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But no one had asked me what I wanted.
Arthur and Fenyx’s tournament began a few days after my talk with Orcades.
There was an old stone arena outside the city walls which had been used for such purposes in times past. Now it had been awakened from hibernation for Arthur's new purpose.
Around the ancient stone core, additional tiers of wooden seats had been added, spiraling upwards in a sweeping amphitheater.
At one end of the arena, a raised pavilion on a platform had been constructed, jutting out to provide Arthur and his elite entourage with the best possible view of the proceedings below. At each corner of the platform streamed banners of red and gold fluttering with the Pendragon crest. Inside the half-enclosed pavilion, velvet drapes hung around the edges while sumptuous cushions in rich hues of purple and crimson covered seats of polished wood.
Originally, I had wondered who might attend such a spectacle. After all, the kingdom was at war. The city was dejected and starving. Was Arthur planning to sell tickets? Or perhaps demand that his citizenry show up?
But as it turned out, when you offered people free bread, ale, and entertainment—especially the chance to potentially see a slaughter—they rallied quite impressively.
The tiers of seats were filled to the brim with laughing, talking, jostling people.
I followed the king’s procession as we walked towards the royal pavilion, watching the people in the stands with fascination. As Arthur passed by, there was a low cheer from the crowd as well as a few boos and hisses. The latter were quickly suppressed when my brother’s guards made a threatening move towards the crowd. Arthur raised a hand briefly in acknowledgement, ignoring the sounds of contempt.
The vast majority must have hated him. But apparently many were willing to put their hatred on hold for the sake of a diversion.
I tugged at the sleeve of my gown. Lady Eve had arrived early that morning with her helper Aliza to deck me out in a dress of royal blue silk. The skirt, voluminous and regal, featured layers of white silk and organza. From beneath the layers, embroidered dragons, their eyes aflame with tiny rubies, peeked out as I walked. Long, billowing sleeves lined with silvery brocade fell down to my wrist and were fastened with sapphire-studded clasps.
A long train, embroidered with silver thread and covered with crystal beads, followed behind me like a river and had to be held up by two small page boys.
The entire ensemble was ridiculous.
I understood that Arthur wished to have me dressed as a princess, as a symbol of Pendragon power—his power—but this was more pretentious and ceremonial than anything I had worn in Myntra. I hated it.
Furthermore, I hated the fact that my hand was presently resting on Fenyx's blue-velvet-covered forearm. A shade of blue that perfectly matched my gown, as if he had planned it himself, which, on further thought, I realized he likely had.
As far as I was concerned, it was as if Arthur had gifted me to his warlord general already.
Fenyx certainly appeared to think so.
After our walk in the garden, I could not seem to escape him. Whenever I’d appeared in public, he had been by my side in an instant. That first dinner with Arthur had been the only private moment we’d had. Every night thereafter, Fenyx arrived at the Pendragon table—apparently with Arthur’s permission—and had seated himself beside me.
“Smile, princess,” he murmured now. “The people are watching.”
“And? How exactly will my smile help them?” I snapped.
“Arthur wishes for you to smile. AndIwish for you to smile. That should be an ample reason.” He grasped my wrist and squeezed. Slowly at first. Then more tightly.
Then with so much pressure, I had to suppress a gasp of pain.
I could melt him like a candle, I reminded myself.
I wastoleratingthis. He did not have the upper hand. I was allowing him to believe he did. I silently chanted the words like a prayer, trying to ignore the pain in my wrist.
Still, the memories of Florian would not stop pouring back into my mind.
I forced a smile, gritting my teeth.
“There,” Fenyx said approvingly. “Much better.” As usual, his eyes slipped from my face to the rest of my body, lingering on my bodice. “You look stunning in that gown. Practically ethereal.”
I said nothing. Refusing to accept the compliment. There was only one man who I wished to hear such words from.
I wondered if Fenyx would berate me or try to punish me for not playing along politely. We were nearing the steps to the royal pavilion, and he was almost out of time.
But then, sure enough, he moved, slipping his arm around my waist and turning me so that I was forced to look out over the edge of the arena and down at the people below—many of whom were looking back up at us.
