Chapter 19
Chapter
Nineteen
Gerard exited his tent. He rolled his shoulders as he strode towards the massive field where the Tournament of Dragons was taking place. Around the field stood stands filled with rows and rows of spectators.
But Gerard’s gaze fixed on Senta and Princess Dorothye above, battling it out in the cloud-filled sky. Their roars echoed. Teeth bared. Wings flapped. Claws raked against scales. Blood dripped.
Gaze still on the fighting, Gerard walked towards the grandstand, which held royals, nobles, dignitaries, and some high-ranking monks. The other stands surrounding the field held city folk. And on the cliffside above, overlooking the field, stood even more onlookers.
Cheers and cries filled the air as his sister fought their cousin.
As Gerard drew closer to the grandstand, Senta and Dorothye circled each other. Gerard had no doubt his sister would win. Although Dorothye was a competent fighter, she was no match for his sister.
The Tournament of Dragons had been set up as part of the courtship rituals.
The eight dragons who would marry, or had been married, as part of the peace treaty would compete, along with eight other dragons.
This tournament allowed them to show off their strength and skills for their spouse or future spouse.
It had been his father’s idea. It would be a knock-out tournament, where only the winner of each round would progress to the next. In the end, the last two dragons would meet in the finale.
Dorothye flew straight at Senta. Senta opened her claws wide. At the last second, Dorothye swooped down and away. Senta could have given chase, but Dorothye flew out over the crowd. Senta would not risk knocking her into the cheering civilians.
Apparently, wind sorcerers were on standby, ready to blow away any dragons into the air if they looked like they were about to land or knock into the onlookers. That would result in an immediate disqualification.
But that should not be needed. The dragons competing today were seasoned warriors. They should not be aiming to knock the other dragon into the onlookers.
Now back in the air over the middle of the field, Senta flew straight at her opponent. She opened her jaws wide. But she did not spew dragonfire. Dragonfire was also against the rules today, in order to avoid causing serious harm to the dragon contestants.
Dorothye swerved, trying to dodge. But she wasn’t fast enough. Senta’s teeth bit into Dorothye’s yellow, scaly throat. Her claws pressed into Dorothye’s chest. Dorothye roared as the blood trickled.
Of course, injuries were expected. This was a dragon battle, after all. But there was an attempt to avoid serious harm. Around the field, healer doves stood, ready to step in and use their healing skills and magic to treat the dragons once the battle was done.
Senta and Dorothye spiralled through the air, Senta’s teeth and claws biting deep. Using her body weight, Senta managed to rotate them so she was the one on top. Dorothye slammed into the ground. The earth trembled.
Releasing her claws and teeth, Senta flew up, circling the field, roaring and spewing dragonfire now that the battle was over. Applause thundered.
Senta had won. Dorothye had hit the ground first.
Gerard clapped. Dorothye shifted, and the healer monks ran out to see to her.
Once finished celebrating, Senta landed, shifted, and took a robe from a servant. She ran off the field at the same moment Gerard reached the area in front of the grandstand.
“Gerard! Did you see? I won!” Senta called out.
“I did. Congratulations!” Gerard clapped her on the back. “I had no doubt you would win.”
“And Luther won his battle too!” She smiled.
There had been some suggestion that Luther should sit out the tournament, since he’d recently suffered an injury to his leg during the fight against Warden Flint. But Luther had protested. It seemed he’d been right to.
“What about Konrad?” Gerard asked. “How’d he do?”
“He won. Which means he fights me next.” Her eyes glinted. She pointed at Gerard. “But all three of us have won our first rounds, so make sure you don’t lose yours. If you do, you’ll let the family down.” She laughed.
“Don’t worry. I don’t plan to lose.”
Cheeks flushed, her hair disarrayed, Senta turned towards the grandstand. She waved. The crowd yelled and screamed.
But Senta only had eyes for Lady Elizabeth Juniper, who bounced on her feet, clapping Senta’s victory.
Juniper wore a green velvet dress, her dark curls pulled on top of her head. She stood in a roped-off section before the grandstand, reserved for those betrothed or already married to those competing today. Cushions and chairs were scattered around. Servants provided food and drink.
Beside Juniper stood Elias, watching Gerard. Elias always watched Gerard. Gerard inclined his head in greeting. Elias smiled at him.
Gerard struggled to understand Elias. He’d expected the man to act with disgust at the announcement of their wedding. He’d imagined hostility and outright anger. He’d expected Elias to behave like Luther, so obviously displeased with his future spouse.
But instead Elias had done none of that. He’d smiled and been pleasant and respectful.
However, Gerard couldn’t actually believe that the lightning prince was not disappointed to be marrying him. He is just hiding how he truly feels.
Gerard kept expecting … something. A flippant insult. A rude passive-aggressive comment. Overhearing Elias complain about how ugly Gerard was. Something to reveal how miserable he was to be marrying Gerard.
“I feel sorry for whoever it is he marries.”
Gerard’s hand clenched. Albert’s comments should not have hit like they had. But the words kept echoing in his head. The problem was, Gerard knew many people thought like Albert. And he knew many would be horrified to marry him.
At least Elias hid that feeling. Gerard thought he might have underestimated Prince Elias. Perhaps Elias really did care about doing his duty and ensuring the peace treaty succeeded. He’d been unable to fight in the war. Perhaps he wanted to prove himself now.
And that was a good thing. So they’d get married. Act with decorum and respect. That would be enough.
But will Elias continue to be dedicated to our nuptials once he sees all my scars?
“I’m going to return to my tent. I need to rest and prepare to beat Konrad.” Senta turned and strode in the direction of the tents. “Good luck, Gerard! Don’t let us down!” Then she looked towards Juniper.
The lady ducked beneath the rope that sectioned off the reserved area and walked with Senta. They held hands. Elias watched them go.
What is he thinking?
Gerard looked away and out over the grandstand. His father sat between the queen consort and the necromancer he’d taken an interest in. King Alaric and the necromancer leaned towards each other, engrossed in conversation.
Gerard glanced at his stepmother. Her hands lay clasped tightly in her lap. She stared straight ahead. The grand monk sat beside the queen consort. He talked to her, perhaps trying to distract her from her husband’s behaviour.
Warrior doves stood at attention amidst the grandstand. The grand shield, the head of the warrior monks, scanned the crowd, hand resting on her sword. They were all on alert as a result of Warden Flint’s attack on Onyx and Luther.
On the night of their betrothal ball, Elias had said some rather silly things, seeming not to fully understand how devastating it must have been for Onyx to be attacked by his own uncle.
He’d made light of Luther and Onyx’s ordeal.
But of course, Elias could not understand what fighting for your life was actually like.
Elias was by no means a perfect partner. Still, he was more than Gerard had expected.
Gerard examined the Draconian guards on duty. After the recent attack, Gerard and Senta had brought in more of them to provide extra protection in the White Monastery. Now the king and queen consort always had guards with them.
Gerard had had some push-back from the grand shield on the increase in the number of Draconian guards. But eventually she’d relented.
Is whoever worked with Warden Flint here today? Are they in the grandstand, plotting against the peace treaty?
A trumpet blew. Gerard turned. The herald stood in the middle of the field. She lowered the trumpet from her lips. “In the second-to-last battle for round one, Prince Gerard will face Lord Amsel. Prepare yourselves.”
The crowd roared. Lord Amsel stood about forty feet down from Gerard in front of the grandstand. The man disrobed.
A servant approached Gerard, ready to take his robe. Gerard’s fingers reached for the green sash. He hesitated. From the corner of his left eye, he could see Prince Elias clapping.
Why would my father suggest such an event? Why would he suggest something that would require me to disrobe in front of everyone?
But King Alaric had never cared about Gerard’s scars.
At least, he no longer did. He’d initially worried that Gerard’s loss of half his eyesight plus his injuries might impact his ability to fight. But once Gerard’s wounds had healed and he had learnt to fight with only one functioning eye, Gerard’s father had stopped worrying.
After all, they were just battle scars. Nothing to be ashamed of.
Gerard wished he could see them like his father did. After all, he should not care about his appearance. He was the dragon warrior prince. He was a powerful fighter. A strong leader.
“It is such a shame. He was once so handsome.”
And the person who had said that had only seen Gerard’s face.
What will everyone say when they see all my scars?
His hands gripped the soft, smooth fabric of the sash. He gritted his teeth.
With a harsh exhale, Gerard tugged on the sash. He yanked the robe from his body, practically shoving it towards the servant, bearing his entire body with all its markings for everyone to see. And judge.
Was Elias staring at him? Was he horrified?
Heat flushed through his body. Unable to stop himself, Gerard glanced towards him. Elias had stopped clapping. His face remained blank, eyes tracing Gerard’s body.
Was that disgust in his eyes? Revulsion?
Gerard couldn’t tell.
He turned away. He tugged off his eye patch and threw it at the servant. He no longer wore his mother’s ring on a chain. He’d taken it off the night his father had told him he’d marry Prince Elias. He’d not put it on again.
He strode out into the field. Lord Amsel walked out too. They faced each other.
“Ready?” the herald yelled.
Gerard nodded. So did Lord Amsel.
“When I blow my trumpet, shift and fight.” The herald lifted the trumpet to her lips. She blew.
Gerard shifted, suddenly desperate to fly and fight. He had rage to work out.