Page 24 of Of Nightmares & Fire
This is where warriors come to die.
“Why does it have to be this way?” I ask no one in particular, but Pravin looks over at me with a grin, no doubt searching for an opportunity to push me. I’m sure he is annoyed that I didn’t argue about coming, and now he doesn’t get to watch me receive the punishment I was promised if I had.
“To weed out the weak, of course. You will have your first solo courting as soon as this is said and done.” He crosses his arms over his chest as he looks down on the pit below us. “The winner gets the prize.” That’s all I am to them. A prize. Rolling my eyes, I look out over where the men have gathered.
We are in the center of the large oval arena, a crow's nest box sitting high above the rest of the spectators. Of course my father has gathered most of Eathian here to witness all of this. They will be invited the whole time. Then when it's over, there will be a ball where the winner is announced and handfasting is completed.
It used to be that magick would seal the handfast, a magickal ceremony where each person entering the betrothal had to sacrifice lifeblood to tether their two souls to one another. Now it's a mere promise to uphold the union. Their word.
My gaze is immediately snagged on two brothers as they enter the arena last. They are the least armored but the most deadly inappearance. Both are shirtless, with only a band of bronzed metal wraps snugly around each bicep, and their harem pants are held in place by a thick leather band around their tapered waists. Kyros has his longer dark hair pulled back and tied messily and low at the back of his head, and Mavros has his longer blonde hair at the top of his head pleated into a mohawk, the sides freshly shaven, showing more of the tattoos above his ears.
Mavros, of course, has a smile brandished on his face, and the opposite is said of Kyros; like night and day. As they walk forward, the other soldiers, all in varying levels of armor, tense. I see a couple even take a step back, and my brow furrows.
“Those two are going to be an issue.” I hear Pravin say to my father as he comes to stand at our side. My father lifts his chin and narrows his eyes, and something almost protective rises in my chest as I see him assessing Mavros and Kyros.
“They will make for impressive entertainment. You know as well as I do that most of the magick is gone from the realm. I have no doubts those markings are for show. The kingdom of Deimos is on our side, even if it is reluctant. Queen Phaedra wouldn't risk the repercussions of enlisting those with magick into her inner circle, and she definitely wouldn't send them here if she did.” My father says confidently. “Come, daughter, you will give your favor to one of the warriors now.” He clips, not waiting for me to follow. He takes the set of stairs to the right of the balcony, leading to a platform set up to the side of the main fighting ring.
Cheers ring out all around as we are spotted by the people of Eathian and probably the neighboring kingdoms too; our presencesignifies the start of the games. A fight to first death. I’ve only read about this in history tomes. The games my father hosts for entertainment have nothing on the sheer amount of people here today. I guess the kingdom wants to know what kind of king they may one day have.
The men line up in the very center of the amphitheater, and my father nods at me to begin. Swallowing my fear, I take the last set of small steps, and when my feet hit the dirt ground in the pit, the crowd roars with excitement. The energy of the massive room is the only thing that propels me forward. I’ve taken a few hours of each day since meeting the men to get acquainted with their faces and learn a little more about their heritage. Mavros and Kyros are the only ones I have found little on. I can't help but wonder if the alliance that my father has with Queen Phaedra Lazuro is as strong as he outwardly makes it seem.
Every man here is beautiful in their own way. I’m sure many of the women in the stands would be thrilled to be in my place. To seemingly have a choice in what can only be a righteous and bountiful future. The thought makes my stomach sour, though, and apprehension bites at the back of my mind as I reach the first man.
Cadoc beams as he reaches for my hands. My lips curl up on one side into a small, meek, almost sad smile as I accept his touch, and he leans in, allowing me to kiss his cheek.
“Prince Cadoc Natharia of Irowerth, thank you. It honors me that you should wish to fight for the chance of our betrothal. Your courage does not go unseen. If you should fall in the fight, I willpray that your ashes fly free and your soul not carry the burden of burning for eternity in Zameil.” I say just as I rehearsed.
“Thank you, Princess. The honor is mine.” He nods a bow and takes a step back into line. Moving on, I step forward to greet the next man. Son of Lady Kenina and Lord Ezequiel Caius of Eythora, one of our biggest cities within Eathain. I’ve met Benat many times, as his father and mine are as close as one could consider friends. They are both horrible men, and they equally love the idea of power and ruling over actually caring for their people.
“Hey beautiful, I told you it would be no time at all and those lips would be on me.” He smirks, and I recoil the slightest amount. As I do, I notice movement to the side and make eye contact with Kyros and then Mavros. The latter gripping the former by the wrist.
“Benat.” I nod my greeting, letting my gaze fall on him again. He has the look most women love. Straight teeth and nose, fiery passion in his narrowed cinnamon-hued eyes, and the same cinnamon-brown hair to match. I ignore his cocky remark and continue with the blessing. “It honors me that you should wish to fight for the chance of our betrothal. Your courage does not go unseen. If you should fall in the fight, I will pray that your ashes fly free and your soul not carry the burden of burning for eternity in Zameil.”
When I finish, I lean in to kiss his cheek just as I did with Cadoc, but instead of accepting, he turns his head, stealing my lips with his. The crowd grows to a frenzy. Stepping back with a gasp, I look down the line. Many of the suitors look angry, but two of them are planted where they stand with barely contained rage. Kyros andMavros don't look at me; they vibrate with fury, their gazes locked on Benat.
Clearing my throat, I eye Benat as he laughs and rallies the crowd further by touching his lips and letting his tongue roll out to take my taste into his mouth with a groan. The tension between those on my left and the brothers intensifies with the display.
Faolan Damalis, nephew of Lord Ophir Damalis of Halcyon, one of the outlying cities, looks apologetic as I approach him. His kind brown-hazel eyes flick between mine, and he bows his head before brushing back his shoulder-length dreadlocks from his tattooed face, giving me access to place a kiss on his cheek. I recite the same blessing to him, and he accepts it with a respectful bow, narrowing his eyes at the previous suitor, who was less than courteous.
Mavros is next, and as I approach him, he gives me what I now know is his signature smirk and wink. I roll my eyes as he openly laughs. Taking my hands in his, he tugs me toward him, and I have to roll my lips in to keep myself from laughing at his antics. He has been easy to like; I suppose I am grateful for that.
“Lay it on me, Princess.” He turns his head so I have easy access to his cheek. “I knew theprincessnickname was fitting.” He whispers as my lips make contact with his skin, and they bring a flush to my own as I step away from him. Shakily, I say the blessing, and he pins me with a look I don’t understand. Then, he just shakes his head and takes a step back.
When I reach for Kyros, he levels me with a glare. The negative energy riveting from him leeches into me, and I have to grit myteeth not to say something about it. He does not take my hands; instead, he just stands there, staring into my eyes like he is searching past what he is seeing and diving into my every thought.
“I don’t need a recited blessing written by ancestors long forgotten. Those words meannothingcoming from someone who doesn’t even want to be here in the first place.” He growls under his breath. The crowd is still rowdy from Benat’s display, and no one is particularly close enough to hear what he said, but it causes my heart rate to spike regardless. I don't know why, but something about his declaration causes me to pause and look at him in a different light. Perhaps there is more to his standoffish presence. The scar down the side of his face stands out in the low light of the amphitheater, and I find myself curious to know how it happened. He sees me looking and tilts his head, allowing shadows to cover his face as he waits for my response.
“Kyros Kazhal of Diemos, regardless of what you think of me. I do wish you an honorable end, if one must come for you. I will not give you a false blessing, because believe me when I say, I have seen enough of the pain in my own eyes to know when I see the same in the gaze of someone else. I don’t give empty promises—and I promise you—those words? They don’t meannothing.” His jaw feathers, but his anger falters for only a moment as he bends down and I reach up to my tiptoes. I place a hand on his shoulder because he would not give me his hand, and I need the balance. Fluttering wings take flight in my stomach as my hand presses against the warmth of his bare skin and my lips press to his scruffy cheek.
He does not thank me, and he does not bow, but he keeps his narrowed eyes and heavy brows locked on me as I retreat. Even as I make my way to give therecitedblessing for the others, to both Ruaan, Prince of Pyraxia, and Wrensford, future Lord of Vadon. Both Ruaan and Wrensford accept the blessings without pause and without causing an uproar, unlike Benat. Looking back at my father, he twirls his finger with an impatient face, urging me to get on with it. I look at the line of men, each one of them waiting eagerly for me to choose one of them to have my favor, but there is only one man who stood out to me in this line. Only one man seemed to understand the feelings I have about thisgame. The only man who, instead of looking at me like I am a prize, looks at me like I am a puzzle.
I know who I amsupposedto choose—who I have beentoldto choose. The decision was made by the discussions of men behind closed doors, sitting in high-back chairs, with a conversation over a table carved of bone. The heightened awareness of his eyes burrowing into me causes my heart to send a surge of anxious energy through my veins at the decision I am choosing to make instead. I step back, toward the center of the line, and reach up, pulling the hairpin free, my long loose, ebony waves falling around my shoulders and down my back. When I step forward, the crowd goes silent. I can feel the heavy press of my father’s eyes on the back of my head as I reach for Kyros’ hand, lock my eyes with the endless shadows that are his, and place the hairpin in his palm.
“I would like you to not only have my blessing, Kyros Kazhal, but my favor as well.” I take a step closer, and before I lose my gall,I lift my other hand, wrapping it around the back of his neck, and I push my fingers into the hair at the nape and pull his face down to mine. Slowly, I close my eyes and press a chaste kiss to his lips. He freezes. He doesn’t even breathe. No words. No response at all other than turning to stone, and for some reason I feel like it was therightresponse, more so than any other he could have given.
I feel everyone’s silent stares on me as I return to the royal box in the stands. My father greets me with unbridled aggression as he grabs my arm above the elbow and pulls me in close so he can growl in my face.
“What were you told?” He asks with barely contained rage. “I fucking told you that you would choose Benat for the first round! Stop playing like you have a mind of your own and do what you’re fucking told! You just made sure that you are going to go to bedsorrytonight, sweetheart.” His fingers are bruising where they dig into my arm, and I feel myself losing the confidence I had a moment ago as a feeling of disquiet floods me.
