“High Priestess,” Anais purred. “It's always a pleasure to host one of the Goddess’ chosen. Has she spoken to you lately? Blessed you to win the tournament, perhaps?”
The priestess’ lips thinned. She gestured to the side, her claws barely peeking out of a flowing sleeve. “The Goddess’ champion will be the one competing. Her favor is earned, not gifted.”
To the front stepped a tall, large man, his robes a few inches shorter than it probably should have been. He looked awkward as he made his bow.
The priestess gestured, and the man stepped back. “He is a mute, but perfectly obedient and–” her gaze skimmed in Castien’s direction, “–purebred.”
Ah, so their champion was an idiot brute.
When it was the nameless champion's turn to show off his skills, he shrugged off his robe, revealing excessively bulging muscles on every inch of his body. The brute stood in the middle of the Great Hall in nothing but a loincloth. Few were the nobles who didn’t ogle the flesh on display, likely envisioning him without even that final strip of cloth.
One of the attendants brought forward a sizeable two-handed sword. The champion lifted it with one. His steps were like drumbeats thundering through the hall, his swings powerful and deliberate.
The pirate would humiliate but probably not kill Castien, and the Commander appeared honorable. But this champion didn't seem like one to pull a punch.
The Escort struggled to find a compliment for the creature. “Interesting. He's… sturdy. Probably has plenty of stamina.”
Anais didn't respond right away. When she spoke, there was a hint of irritation in her tone. “Castien, what are you doing?”
This wasn't their usual game.
He turned an empty, worshipful gaze to her, mindful of the nobles. “I just think you should keep an open mind, my Queen. An ally for a Consort would be very useful.”
She didn’t respond right away.
“We’ll discuss this later.” Her voice turned cold.
She hadn’t even glanced at him, but she saw right through him. She always had. It changed nothing. If he couldn't convince her directly, then suggestion and redirection would do just as well. She would come to accept the truth, eventually.
A courtesan couldn't marry a Queen.
Chapter 4
Anais
All her Escorts were a comfort, particularly during these tedious ceremonies. She was wearing a goddess-cursed crown. The throne was uncomfortable. The nobles had already slaughtered two servants. But at least Castien was amusing.
Or he had been, until he had begun match-making. Her jaws ached from the effort not to clench them.
The final arrival threatened to break her composure. If Castien tried to pair her with a Nadraken bastard…
“Duchess Isabel Farian of Nadraken. Her attendants, baroness Paula Grishen…”
Each name and title burned into her mind. Half her awareness was focused on the man beside her. Had any of them laid a finger on Castien? A whip? A blade. If they had even caught a glimpse of his bare skin, she’d dig their eyes out.
Anais slid her claws down his arm, her fingers twining with his.
The Queen could be possessive of her pet.
“…to pay their respects to her majesty, the Queen Anais Renebris, Heir of Blood and Vengeance.”
The herald remembered. Good man.
A frown crossed Duchess Isabel’s brows. One of her attendants whispered to her. She brushed the woman aside and smoothed her features.
Bowing barely deep enough to be respectful, the lady said, “Peace, highness. Sister Yelena sends her greetings and wishes you luck for your Consort Tournament. She regrets the inability to offer a suitable potential Consort on such short notice. I am here, instead, to witness the proceedings.”
Sister, indeed. It was an insult wrapped in cowardice, presented by a woman Yelena likely wanted disposed of. Any Consort competitor from Nadraken would have found himself dead, in the arena or otherwise, regardless of traditions and rules that should have protected ambassadors.
