Ernaline snorted and let out a short laugh. “Actually, yes. The king and queen from Nethyr have arrived already. They came in late last night in a carriage the size of the throne room with spikes coming out of the sides, driven by fanged horses made from shadows. Quite the entrance for the guards at the gate coming in the middle of the night like that. It actually gave them a huge spook. Even the stable master didn’t want to touch them, instead he yelled at a few servants to grab the horses and bring them in. The king and queen came in already drunk and looking as regal as ever.” She rolled her eyes. “I swear, the only color anyone owns in Nethyr is every shade of black in the kingdoms.”
Ambrose smiled. Nethyr was a kingdom of bounty hunters and assassins.It made sense the only color they wore could allow them as much stealth as possible, but it did seem excessive.
“They do know how to party though, don’t they,” Ambrose remarked, remembering the last Champion’s Ball when the king got so wasted on ale he sloppily hit on every other woman in the palace, while the queen made all the male fighters line up, one by one so she could personally inspect their physical attributes under the guise of—how did she put it? ‘Documentation purposes’.
Ernaline giggled, clearly remembering the same night Ambrose was. “You would think their marriage is one for political reasons if they hadn’t practically climbed on top of each other during the end of the feast. I’ve never seen the king look so furious as when they asked if he wanted to join them. I thought he might strike them down right then and there. They certainly are a strange couple.”
Ambrose let a smile escape past her own lips. “I wonder what chaos they’ll get into tonight?”
“More likewhothey’ll get into tonight.” Ernaline covered her mouth with the back of her hand to hide her grin. Gods, she’d missed talking with her. It felt like old times when they’d get away from prying eyes and tease about the royalty.
Ambrose couldn’t stop the grin that stretched across her own face. She missed gossiping with Ernaline during the events and whispering about the stories the other foreign servants shared with them. It felt so… normal. Something she hadn’t felt in so long. “Who else is here?”
Ernaline dropped down to sit on the edge of the bed. “So far, just the two of them and one of the queens from Damayaria. I don’t think the other will be joining her, something about an emergency at the school? I’m not entirely sure. They spoke very hushed about it and the servants have been forbidden from speaking to us about anything concerning it, so I wasn’t able to find out much. She came to watch for the both of them and brought a caravan of nobles with her. Aside from that, we’re still waiting on the rest to arrive.”
Ambrose took a deep breath. Letting the air fill her lungs completelybefore releasing it. “We should probably get out there then, it’ll be starting soon. I’m sure Casimir will want all the Trial Champions to be dressed and ready to greet them when they get here.”
Ernaline grabbed her skirts in her fist. “You got this.”
“Yeah.” Ambrose nodded, squaring her shoulders. “It’s time.”
Chapter 38
It didn’t take long for the rest of the nobility to arrive. The King and Queen of Nethyr were already prowling the halls for new prospects for their… activities. Servants ran from their line of sight, knowing no one was safe from their peculiar tastes. Though, this only seemed to fuel some kind of sick desire in them even more. The Queen of Damayaria looked as graceful as one would anticipate from such a prestigious kingdom. Aside from Eltoria, Damayaria was held as one of the jewels of the empire, responsible for training generations of the greatest mages to be dispersed into the kingdoms as they were needed. Dressed in a beautiful mage robe of deep purple with silver decals for her kingdom’s colors, she practically glided across the polished floors. The nobles and guards she brought with her touted the same color in unison as they marched at her side. A silver crown sat perched atop her red-chestnut braid, with tanned skin as soft as the silk of her robe. She moved with the fluid grace of a well-trained warrior, but held herself with the air of a seasoned professor, the epitome of strength and knowledge. No less could be expected of the mage kingdom.
Magnus strode by her side in animated discussion as he gave her yet another tour of the palace as though she hadn’t seen it likely hundreds of times. They chatted the way only old friends could and for a moment, Ambrose could almost see the younger versions of them that grew up side by side as students long ago. He was the first to greet the queens every year, escorting them for the rest of the event. Ambrose was convinced it was an excuse to catch up with the queens of his favorite kingdom before things got too hectic. He’d loved teaching at the academy.
Aside from Eltoria, Damayaria was where Magnus had spent the majority of his life. Learning, and eventually teaching decades of new students before he was charged with becoming the Grand Mage for the kingdom of warriors. Teaching still brought him joy, but never the way he lit up when the queens came to visit. Ambrose knew a piece of his heart would forever be in the walls of The Academy of Lysia.
The King and Queen of Sepikara were the next to arrive. Bundled in furs from a land of ice and snow, dressed in white leather with silver trimming for their own colors, they displayed the power of the tundra kingdom magnificently. The king was larger even than King Tallis, his dark complexion a vast contrast from the furs he refused to take off when the servants asked, waving them away with a scarred hand. The queen wore an incredible white gown trimmed with a silver train and a fur cloak, her silver crown sparkling against her black hair and soft features. She’d dusted herself with a shimmering substance that made her skin look like fresh snow sparkling under the sun. If the King and Queen from Nethyr were wild cards, the ruling class from Sepikara were their polar opposite, as intimidating and awe-inspiring as the magickal weapons they produced in their cities and villages.
The servants showered the new royalty with cakes and fruits laid out on trays and bowls. Touting around appetizers Ambrose knew had taken Ms. Asquith three days to prepare. The palace buzzed with whispers at the new arrivals and the air caught a charge as anticipation grew among all classes.
The last to show were many of the nobles from Naenaros. The crown of the empire. Technically, every citizen of Naenaros was a king or queen in their own right who chose not to rule over any of the kingdoms, but rather enjoyed the comforts of living in the kingdom of the gods. First Kings and First Queens more powerful than any of them could imagine, ready to replace any of the ruling kings and queens should they fail in their duty or fall. They prided themselves on always being the last ones to arrive so all eyes would be on them. Their beauty so intense it was terrifyingly unnatural. In the eyes of the empire, they were perfect beings. Well, aside from the gods.
Ambrose lined up in the palace entrance with the rest of the Trial Champions to be displayed in front of the royalty. Once over two hundred strong, the line of warriors had dwindled down to just thirty-six standing in their best armor and gowns with a few still stranded about the palace. One by one, the foreign royals came to size them up. None of them looked at her seriously or seemed to have a second thought until Jovian, the King of Nethyr approached.
He was incredibly fit, wearing black leather pants and a black arachne silk shirt and many silver rings on his fingers. Built more like the fighters in the Grand Arena, he walked around as though he were strutting in his own palace. With a sword at his hip that he most likely had never actually used, the hilt was decorated with a large onyx stone on the pommel and smaller diamonds down the hilt for his kingdom’s colors. He was handsome enough, though Ambrose had never found the charm in it. His features were finely crafted by the gods, with tanned skin that practically had its own glow, a sharp jawline with the cheekbones to match and well-shaped eyebrows that sat above eyes blacker than the night sky that twinkled as though stars sat inside them. It was a face many men and women in the palace had enjoyed, but it only made her stomach turn looking at him. The twinkle in his eye was never playful, but always hungry… a hunger that never seemed satiated.
“My, my, my…” he said as his eyes scanned her body. “Do my eyes deceive me? Do we have a servant entering the tournament this year?
“Not anymore.” Ambrose straightened her spine and squared back her shoulders. “Your Majesty.”
Jovian’s lips curled up in a terrifying way, his perfectly straight teeth shining. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t be anymore, would you? How interesting…”
There was that word again.
Ambrose was really beginning to hate that word.
“Correct, Your Majesty.” Ambrose held her composure as he reached a hand out and tugged one of the chains connecting her corset to her collar.
“Very interesting…” Eyes shining, he tugged the chain and closed the space between them as his gaze ran over her throat and mark with something she couldn’t quite place in them. Though she’d only seen him a few times in her years serving in the palace, she’d always hated how she never fully knew what he was thinking, with a face always so expressive but impossible to read. It made him dangerous. She could already smell the ale on his breath. “Wouldn’t it be delightful if you visited my chambers tonight? Seeing as it might be your last and all?”
“I think the queen might be upset with that.” She pulled back, trying to remind him of his other half.
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” he purred, twirling a lock of her hair between his fingers, eyes ablaze. “In fact, she may even join the fun. She enjoys a pretty thing even more than I do. Come and find me when the feast is over, I’ll make sure it’s a night you remember.”
Ambrose glared at him. “And if I refuse?”
