Chapter Nine #2
Absolutely ridiculous. This is more like it. This is the pomp and circumstance I was expecting yesterday. The pageantry. The arrogance.
I guess we weren’t worthy of it.
The door to the antechamber opens, and in steps Ronan.
He’s dressed in full royal regalia now, black robes concealed by an overcoat in a deep, velvety black with a golden crown atop his perfectly coiffed hair. I slip through the crowd, sticking to the shadows at the edges of the room to get a better look.
My stomach flutters. I’m hoping, praying to Kerensa, that I’m wrong. That the man I spent yesterday with, the man I’d wanted to kiss and maybe a bit more than that, isn’t one and the same as the God-King himself.
He looks fucking radiant up there. Literally. The glow of his skin was subtle yesterday, but today, it’s as bright as one of the candlelit chandeliers over his head. As he takes the throne, I see the glint of steel at his side.
I wonder if he’s used it at all since the war.
He’s smiling magnanimously at his loyal subjects, waving to them as they applaud. He points to someone in the front row of the crowd and waves, and she blushes.
The woman must be nearly sixty, and she blushes. She wants him. They all do, I realize, as I look around the room. Most of the women and some of the men. They’re practically salivating.
I hate how handsome he is. It makes me want to punch him in his pretty face and break his pretty nose.
At the thought, I try to line up his flawless features with Soren’s devastating injuries. It’s a risk to do so, but Ronan can read feelings, not thoughts, and how much is he going to get from whatever satisfaction or disappointment I’ll feel when I reach my conclusion?
It's difficult to say. The eyes and hair are a match, but brown eyes and brown hair aren’t exactly unusual; hell, I have them too. Ronan is taller than Soren, but Soren was hunched. It’s plausible, at least.
A different guard accompanies him today. Thin and blonde, he wears the typical chainmail and black cape of the Royal Guard. I think little of him until I notice the tattoo on his neck.
He’s Orsan. One of Ronan’s Royal Guards is Orsan, one of the ancient enemies of the Nithyrians.
They’ve relentlessly raided our villages and slaughtered our people.
It was enough of an insult that our lands were given to them after the war.
But to make one of them a Royal Guard? Does Adria know?
I hope she can’t see the characteristic tattoo from her vantage point.
If she does, we might not be leaving this throne room alive.
Ronan holds up a hand, but the applause is still going. I don’t get it. This is the damn court. All of these people have been here before, all except me. What are they all clapping about?
How hot their king is?
Ronan tries once again, and this time, the crowd slowly quiets. I listen carefully to his voice. “Welcome, all, to the Great Festival.”
The voice is quite a bit like Soren’s. Ronan’s voice is higher and clearer, but he has also raised it a bit to call out to the crowd.
“The first Great Festival in over ten years!”
There’s a lot more applause and more than a few cheers. Ten years without a multi-month party. How ever did they survive?
“The Festival will be in five parts to honor the five gods. The first will be the Festival of Sport to honor Sai, God of War, the Hunt, and the Forge. There will be a grand tournament followed by a hunt. May Sai’s best champions reign victorious.”
I wonder what we could be hunting. There isn’t much game in the city, nor is there in the desert, from what I know. They’ll probably bring in some poor creature from our woods, which will struggle enough in unfamiliar territory to give these soft bodies a chance.
“The next will be the Festival of Arts to honor Kerensa, Goddess of Beauty, Love, and Voyages. Artists and performers from all around Selara will delight us with galleries, shows, and countless balls. And, as you all know they’re my favorite, one of the balls will be masked, so get your masks now before they’re gone. ”
Interesting. Soren turned me away from the mask vendor—could he have had another reason for doing so? Although the guard at the door seemed to corroborate his story, so maybe it was just a coincidence.
“The third will be the Great Feast to honor Arnan, God of the Sea, the Harvest, and…the Feast.”
There’s a bit of laughter at that. I’m surrounded by sycophants and idiots. How can they justify holding a feast while my people are starving?
“And the final Festivals will be held together to honor the twin gods Vayla, Goddess of the Sun, Light, and Life, and Vahlo, God of the Moon, Shadow, and Death. The Festival of Night will lead directly into the Festival of Day, a full twenty-four-hour party to round out the season in style.”
Round out the season. So it seems the festival will be at least three months then, as we expected. Three months to do what we’ve planned.
I stop the thought there.
“I hope you will all participate in each festival to its fullest. The past decade has been…”
Ronan pauses, looking around the room for something. A few people whisper. I glance back at Adria and Larus, who look at each other and then at Ronan.
Whatever he’s searching for, he doesn’t seem to find it. “The past decade has been challenging for all of us.”
Challenging? That’s what he has to say?
“But we are together now, one people. One kingdom. One glory.”
Unbelievable. I know exactly what he’s saying. We’re one kingdom now, and you can fuck off it you don’t like it.
Well, I don’t like it. I don’t feel like joining hands and singing songs about the glory of Selara. I want justice for my people. For what they’ve taken from us. I want to see our families fed and happy. I’m tired of sitting back and watching our people suffer.
I shouldn’t have come here. I don’t know how I’m supposed to smile and bow and pretend this man hasn’t ruined my life. Our lives. I want to look back to see Adria’s response, but Ronan fixes his eyes on me.
The air doesn’t seem to be filling my lungs.
Of course he would say that, I try telling myself. It isn’t personal. It isn’t just about us. He’s trying to keep the peace.
But it feels personal. It felt personal yesterday when he insulted Adria. It feels personal now, even though he hasn’t so much as looked at me today until this moment.
“We will honor the gods and celebrate our—Taran, on my right.”
Ronan points directly at me.
Fuck fuck fuck…
My heart is pounding so loudly in my ears I can barely think. He’s felt it. He’s felt my rage. He knows I want him dead. Fuck! It’s over.
Gods, I’m going to die. I’m going to die right here in this room, and then what will happen? Will Larus try to avenge me? Will he fight his way through as many of them as he can before they bring him down too?
And Adria. Would she fight for me? Or would she stay her hand?
Does the war mean more to her than I do?
Taran, the Orsan guard, leaps from the dais. I freeze as he closes the distance to me.
I should do something. I should sink the room into shadow. I should pull my dagger or my sword and fight for my life.
But I can’t. I’m frozen in place. Not by magic, but by fear. It’s a terrible, all-encompassing fear. I can feel death. I can feel how close it is.
But I’m not fighting. It’s happening again, and this time, it will be my last.
Just pull your sword. Go down swinging at least.
I can’t. I just can’t.
I shut my eyes and wait for death to come.