Chapter Seven
CHAPTER SEVEN
Scarlett
The arena was the beating heart of Ravalia, and it felt like it. As I approached the royal box, the atmosphere built into something pulsing and electric.
I couldn’t see much of the fighting below, but if the audience’s shouting was any indication, it must have been exciting. Were two favourites competing, or were the contenders closely matched?
I was eager to find out as I took a seat next to Odessa Tiran, who flicked her white-blonde hair and gave me a haughty glance. The dislike was entirely mutual, but I didn’t allow my impassive expression to falter.
Never let them see your true face, my mother had always instructed. Only show them what you want them to see.
‘Where’s your fiancé tonight?’ I asked sweetly, just to irritate the other girl.
Odessa didn’t reply. Most likely, she didn’t know. My younger brother was notoriously unpredictable; Cassius was probably off scheming somewhere, and he wasn’t in the habit of sharing his plans.
Trumpets rang through the stands, diverting my attention. The crowd turned at the sound, the fighting match below temporarily suspended.
Emperor Kalias strode through the stands with purpose, his ceremonial robes embroidered with the imperial symbol of a lion. He was every bit as imposing as he was cold, the sharp spikes of his gold-tipped bone crown glinting in the firelight.
I watched him intently, my fingers inching towards the blades in my hair. After Roran’s attempt to drown me, I had realised two things: first, that for all my mother’s magical power, she still hadn’t been able to stop him in time. And second, that I had kept myself separate from the court for too long.
So I had made my choice: to ingratiate myself with my father. To do whatever it took to obtain status and protection that way.
But he didn’t care how hard I worked, or how skilled I was. None of it mattered to him. Not my years of weapons training; not my daily lessons on culture, history and battle strategy; not even the months I had spent shadowing him on military campaigns.
He had been humouring me, never intending to give me any real power. I was to be a token bride, sold to man who had a weaker claim to the Kalurian throne than I did. A husband who wasn’t royal, wasn’t even a prince, but a useless bureaucrat .
Before I could think better of it, I was on my feet. I had never confronted my father before – and certainly not in public. But I was no longer thinking rationally. No longer considering the consequences.
‘When were you going to tell me?’ I demanded, keeping my voice low – too low, I hoped, for Roran to overhear. Or the Kalurian governor, who stood a few steps behind my brother, looking like he would have preferred to be anywhere but here.
My father stared down at me, shadows darkening his features. The torchlight reddened his grey eyes to a more fitting colour. ‘You do not have the right to address me without permission,’ he said, his face tight with disapproval. ‘And you certainly do not have the right to question my decisions.’
I drew back, my cheeks flushed. ‘I wasn’t—’
‘I have indulged you far too long,’ Kalias interrupted, ‘giving you freedoms that should have been reserved for my sons. It is clear to me now that was a mistake. As of this moment, all your lessons are cancelled – except etiquette. It is time that you learnt to behave like a proper princess, and to accept this marriage with grace.’
He said nothing else as he claimed the throne next to his wife. Roran took the seat to his right, and just like that, I was ignored and forgotten. When I saw Odessa’s satisfied smile, my nails sunk into my palms.
In my anger, I’d almost forgotten my future husband. He slid into the chair on my other side, his face set in serious lines. I wondered if he realised how much I despised him.
‘Your Highness,’ he said, his voice a deep baritone.
‘Governor.’ Sensing his distaste as he surveyed the fighting below, I asked pointedly, ‘How are you enjoying the spectacle?’
He didn’t reply for a while, and when he did, his tone was guarded. ‘I confess, I am unused to such practices. Do they happen often?’
‘Usually only on special occasions,’ I answered stiffly.
Technically, these games were supposed to be in my honour. In the lead-up to Cassius’s birthday, there had been three days of arena fights – and he didn’t even care for them, dismissing the matches as boring and predictable. He had clearly felt the same about the long line of courtiers who approached, eager to bestow him with trinkets and well wishes. And yet they had flocked to him all the same.
Just like they flocked to Roran now, filing past me without a single glance or nod of acknowledgement. All anyone could talk about was Roran’s campaign in Etheria, and how the walled city of Ashmir had finally fallen. Thanks to my brother, the Ravalian Empire now spanned the entire continent, and no one wanted to anger Roran by showing a shred of interest in his half-sister.
‘Even so,’ the governor continued, his jaw tightening, ‘you must run out of citizens to compete.’
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as, down below, the victor cleanly beheaded his opponent. Diplomats and their delicate sensibilities.
‘These men are criminals, given the opportunity to fight for their lives in the arena. We’re not barbarians.’
The governor raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
Turning away from him, I tried to focus on the next match. Normally I enjoyed the sport of the arena, but tonight all I could think about were my father’s harsh words. It was infuriating to sit quietly, forced to hear Roran entertain our father with stories of his latest military victory. Infuriating to understand exactly how little I meant to either of them.
Even Roran thought of me as a temporary inconvenience rather than a threat. He had expended far more effort trying to get Cassius out of the way – but Cassius was as cunning as a Mask, and had created a court of his own, which was fiercely loyal to him and difficult to infiltrate.
Maybe I should have done the same. But I wasn’t as charming as Cassius, and I didn’t have his connections. I only had Zandri. Zandri, whose schemes were every bit as ruthless and final as the blades she had left in my chambers.
But perhaps that ruthlessness was exactly what I needed right now.
My father had made his position perfectly clear: no matter how capable I was, I would always be a princess – and what power would a princess ever have, when there were two princes to take the throne?
But if Roran were dead . . . if Cassius were outmanoeuvred . . .
I narrowed my eyes, watching the people laugh and cheer as another fight ended – and with it, another life. Watching my father and brother already planning another invasion.
Severin was right, I realised. In the Ravalian Court, life and death was a game. It was a game that had no beginning and no end, because there was nothing more sacred or changeable than power. In my world, there was only the shifting sands of political influence, the ebb and flow of sovereignty.
Roran’s military campaigns tipped that balance in his favour. He was the crown prince for a reason; his plans were calculated and brutal. To him, death was nothing more than a strategic move – the discarding of rivals on a chessboard.
Except our tutors had taught me chess, too.
As I listened to my brother’s plans for war, I realised that, yes, the game would continue.
Only this time, it had a new player.
And I intended to play to win.