Page 58 of The Faceless Queen

“Ah, yes.” They turned away from me as two more servants emerged, each carrying a crown on a velvet pillow. Then the Queen leaned against her husband. And collapsed to the ground.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Abigail ran into the hall, shouting for help as the King roared out orders. A dozen servants filled the space within seconds.

I gripped the Hermit’s arm, my fingers digging into his flesh as he hissed in my ear to calm down. But I couldn’t. I was shaking. Abigail took her place across from me, her eyes narrowed in suspicion before she realized I’d seen her. She quickly looked away.

The Queen stirred, reaching for her husband’s hands, and looked more embarrassed than hurt as she stood up and adjusted the crown on her head.

“Just a touch dizzy,” she said. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” She waved off the servants now circling her.

“What happened?” King Dairen asked.

She pressed her palms to his cheeks. “Nothing. I’m sorry I frightened you. I should probably eat something.” Then she turned to me and smiled. “Don’t worry. I’m fine.”

My eyes blurred with tears, but I nodded. “Are you sure?”

“Perfectly,” she said, and quickly took a long sip from the water goblet shoved into her hand and then a quick bite of bread from the royal taster who’d emerged with a tray of food.

Abigail’s eyes were on me again, but then she curtseyed and retreated to the room.

“She knows,” I hissed.

“She knows fuck all,” the Hermit replied. “There’s too much doubt in her mind yet, but let that remain so.” His eyes met mine. “No more going off script. And watch the way you’re walking, no hips.”

I nodded, my throat tight, until a moment later, a dozen soldiers from House Kanos surrounded us, as well as another dozen nobles. With a word from the king, we all began our procession through the castle to the tourney, walking past the windows which revealed a sun that continued to set.

We crossed what felt like endless numbers of great halls into the castle’s main keep, with a ceiling that rose at least four stories tall. It was full of paintings of Eskalon, the ceiling a dramatic motif of the day and night sky. Framed along the walls were oil portraits of previous kings. Half of whom were definitely named Jaron.

The King, and most of our entourage, remained worried for the Queen’s health after her fall. It allowed me to walk without every set of eyes completely focused on me. And kept anyone from noticing how hard my heart was pounding.

Nor did anyone seem to notice if my eyes widened at each new room, new hall, as if I’d never seen them before. I spotted the ballroom, several sitting rooms, and art galleries, a dizzying amount of space, before a set of doors opened before us and we entered a private courtyard.

The watchtowers loomed above in the distance, and a moonstag flew overhead, circling the perimeter. We climbed into a horse-drawn carriage before being briskly ridden across the grounds to the outer walls, and then beyond to the fields of the tourney. My stomach turned with every jostle of the wheels, every nicker and snort of the horses pulling us. Already my ears were ringing as the sounds of the tournament filled the air.

There was so much chatter, coming from every direction imaginable. I knew there’d been a crowd hours ago, but I was fairly certain that hundreds upon hundreds of people were outside then, possibly even a thousand. And above the chatter in the distance, I could hear music. Someone was playing the lyre, and someone was drumming. It was Eskalon’s favorite song. The one I’d spent years dancing nightly to. The crowd shouted out the familiar verses, and it pulled me back into my body as the carriage door opened.

King Dairen exited first, surrounded by his personal guard. Then the queen, and then me. And Lord Brandon, holding up a banner with the purple and silver colors of House Kanos. A unicorn in its center. A strong gust of wind blew, and the banner whipped in the air.

A nobleman with a curly white beard and equally curly hair stepped forward, his tunic showing off the blue moonstag and red flame of House Lafir’s sigil.

“Your Majesties,” he bowed before Olivay’s parents, and then before me. “And, Your Highness. Felicitations on your betrothal, Princess Olivay.”

I nervously eyed the Hermit, unsure of what to do, but he nodded quickly.

“Thank you,” I replied. “My lord,” I added quickly, not entirely sure if that was the correct title or not.

The Hermit stepped forward quickly. “We appreciate you being here to greet us, Lord Dovan.” He gestured at the entourage growing larger as more carriages arrived and more soldiers and nobles came to join us. “My understanding is we are to enter the pavilion set aside for House Kanos and wait there until the King announces Her Highness. Then she is to enter the field for the ceremony?”

“Yes,” Lord Dovan said. “Princess Olivay will wait with House Kanos until the announcement is made. Then she’ll walk onto the field before the tourney begins and meet the prince. Their engagement will be announced by the King. Then, of course, her betrothed will attempt to win the tourney in her honor. As his bride, Princess Olivay is the tourney’s Lady of Beauty. And I must say, she certainly fits the title.” He shot me a furtive glance. “I’ll take you to your seats now. We have to walk a little bit of the way beside the tourney field, but I have a back route so most won’t be able to see the princess until it is time.” He bowed again. “Follow me.”

He led us through a door, and the music grew louder, as well as the singing. I could now see up close what I had seen from the sky. Dozens of pavilions with roofs in just as many colors lined the jousting field on the left. On the right was a raised dais, with only six pavilions. Three in the blue and red colors of House Lafir. One made of purple and silver for House Kanos. And there was one more set of colors. Gray and red. A banner flapped in the wind depicting a chimera engulfed in flame.

House Bathiner.

I didn’t realize they held such a place of distinction. The kings who ruled Eskalon all originally came from House Bathiner, and ruled proudly before House Lafir came into power. Most of its members were still closely related to King Tirian. So closely in fact, I could have sworn Bathiner had been swallowed up by their relatives in House Lafir. But apparently, they were operating as a cadet house with their own sigil and flag.

Through the faint lace ribbon across my eyes, I spotted the back to the king’s pavilion, proudly decked out in the colors, flags, and sigils of House Lafir. King Tirian had not made an appearance yet. He wouldn’t until we were all in place. Sitting in the center of his dais was a red velvet throne. Naturally, his pavilion was large enough to take up half the field and had been raised an extra three levels. Towering over House Bathiner and House Kanos, it was already full of his people. Nobles with curly hair like his, and soldiers decked out in their tournament armor. Plus half a dozen servants carrying trays of wine. Flickering torches flared in each corner, keeping the seats alight in the growing dark. Every few feet, I could hear another torch coming to life.