24. Elena #2
Inside the tunnel, the noise dulls, replaced by the echo of footsteps and the distant roar of the arena. We ascend to the royal box, positioned above the main floor, the court arranged a row or two behind us, protected by bulletproof glass.
Everyone is here.
Lord Bradley greets us first, kissing my cheek and shaking Alexei’s hand firmly. There’s no tension there; no rivalry lingering, only mutual respect.
Lady Penelope is next, her words tumbling over one another as she launches into a breathless update on her life. Duke Andrew and Duchess Cassia rescue us with practiced ease, steering her onward before she can circle back.
Duke Henley and Lady Camille approach last.
Duke Henley bows deeply. Lady Camille does as required, but barely. Her smile is tight, eyes cool.
Alexei may have cleared her. I haven’t.
Not yet.
Trumpets sound sharp and ceremonial, cutting through the arena. The court takes its seats, but Alexei and I remain standing as the announcer’s voice carries.
Our agents—Lance, Travis, and Braydon—close ranks subtly around us.
The announcer introduces us, and Alexei steps forward.
The crowd stills.
“Welcome to Zurdonia’s Tournament of Victors,” Alexei greets, his voice carrying easily over the arena. “You’ve earned your place here.”
The crowd answers before he can finish, cheers from the citizens, sharper calls from the victors lining the field. He lets it crest, then lifts a hand.
“These trials aren’t about strength alone,” he continues. “They never were. Discipline matters. Endurance. The kind that doesn’t show until everything else gives out.” He pauses for a moment. “I know that from experience.”
Laughter ripples through the stands, warm, familiar, a sound earned over years. Someone shouts his name. Alexei allows himself a brief smile before pressing on. “They are not for the faint of heart,” he says, voice steady. “I applaud every one of you.”
He turns to me then, smiling as he takes my hand and draws me forward.
“My husband,” I begin, letting the crowd chuckle, “has not only done these events, but has won.”
The audience erupts with applause, even though Alexei gives me a look that he would rather be anywhere else in that moment than receiving praise.
“You represent the very best of us,” I continue. “Not only for today, but every day. I am proud to stand beside you. Proud to be your queen. May the best competitor win.”
The applause continues until we take our seats.
The events begin, brutal, brilliant. Obstacle courses. Strategy puzzles. Jousting melded with modern combat. Horseball—chaos and precision fused into spectacle.
I lean toward Alexei. “Remind me again how many times you won this.”
“Twice.”
“And how many times have you competed?”
His mouth twitches. “Twice.”
I smile, satisfied.
Then—a high-pitched scream echoes near us, a ripple of tension moving through me like a living thing.
Alexei’s arm comes out instinctively, but I exhale the moment I realize the scream was from a brutal hit between the contestants. Despite my attempt to ease the strain in my body, Lady Penelope and Camille watch Alexei and me cautiosly. .
Below us, the tournament continues.
Lady Penelope fans herself dramatically. “Honestly, if watching this kind of brutality is what attending sporting event entails now, I’ll need stronger wine.”
Duke Henley leans forward, elbows on his knees. “It’s nothing,” he dismisses. “However, people do seem to be on edge. They feel it.”
“They always do,” Lady Camille says coolly, studying me for a beat, amusement glinting in her eyes. “Especially if that edge is clouded by the instability that sits at the center of the court.”
I turn toward her slowly. “Careful,” I warn, voice light, eyes not. “Words like that have a habit of echoing.”
She smiles without warmth. “I meant no disrespect, Your Majesty. Merely observation.”
Alexei’s hand settles over mine, grounding. “Observation is valuable,” he notes evenly. “Speculation is not.”
Silence stretches, then Duke Andrew clears his throat. “The people needed this,” he remarks, nodding toward the field where two competitors clash with breathtaking precision. “Strength on display. Order. Rules.”
“Hope,” Duchess Cassia adds from behind us. “They need to believe someone is winning.”
I glance back at her. “And are we?”
Her lips press together. “We’re holding.”
Not the same thing.
Below, a competitor clears a brutal obstacle, collapsing to one knee as the crowd erupts. The roar vibrates through my bones. Victory, earned and bloody and visible.
“That’s why Oksana hates this,” I murmur, mostly to myself.
Alexei hears me anyway. “Say that again.”
“She thrives in the shadows,” I clarify. “In absence. In fear. This…” I gesture to the arena, the banners, the disciplined chaos. “...this reminds people what order looks like.”
Lady Camille scoffs softly. “Order is an illusion. All it takes is one well-placed strike.”
I meet her gaze. “Then it’s fortunate we’re not relying on illusions.”
Around us, the royal court dissolves into murmured side conversations. Braydon leans in toward Alexei, whispering something meant for him but angled carefully so it reaches me, too. “Our intel suggests Oksana is watching,” he says. “Not from here. But she’ll see the footage.”
“Good,” Alexei replies. “Let her.”
I turn to him. “You’re baiting her.”
“I’m reminding her,” he says calmly, “that we don’t flinch.”
“And if she escalates?”
Alexei’s jaw tightens, but his voice remains steady. “Then she confirms what we already know.”
“That she can’t win without burning everything,” I finish.
He looks at me then, really looks. “And neither can we.”
The weight of that truth settles between us.
Another round begins. Faster. Meaner. Two competitors collide, strategy unfolding in brutal, elegant choreography.
“Look at that,” Duke Henley cheers. “They adapt mid-fight.”
I nod. “The best always do.”
Alexei leans closer, his voice meant only for me. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m listening,” I say. “To everything they’re not saying.”
His thumb brushes the back of my hand. “And?”
I keep my eyes on the field. “This isn’t a strike. It’s the test. She’s measuring how fast we react. How tightly we close ranks.” I pause as I scan the field. Then, softer, “She wants us tired.”
Alexei exhales through his nose. “Then we’ll disappoint her.”
The crowd roars again as a victor is declared for the round, and the defeated competitor is helped to their feet with mutual respect.
I straighten in my seat, crown steady, spine unyielding.
“Let her watch,” I comment, quietly. “Let her see what it looks like when a country stands together.”
Alexei nods once. “And when a queen does not bow.”
Below us, the games rage on.
Above it all, I feel it, that sense again. Not fear.
Anticipation.
The chessboard is moving.
And so am I.
Conversation drifts around us. Lady Camille leans in, her words stinging. “You do bring an impressive amount of danger wherever you go.”
I meet her gaze evenly. “Danger finds those who matter.”
Her lips thinned into a line.
Then—
A scream slices through the crowd.
Alexei is on his feet instantly, positioning himself in front of me as security surges inward, bodies forming a wall.
My heart slams against my ribs.
The games below this time freeze.
Woods flash in my mind.
And somewhere deep inside me, something cold begins to wake.