Crush the King (Crown of Shards #3)(42)
Sullivan and Dominic ended up at a table together, along with Paloma and Rhea. Xenia took a seat with some Ungers, while Auster remained standing with the Bellonan guards. Cho left the terrace. Still no sign of Serilda anywhere in the arena. She must have decided to head to our rendezvous point rather than risk returning to the terrace. Worry filled me, but Serilda could take care of herself, and I just had to trust that she would be okay until she could rejoin us.
I would have much rather remained with my friends, but I took a seat at the center table with the other royals. I sat down in the first chair I came to, one that had its back to the railing and the rest of the arena, making it the worst seat. Too late, I realized my mistake and that I wouldn’t be able to see the opening ceremonies without craning my neck and looking back over my shoulder. But my ass was already in the chair, and it would have been a bigger error to try to take a better seat from someone else, so I stayed put.
Heinrich sat to my left, with Eon beside him. Zariza took the seat to my right, with Ruri on the other side, and Cisco beyond her. Maximus took the chair directly across from mine, the one with the best view of the arena. Naturally. That left one empty seat, the chair with the coined woman engraved in the top, and Driscol scurried forward and plopped down in it.
According to Xenia, this table was supposed to be for kings and queens only, but Driscol clearly wanted a seat here—literally and figuratively. The only way for that to happen would be for all the kings and queens to formally recognize Fortuna as its own kingdom and the DiLucris as a royal family, something the DiLucris had been trying to achieve for decades. Perhaps that was what Maximus had promised Driscol—that Morta would support the DiLucris in their relentless quest to officially establish their own kingdom.
Servants deposited platters of fresh fruit, cheeses, crackers, and pastries on the table, along with tiny chocolate-cherry and vanilla-orange sweet cakes. A second group of servants handed out plates, silverware, and napkins, and poured mugs of warm spiced apple cider. I drew in breath after breath, tasting the subtle aromas emanating from the food, as well as the steam wisping up from the cider, but I didn’t smell or sense any poison.
Sullivan was right. The Mortans wouldn’t be so bold as to try to murder me on the terrace. After we left the arena, though, it would be open season on me, especially since I had already tried to kill Maximus. But I was safe enough for now, so I sipped my cider and downed several cakes, enjoying the mix of the rich chocolate with the tart cherry, and the lighter, smoother vanilla with its bright pop of orange.
The other royals, along with Driscol, downed their own food and drinks, as did the minor royals, nobles, and advisors at the surrounding tables. No one spoke, and the only sounds were the soft scrapes of forks and knives on dishes, along with the occasional clatter and clang of a servant refilling someone’s mug.
The silence stretched on and on, and the tension grew in commensurate measure. Everyone glanced at their neighbors, as well as the kings and queens, but no one dared to speak. I kept my mouth shut and concentrated on my food. This was yet another game, and I wasn’t going to be the first one to give in and break the quiet.
But that didn’t mean I still couldn’t take control of the situation.
An idea occurred to me, one that would fix my previous mistake in choosing this awful seat with no view and hopefully have the added bonus of annoying Maximus. Two strixes, one stone. I popped another chocolate-cherry cake into my mouth, then got to my feet.
The other kings and queens froze, their mugs and forks hovering in midair. They all looked at me, as did everyone else. No doubt some of them expected me to pull my sword and charge around the table toward Maximus in some reckless assassination attempt, but I had set that game aside—for now. Instead, I picked up my chair, turned it around so that it was facing out toward the arena, and sat down, deliberately putting my back to the Mortan king.
Ostensibly, I made the move so that I would have a better view of the opening ceremonies, but I was silently declaring that Maximus didn’t scare me, and everyone could see the motion for the insult it truly was.
Behind me, someone sucked in a surprised breath, and I got the impression that it was Driscol. Of course. As our esteemed host, he would want to keep the slights and insults among the royals to a minimum, and he especially wouldn’t want me or anyone else to do or say anything to anger Maximus. But I was a queen, and Driscol was not, and he had no power over me whatsoever.
Once again, the silence stretched on and on. Every quiet second that ticked by filled my heart with even more malicious glee. I might not have killed Maximus yet, but insulting him was still extremely satisfying.
Beside me, Heinrich got to his feet. He paused a moment, staring at Maximus, then turned his chair around, lined it up with mine, and sat down in it, also putting his back to the Mortan king. Heinrich grinned at me, and I winked back.
To my surprise, another chair scraped away from the table. Zariza didn’t even bother to stare down Maximus. Instead, she fluffed out her long, glorious red hair, then spun her chair around, lined it up with mine, and sat down, facing out toward the arena along with Heinrich and me.
“You’re right, Everleigh,” Zariza said in a loud, silky voice that carried across the terrace. “The view is so much better from this angle.”
Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but it seemed as though I’d impressed her enough to get her to join my little rebellion. That, or she simply wanted a better view of the ceremonies. Hard to tell.