Page 64 of The Promised Prince
I’m probably going crazy.He and Joniss were about to wrestle on an unstable, rolling log hanging over a crate of mud, and it had beenhisidea.
Every wink and flashy smile from Joniss to Renna had led him to this moment. Then thinking about Joniss choosing Renna for the kiss had pushed him over the edge. Trev couldn’t let that happen. In a way, he was helping Renna—saving her from Joniss’s games. At least that’s what he tried to tell himself.
Both stood there, knees bent, waiting for the other to make his move. Joniss was bigger, but Trev had seen him fight before and knew himself to be faster. Joniss swiped a hand toward him, upsetting the log’s balance, but Trev batted his hand away. Both men adjusted their weight to find balance again on the moving log.
Joniss shuffled toward him, locking his hands on Trev’s shoulders. Trev tried to wiggle free but ended up with his hands on Joniss’s arms. The pair twisted and pulled, bent and strained, but neither fell. The log began to roll faster, and both men fought to keep their footing. Their arms dropped as they struggled to regain their balance. Then the battle started again.
Joniss lunged low toward Trev’s legs. He was more aggressive than usual, and the element of surprise almost knocked Trev completely off the log. He fell to his stomach, his arms wrapping around the wood to hold himself above the ground. His feet dangled dangerously close to the mud.
So this was how it would end. Trev would look like an idiot in front of everyone, and Joniss would kiss Renna. At that moment, his pride hurt more than his jealousy.
He looked up at Joniss, his cocky smile giving him a new burst of determination.
Trev couldn’t let Joniss win.
Without even thinking, Trev swung his leg up over the log, hitting Joniss hard in the shins and knocking him off balance. He waved his arms in quick circular motions, trying desperately not to fall. The log slowly shifted with Joniss’s panicked movements. Trev clung to the log, muscles tired. He couldn’t hang on much longer. Finally, the log spun just enough, causing Joniss to lose his footing. He dramatically fell back into the mud, sending splashes of the brown substance flying onto Trev’s arms and face. The crowd jumped to their feet, cheering loudly for him.
When the announcer called his name as the winner, Trev figured it was safe to let go. He slipped into the mud next to Joniss. The two men sat there in silence for a moment, flinging the sticky substance off their arms and hands.
“I guess you won,” Joniss reached out to shake Trev’s hand. The gesture was more about saving face with the onlookers than about being a good sport.
Still, it felt good. “Like you said, Joniss,” Trev said, with narrowed eyes. “I won.”
23
Trev
Bonfires lit the square in front of the palace that night for the Tournament of Champions celebration. The palace gates were opened wide to invite the entire city, from the lowest worker to the king himself. Rows of tables sat at the center of the square, each lined with platters of fruit, sweet bread, and cheeses. At the end of each table were barrels full of red punch. The steady beat from the musicians swirled through the courtyard, mixing with laughter.
Trev hid at the edge of the party and watched the crowd, safely wrapped in shadows as he leaned against a stone pillar of the palace wall. Citizens danced, ate, and drank—appearing, at least for the moment, content with their king and country. Seran mingled through the guests, smiling at young children, shaking hands with their parents. She was the perfect hostess—working the crowd like a queen.
Even though the people were clearly enjoying the festivities, the entire event was just political posturing on King Carver’s part. It was all part of his master plan to impress the queen and princess, to show them how generously he treated his people and how much they loved him for it in return. Trev scoffed as he thought back to the conversation he’d had with his father earlier when he’d emerged from the mud as Tournament Champion.
“That was brilliant!” his father had said, actually clapping him on the shoulder as Crosby pulled him up and handed him a clean towel.
“Thanks,” Trev had said hesitantly. He couldn’t remember the last time the king had seemed happy with him.
“To see you take control of the situation with Joniss was excellent maneuvering. Joniss was the clear favorite with the people, and then you stepped in and put the attention back on yourself. Now the people see you as their strong, fearless champion. And tonight you’ll seal it with a fairytale kiss between the royal lovers. I couldn’t have planned it better myself.”
Then the king had tightened his grip on Trev’s shoulder, squeezing it uncomfortably as he leaned close and whispered, “You better be glad you didn’t lose. You could have lost the election for us today.”
“I knew I could win.” Trev had met his father’s eyes squarely and shrugged him off, careful to make the movement look accidental as he passed the towel over his arms.
Thinking back on the conversation now, Trev was alarmed by how cold and calculating his father could be. But was Trev much better? He’d had his own motives for entering the competition, and he wasn’t proud of them. His reasons had nothing to do with Seran or the election and everything to do with keeping Joniss away from Renna.
“The kiss will be the finale of the evening,” his father had said.
Trev wasn’t looking forward to such a public display, but it was better than watching Joniss kiss Renna.
Even when he wasn’t trying, his eyes always found her, like a magnet to metal. She stood across the courtyard with a group of men and, of course, Joniss was there, front and center. Each time Renna smiled up at him, Trev’s stomach tensed. Surely she didn’t see anything in him. But what if she did? He needed to warn her about him.
This was about friendship. It had nothing to do with jealousy. A good friend would warn her about somebody like Joniss—how he used people to get ahead and then tossed them aside when their usefulness expired.
Trev waited until she separated from the group to get a drink, then slowly made his way through the crowd to where she stood. It felt like forever since he’d had a decent conversation with her—since they’d joked on the training field.
He casually moved to her side, careful to keep his eyes on the dancing in front of them and not on Renna. “Miss Degray, are you enjoying the festival?” he asked.
Renna lowered her cup, eyeing him. “Yes, thank you.”
