The Queen flicked her dagger. “I don't remember authorizing a tournament, Lady Chrysalm. Cancel it.”
The lady glanced across the council table, her gaze briefly landing on Duchess Satryani. “Yes, my Queen, apologies. I must have misunderstood.”
Lady Satryani frowned. “Will you not at least consider other candidates, my Queen? More suitable ones. A prince, even a duke, would bring something of value to Drantar.”
Anais met the duchess’ cool regard, her dagger spinning a tiny hole into the table.
Lady Chrysalm laughed, her nervous gaze darting between them. “Well, Castieniscalled the Prince of the Night.”
Sitting beside the duchess today was Count Magdus. “A prince of whores is still a whore. Your highness, his children would be eligible for the throne!”
The dagger paused. “Are you attempting to explain to me how my own crown passes to the next Queen?”
Magdus cleared his throat. “No, of course not, but–”
The blade slowly lifted from the table. “The father of the heir has never been a concern of this council. ‘No, my Queen.’ End your sentence there.”
“…No, my Queen.”
The silence was short. Lady Satryani filled it. “Regardless, a Consort Tournament must take place, my Queen. It's tradition, and it’s been so long since our last one. I’ve had messages sent to our neighbors, announcing the grand event. The ambassadors will begin arriving soon.”
Neighbors – as though the other nations were allies who could ride over the hills for a weekend outing. Anais said, “Have you? How thoughtful.”
The duchess inclined her chin. “A royal wedding must be celebrated with every corner of the world, don’t you agree, my Queen?”
“Naturally. Yet, a tournament is not necessary. I have already chosen my Consort.”
Satryani’s gaze held steady. “Tradition insists, my Queen. The peace and prosperity you laud so highly might be shaken if tradition is scorned. Akerami has already sent a reply on their swiftest ship. Their prince would be honored to bring a troupe of their best performers.”
A round of appreciative murmurs circled the table. Even Magdus was intrigued.
The nobles loved their gatherings. This was one she could have gone without.
Satryani was right, however – tradition and the tenuous peace it upheld demanded a tournament. Consorts were political alliances with other nations. Anais’ mother had held a Consort Tournament every few years. Jana had always had an excuse not to choose a Consort. Anais would simply do much the same.
Feigning a sudden lack of interest, she went back to spinning her dagger. “Very well. A tournament to celebrate my wedding is in order. Continue, Lady Chrysalm.”
The duchess smiled. Perhaps Satryani would have left it there if Lord Magdus hadn't added, “The courtesan should join the tournament. He dances like a fighter; I’m sure his performance would be fascinating.”
Lady Satryani nodded slowly before Anais could reject the notion. “Yes, I agree. All suitors must compete. It is only fair.”
Protesting now would show fear, and the Queen was never afraid.
“Of course. My Escorts are all well-trained in combat. As you say, it is only fair.”
—
The council wanted Castien dead.
That was the only explanation for demanding he join the often-bloody tournaments.
As soon as Anais stepped into the Queen’s Wing, she spun to Jerome. “Two guards on Castien at all times. On all of you. And tell Thakris to stop throwing off her guards. Have the walls been reinforced?”
Her captain nodded. “Spikes, as Jerrl suggested. The Queen’s Wing is finished.”
She glanced at the sharp metal poking above the walls. Unsightly but safer. “Good. Thank you.”
“My Queen.”
