Chapter 23
W e had reached the day of the first event of the Tournament.
I had never felt so much fear in my life.
In the days leading up to this, the priestesses worked with Spencer and me to help us learn to harness and control our magic.
While doing so, they used their own skills and one of them, with a gift to see into the future, saw a grim sight for this day.
We talked with Father about this, but during that conversation, since we couldn’t be sure what will happen, we kept the Tournament going.
They didn’t let me see the men before the event started, so I couldn’t give any last words of wisdom.
I instead went to Juniper’s office and worked my way into a panic about how today could go horribly wrong.
Juniper called Father to her office, and we tried to talk to him.
She trusted that my intuition was telling us what to do, and she needed us to hear it.
We tried to argue with Father about canceling the event, but no luck.
Father worried we would alert Lord Denenbaum or any others working with Egan, and that we would trigger some other disaster in trying to avert something happening during this event.
As much as I hated that, he was right, and we couldn’t take that risk.
Eventually, the time came to gather for this event.
Over the last couple weeks, my event planners had coordinated constructing a dirt covered ring, with stadium style seating surrounding the ring.
They also created a special raised seating area for Father, Ethan, and me to sit in, along with our assorted people.
They really sold the whole concept of this for tourism as well.
Within our private area, they set aside space for a scribe and two assistants.
Their purpose was to document all that Father and I did for the official record of the event to be preserved for generations.
Two other journalists would be side by side with them, meant to share “officially nonofficial” reports throughout the kingdom, and in the kingdoms of the Princes.
Because of all the attention on us, Ivy and Amyra worked diligently with Eliza to style an outfit for me on this occasion.
They placed me in a white dress, fitted to accent my breasts and waist, then flowing down to the ground.
The dress had tiger lilies embroidered around the bust and used a matching pale orange gauze to cover my shoulders and upper arms. They styled my hair in a delicate, loosely gathered bun to keep the hair off my neck as I sat outside watching the event.
They used orange amaryllis to decorate the clips holding the hair off my face, creating a faux crown of flowers.
But we made it perfectly on time. They had planned for me to be the last to arrive.
I got there just as Father was walking out to the viewing box, so I was barely on time for my entrance.
We planned to create a grand entrance for me, with trumpet fanfare and announcements.
The men would be on the field, waiting for my arrival.
My fear felt palpable. I was grateful to be last to leave this private staging area, as it gave me a bit of time to hold hands with Amyra and Ivy, and I needed their support to keep my emotions in check.
The last thing I needed was to accidentally raise the dirt of the arena with the heightened emotions I was feeling.
The signal for my entry sounded, and we started.
I dropped their hands and shrugged my shoulders to shift into my commanding stance, schooled my face to portray a calm determination, and then we started up the stairs to the dais.
As I reached the top of the stairs and stepped into the viewing box, the trumpets halted and the announcer began explaining the purpose of the tournament and the rules of this event.
We scheduled four timed rounds of fights for today.
For the first three rounds, each of the Princes would face one of Elthas’ best fighters the military has to offer.
Our generals scored the fights on technical aspects, and I scored them based on my opinion of each round.
We would combine the scores, and the two princes with the highest combined scores would face off in the final round to determine the winner, assuming both could fight a second round.
If one could not fight, then the other would be the default winner.
I had explicitly instructed them to not make this a battle to the death.
This was a show of strength and style, and to show that they can engage in hand-to-hand combat.
Our Kings had not needed to fight in the field in many generations, not since the Last Great War.
Father and I had hoped that this would be a subtle message to deter countries from seeing such a young set of rulers as people to trifle with, so that we could gain our footing without challenges to our seats.
Facing Egan’s electrifying complications, I worried my instructions wouldn’t matter.
Going into this, I fully intended to score Ethan lowest. It might not be enough to keep him from the final round, but it was the best I could do.
We decided that informing the Generals of the magical risks was not safe enough.
We didn’t know who to trust, and we couldn’t let anyone report our distrust to the wrong people.
I arrived at my seat, center front of this box, and I’m relieved to see that Ivy and Amyra have seats positioned closely enough that I could reach for their hands.
Strategic use of this was necessary. I slowly inhaled a few deep breaths, and after my third, I heard my cue from the announcer for my speech.
I stepped forward, and welcomed the crowd and the Princes, and wished them the best of luck in their efforts today.
Despite my attempt to avoid Spencer’s eyes, we made eye contact instantly.
I felt a flutter deep within me, and my fears rose.
I shoved it down, deep within, and finished my speech.
Back in my seat, the other two princes and their opponents also returned to the shaded seating, leaving Spencer to face one of my men.
I sent a prayer to the Gods that would listen, asking them to stop Egan from using his powers during his face off.
As Spencer and the soldier prepare to fight, one journalist called to me. “Do you have any hopes for one of these princes to prevail?”
I glanced over at them, seated just beyond Father, eagerly posed with pens in hand.
They were all ready to record my words. I directed my gaze towards Father, who provided a small, almost imperceptible nod, and then I glance at Amyra, seated between Father and me.
She simply watched me curiously, waiting to see what I would say.
I turned my attention back to the journalist and offered, “It’s much too early to have a true favorite, don’t you think? ”
Amyra’s smirk was just within my peripheral vision, letting me know she thought the lie as amusing as I hoped she might.
If we lived the way the conservatives in this country hoped for, then women weren’t supposed to make playful banter or have quick wit.
It might be small, but these quips were one way I fought against this idea that I was supposed to be this meek, submissive wife standing by my husband.
I folded my hands firmly in my lap, wishing I could reach to Amyra and offer a love squeeze.
Trumpets sounded, indicating that the fighters had one minute until their battle started.
I watched as they squared off with each other, waiting to go.
I started practicing the meditation techniques that Zoya taught me the last few days, grateful that I had these available to me.
The signal to start sounded, and I watched as Spencer and the soldier go at each other.
For every attack the soldier made, Spencer deflected flawlessly before returning an offensive attack of his own.
Most of his were also deflected, making this fight somewhat anticlimactic.
I felt my lips turn up with each win that Spencer has until I hear the journalists whispering and glanced to see several of them frantically writing things down.
My cheeks flushed. I’m not used to having my every thought analyzed in real time, and it was embarrassing.
I took a breath, erased the smile from my face, and returned my attention to the sparring.
Just in time, as Spencer missed defending against a sword coming at his midsection and finds himself shoved a couple feet from the force of the impact against his armor.
I grimaced, thankful that they were dulled practice swords, but it would still leave a decent bruise.
He caught himself repositioning to protect his side better and returned the attack.
His opponent easily deflected him, then a second hit felled him.
Two in a row? I could see the confusion on his face as well.
Returning to my deep breaths, I try to keep a neutral face.
I looked down at Egan and notice that something seems off with him.
His face held a scowl, like he was concentrating too hard.
I reached for Ivy’s hand to get her attention, and she leaned forward to allow me to whisper.
I remembered how I heard the journalists muttering, and realized they were too close to feel comfortable even whispering, so I offered a slight nod towards Egan.
She noted his weird stare and then glanced at me.
I saw the question in her eyes and offered her a nod.
She stood up, paused at Father for a moment to curtsy, as was custom, and then I heard her footsteps leave the box.
I returned my attention to Spencer. He seemed to be in a pattern now, alternating between successful deflection and painful blow. He was losing strength in his movements, and I could only hope that the time ended soon.