is what living is and I want more of it. More, more, more.
Drake started moving in a way that was anything but formal.
I'd visited the guards' training grounds on occasion out of duty and seen them fight, but this was nothing like that.
He was becoming more animal with every punch, every kick.
Kalaviv couldn't keep up. Perhaps the lord's muscles were more for show than landing hits, maybe his heroic reputation had been bullshit after all. He certainly didn’t look like an unbeaten war hero now.
I stole a glance at the judge’s faces, trying to work out which contestant they were most impressed by, but they weren’t letting their guards slip.
I knew each of them, the four of them chancellors of the emperor who had been a part of the royal court since before I could remember.
I’d never liked them much, and I even recalled Father telling me they bored him to tears, but their knowledge of the laws and traditions of not just Osaria, but all of The Twelve Kingdoms was invaluable to the crown.
During this pageant, they would be guarded by ten of Father’s best men while they were housed in the northern town of the palace, and would only leave it when the rounds were in play to ensure they were never bribed or threatened into judging the pageant biasedly.
As Drake landed another ferocious punch to Kalaviv's temple, I found myself rising from my seat. My attendants hurried to mimic me and I shared a brief look with Zira, her eyes alight with anticipation.
Kalaviv managed to recover, feinting left before following with a harsh kick to Drake’s chest as he fell for the distraction and he hit the ground.
The lord didn’t slow as he lunged forward and stamped on Drake’s calf, the dirty tactic proving how desperate he was getting in the face of his opponent. I grinned as the count rolled away from another kick, moving with that incredible speed once more and leaping upright, hissing through his teeth.
The pain only urged him on though, and suddenly he turned into nothing but a lion bringing down his prey. He faced Kalaviv across the ring, breaking into a sprint and diving into the fray without wasting any time on circling or baiting.
The crowd cooed and gasped as Drake dove at the lord with a feral cry leaving him which made every hair on my body stand on end.
My heart hammered wildly as he knocked Kalaviv to the ground, managing to maintain his position on top of him and I stepped forward once more as Drake’s fists flew, breaking skin and sending droplets of blood flying while Kalaviv could do nothing but try to shield his face beneath him, the end of this suddenly in sight.
The scent of blood and sand and the roar of the crowd was nothing like I’d ever experienced. It was beautiful mayhem. We were animals stripped to our base desires, and there were no rules here, nothing but sweet carnage.
“One- two- three-!” Captain Marik called out and my heart started singing a tune I didn't know.
I didn’t want to be bought. I didn’t want this whole pageant to continue, but in that moment, I was so caught up in the fight that I simply needed to see the brutal end of it.
And Drake was offering that end with every pound of his fists, showing no mercy to the man he held beneath him as every muscle in his body worked to seize his victory, and I found my eyes locked to him as if a cord had tethered them in place, allowing no alternative.
“Four – five!”
The audience bellowed so loudly it hurt my ears. A smile took over my features, so wide that I couldn't remember the last time I'd smiled like that.
Drake shoved himself upright, raising his arms into the air with a roar of triumph, drinking in his glory as the sun beat down on his tattooed, bloodstained flesh and for a moment he looked like a legend from the stories of the Fallen.
A warrior born in blood and proven in battle time and again over the centuries, forever risking his immortal life and forever emerging victorious.
He stood there panting, looking to the judges as they exchanged words and the crowd continued to cry out and clap while we awaited their scores.
Finally, a folded piece of parchment was handed to Captain Marik and he looked down at it before lifting his head, everyone in the stands falling deathly silent to hear what he had to say.
There were twenty points available to each contestant in a round, but a bonus of five points were awarded to the winner on top of their final score.
For the dirty tactics he had engaged in, I wasn’t sure how many Drake would have lost overall, though Kalaviv hadn’t exactly fought cleanly.
“Lord Tyron Kalaviv secured himself eight points in the round and Count Drake Nazari was awarded twelve points for the round and five for winning the brawl, giving him a total of seventeen points.”
The crowd cheered and I clapped along with them while Drake strode away from Kalaviv without offering him a hand to get up, ignoring the rules of honour and though there were mutters of disapproval, I only smiled wider.
It made me think that Drake really wasn’t playing a game, that this wildness in him was real to the bone.
And realness was so very hard to come by in my world.
Drake strode up to the stage with a swagger that made my smile vanish like a ghost in the dark.
He hid the limp in his leg damn well, but I could tell it was paining him and I took satisfaction in that pain as I remembered what that victory had bought him.
Now, he was one step closer to owning me.
To stealing my kingdom from my father and doing whatever he wished with it.
The closer he got, the more my lungs refused to let in air. Venomous rage was tangling with the adrenaline in my veins, and my jaw tightened as this tattooed beast strode towards me with a look that said I was his. That I was already won and bound.
I took the green rosette from Zira, my hands trembling with anger as I readied to pin it onto him. The first winner of the pageant. The enemy come to claim his prize.
I dragged in a slow breath, encouraging my heart to return to a normal pace as Drake approached, his footfalls heavy as he climbed the wooden steps onto the stage.
He bowed to the emperor then knelt before me, his eyes sparking with the win and sweat gleaming on his body as his chest rose and fell heavily.