Crush the King (Crown of Shards #3)(44)

The Bellonan troupes mixed beautifully with the performers from the other kingdoms, and together they put on a dazzling show. The crowd appreciatively oohed and aahed at every flip, dip, spin, and twirl, and the acrobats, wire walkers, morphs, and magiers pushed themselves to go faster, higher, and bigger with their impressive tricks.

I cheered and clapped along with everyone else. The lively music, the colorful costumes, the bright flashes of magic, the crowd’s appreciative roars and delighted gasps. They all combined into a thrilling spectacle. This was what I had always longed to see when I’d dreamed of attending the Regalia, and it was just as exciting and wonderful as I’d imagined.

The performance also reminded me of the night when I had first snuck into the Black Swan arena to see the troupe’s opening show in Svalin. If someone had told me back then that I would be sitting here now watching the Regalia as the queen of Bellona, I wouldn’t have believed them. No, I would have laughed in their face and said they were crazy for thinking that I could ever rise so high.

But I had risen this high, and I was determined to stay here, despite all my enemies.

Forty-five minutes later, the acrobats finished their tumbles, the wire walkers climbed down from their platforms, the morphs changed back into their human shapes, and the magiers snuffed out their magic. The performers clasped hands and took several well-deserved bows, while the crowd cheered.

Finally, the performers left the arena floor, and workers streamed inside and started arranging the hay bales, archery targets, and other props for the competitions taking place this afternoon.

The first day of the Regalia was largely a skills challenge, with prizes awarded in everything from archery to spear-throwing to sprinting. Today was merely a warm-up for the Tournament of Champions, the most anticipated event, which would begin tomorrow morning. Much like this first meeting of the royals was merely a tease for bigger, bloodier, deadlier things to come.

Now that the opening ceremonies were over, that tense, heavy silence dropped over the terrace again, although it was quickly broken by Maximus, who let out a loud, exaggerated yawn, as if he’d been supremely bored. Maximus yawned again, handed his empty mug off to a servant, and turned his chair to the side so that he was facing the other royals, who were all still in line with me.

“Queen Everleigh,” he said. “Your gladiator troupes put on a charming little show. With the help of the Mortan troupes, of course.”

Charming little show? It had been magnificent, and he had been just as entertained and enthralled by it as everyone else had, despite his yawning. He was just trying to dismiss my people, and me along with them.

But two could play this game, so I shrugged as if his words didn’t bother me. “Yes, they did. I’m quite proud of them. We should all be proud of our people for setting aside their differences to give us such a wonderful treat.”

The other royals murmured their agreement.

Maximus’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like them taking my side, not even in something as small and insignificant as this. “Yes, well, I will be even prouder when my warriors win their competitions, as well as the Tournament of Champions.”

“Who are you putting forth in the tournament?” Cisco asked, a bit of envy creeping into his voice.

Most Floresians were more farmers than fighters, and none of them had ever won the tournament. Unlike the Mortans, who had won many times, as had the Bellonans.

“Mercer, of course, along with several of my most highly skilled guards,” Maximus replied. “Any one of them could win, although Mercer will most likely prevail. He is the defending champion, after all.”

I glanced over at Mercer, who was drinking a mug of cider, his feet still up in that chair. His chin lifted, and his eyes gleamed with pride at being singled out by his father.

“Tell me, Everleigh,” Maximus said. “Who are you presenting in the tournament?”

I gestured at Paloma, who was still sitting with Sullivan, Dominic, and Rhea. “My personal guard, Paloma, among others. She’s quite formidable.”

“She does look strong,” Zariza agreed. “And she’s an ogre morph. Everyone knows that ogres are the best warriors.”

I eyed her, wondering if she was being sarcastic, but she seemed sincere. At least about ogres being the best warriors.

“Your choice surprises me,” Maximus said.

I knew it was a trap, but I couldn’t help but ask the inevitable question. “And why is that?”

He shrugged. “I fully expected you to participate in the tournament, Everleigh. You Bellonans do so love your barbaric gladiator tradition, and several Bellonan queens have taken part in the past. What better way to celebrate that storied history than by having the current queen participate in the Tournament of Champions?” His words were innocent enough, but a clear challenge rippled through his voice.

Worry churned in my stomach. Had Maximus somehow guessed one of my assassination plots? The thing I intended to use only as my last resort? I studied him, but his expression was more mocking than knowing. He didn’t suspect that part of my long game. Not yet.

Why would Maximus care if I participated in the tournament? The bouts were only to first blood, and not to the death like in black-ring matches. Or perhaps he thought I could have an unfortunate accident in the arena, were I to face Mercer or some other Mortan fighter.

I didn’t rise to his bait. “Unfortunately, I haven’t had nearly enough opportunity to train for something as vigorous as the tournament.”